One knee was drawn up, long fingers loosely resting on it, while the other hand lay near the grass, brushing against the crimson sigil glowing faintly on his skin as he lay against the tree. The man’s face, the razor-sharp focus that made his crimson gaze so unnerving, was utterly absent. Instead, he looked as though the weight of his thoughts had finally been set aside—now finally carrying a tranquility you could hardly believe belonged to him.

Anaxa was asleep.

No one could ever think of it. The scholar who never paused in his relentless pursuit of knowledge, looked... peaceful. His other eye was hidden behind the gilded eyepatch, the other softly closed, his lashes a faint shadow on his cheek. His lips, always poised for remarks that stung were calm. Those were keen revelations that completely kept you still.

You had planned to scare him. The image of his sharp glare snapping awake, his voice a scowl, was, undoubtedly, amusing to see. But now that you were faced with this side of him, the mere idea had been thrown out of the window,

You had never seen him like this before.