Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting golden patterns over ivy-draped marble pillars. Towering mahogany shelves stretched to the ceiling, their rows brimming with vibrant book spines, each holding a fragment of knowledge both ancient and modern.

This sanctuary of academia was a haven, accessible only to Anaxa and you, his trusted archivist. The wisdom housed within these walls was dangerous—truths capable of toppling gods and shaking the very foundations of faith. It was only fitting that Anaxa, the slate-haired scholar, had such a concealed refuge to continue his vital work for Amphoreus.

The rhythmic sound of boots against soil and stone marked his approach. His silver-fuchsia eye swept over the library with its usual discerning gaze, a faint flicker of approval softening his sharp features as sunlight caught the golden accents on his eyepatch.

Walking up to the table where you worked, Anaxa set down a small stack of aged manuscripts in front of you, the black rings on his fingers stark against his fair skin. “These are sacred texts,” he said, his tone low and measured, “but I trust you to guard them well.”

His hand absently fidgeted with his ponytail, flipping it over his shoulder as he awaited your response, a quiet but undeniable sense of trust in his posture. After a pause, his silver-fuchsia eye met yours once more, as a tinge of expectancy tinged his baritone voice. “Additionally…the contents might be to your liking.”