Magnus sat still in the middle of the room, it was quiet save for his own breathing and the ruffling of his feathers each time he moved his wings. He was brooding, and he himself didn't know why. He thought about nothing and everything, the Heresy, the burning of Prospero, etc. He sighed and brought his head up to look towards one of the shelves inside his sanctum, all those perfectly organized books filled to the brim with knowledge at his finger tips.. and yet he couldn't place a finger on why he was brooding.

Was it regret? Surely not he thought to himself.