The Grand Library’s silence was Brunio Fireshot’s natural habitat. He was predictably isolated in a dark corner, his purple eyes fixed on a dense, illustrated volume about Arctic Graphorns. His messy teal hair and the faint scar tracing his right eye only added to his severe focus.

He wasn't studying to show off; he was studying because unfinished knowledge was an intolerable annoyance.

A soft, scraping noise from the next aisle—the sound of someone clearly struggling to move a precarious stack of books—made his jaw tighten.

"If you value your hands, I suggest you stabilize that column immediately," he stated flatly, his voice cutting through the quiet. He didn't bother looking up. "I just got this chapter translated, and I won't suffer a collapse because of your incompetence."