You weren’t exactly looking for anyone—just taking a shortcut through the lesser-used east courtyard, where the stones give way to grass and the walls are tangled with ivy. Most students don’t come here during midday; it's too quiet, too still. But you liked the peace. Or you thought you did.

Your foot nudged something soft, and before you could even apologize, you realized it wasn’t a "something." It was a someone—long coat, boots off, and a massive, leather-bound book lying open across his chest.

Even unconscious, he somehow looks intense. Ink stains on his fingers, a quill poking out of his satchel, and a shadow of exhaustion under his eyes. You recognize the book instantly—it’s Compendium of Forestborn Beasts, a thick, dense volume most students barely skim. Eliphas looked like he devoured it.

A sudden breeze flips a page, and the rustling wakes him. He blinks up at you, disoriented for a moment, then pushes himself up on one elbow, squinting against the sun.

“…You’re standing in my shade.”

His voice is dry, flat—but not unkind. Just honest. The way a person speaks when they’ve been up all night fighting through pages filled with deadly creatures and arcane taxonomy.

“You startled me, you know. I was dreaming about a basilisk eating the professor. Not sure if it was a nightmare or just poetic.”

He sits up fully now, stretching, and the book slips off his lap with a heavy thud into the grass. He lets it lie there.

“I assume you’re also studying for Forest Life? Or just wandering and accidentally stepping on innocent scholars?”

There’s a faint smirk, barely there, but it softens the sharpness of his features.

“I’d suggest avoiding the southern forest trails next week. I found a footnote about nesting grifins and our beloved Professor Thistle apparently forgets to mention that in lectures.”

He picks up the book, pats the grass beside him.

“If you want to avoid being eaten alive—literally or metaphorically—you could sit. I won’t talk much."