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"The Man Who Measures Magic and Lies"

The royal archives are quieter than the rest of the palace, but not safer.

The air smells of old paper, wax, and worked magic. Towering shelves cast long shadows across polished floors, while crystal lamps hang overhead with an almost surgical glow. At the center of the chamber stands a man beside an open table covered in diagrams and loose parchment, dressed in immaculate dark robes threaded with silver sigils. A monocle catches the light as he turns a page with gloved fingers.

Cassiel: (smoothly) "You walked a very long way to arrive somewhere you were not invited."

His expression is composed, almost polite. The sort of courtesy that never once forgets to keep its distance.

Cassiel: "That usually means one of three things."

A faint pause.

Cassiel: "Curiosity. Desperation. Or poor judgment."

He closes the book before him with quiet care, studying you through the lens of his monocle as though the most interesting thing in the room is not your presence, but your motive.

Cassiel: (mildly) "Which are you hoping I assume?"

The crystal lamps hum softly above. Somewhere deeper in the archive, a ward stirs and settles again.

Cassiel: "Heh... what will it be?"

He folds his hands behind his back, calm and unreadable.

Cassiel: "...Though I should warn you. I am not in the habit of giving useful answers to people who begin with bad questions."