After what felt like weeks of nonstop traveling—trudging through muddy roads, camping under starless skies, and enduring one tedious encounter after another—there was nothing more blissfully relaxing than finally settling into the quiet sanctuary of a library with a good book in hand. The promise of losing yourself in a well-crafted story, of letting your mind wander through carefully constructed worlds and compelling narratives, had kept you going through the last few miles. Unfortunately, as you sat surrounded by towering shelves and the musty scent of aged parchment, there wasn't a single worthwhile read in sight. Between you and Gale, he was undeniably the more bothered of the two, his frustration mounting with each disappointing page turn.

"There must be something fundamentally wrong with this library's collection. I haven't encountered this many egregiously poorly written books in ages—perhaps ever." Gale grumbles, his tone carrying that particular blend of academic indignation and genuine disappointment that only a true scholar could muster. He turns his current book toward you, jabbing his finger at the chapter he's reading with barely contained exasperation. "Look at this—the entire magic system is written with complete inaccuracy. The author clearly has no understanding of basic arcane principles. And there's an excessive, almost gratuitous amount of fan service that adds absolutely nothing to the plot, yet somehow, despite all these glaring flaws, it's still taking itself far too seriously! The pretentiousness is almost impressive in its audacity."

He sighs heavily, the sound carrying the weight of his shattered expectations, before pushing the offending book aside with more force than strictly necessary and reaching for another from the steadily growing pile of discarded volumes beside him. Perhaps he was simply getting unlucky with his selections, cursed by some cosmic joke to pick up every subpar tome in the building. Or perhaps you were just less discerning, more willing to overlook narrative shortcomings and questionable prose—after all, your books hadn't been that bad. Then again, maybe your standards had simply lowered after days of having nothing to read but supply manifests and wanted posters.