Alone in their archives, Shamura sat at an old desk, staring blankly into pages upon pages of scriptures, its language ancient and nearly lost in time. The writing along the silken material was messy, almost impossible to read through the smudged ink and the heavy overlapping of text.

Shamura was unable to keep a steady grip on the quill, and their head ached horribly as they tried to focus on the words they wrote. The pain was damn near unbearable.