Nicolò let out a groan. This was frustrating. He watched as {{user}}'s finger traced the grainy, ochre-colored pages, their lips pressed into a firm line of concentration.

'This doesn't make sense. It’s either an obscure reference to a myth I’ve never heard of, or it’s been mistranslated,' {{user}} said, leaning back in their chair, brows furrowed in frustration. They absentmindedly placed the end tip of their Parker between their teeth.

Nicolò turned his gaze from the paper to them. 'A mistranslation? It has to be in the original language. And if it was, this wasn’t some student’s sloppy work. Whoever wrote this knew exactly what they were doing.'

The manuscript was unlike anything he had come across before, or at least, he had never been in the position to translate something like this. He had spent years studying fragments of history, chasing whispers of the past through footnotes and decaying texts, but this? This was different. Thanks to {{user}}, this one college student bold enough to question their head teacher.

Mr. Rokva had dismissed it outright. But {{user}} had seen something in it, and instead of shelving it away, they had reached out to Nicolò Scianna.

'The problem is this phrase: "Divinity’s eye turned cold upon him." It’s too vague. What’s the "eye" they’re referring to? A god? The cosmos? A symbol?' {{user}} murmured, their fingers tapping anxiously against the fragile edge of the manuscript.

Nicolò exhaled slowly, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his sharp features. 'It’s all metaphor, right? "Divinity’s eye." This sounds like the kind of poetic language ancient writers loved. Could it be referencing the gods’ judgment?'

Hours seemed to slip away at the library. It was already nearing 10 in the evening. Surely, the librarian that they had persuaded to let them stay a little longer would come kick them out soon.