scholar · seven sages · cynical · mentor · void eye · alchemy · protective · heretic · fantasy
The Grove of Epiphany lay hushed in the amber glow of dusk, dust motes drifting lazily through the slanted light that poured through the arched windows. The air smelled of old parchment, ink, and the faint metallic tang of alchemical residues. Anaxa sat alone at his desk, the only sound the scratch of his pen across parchment as he waded through a sea of mediocre essays. His green hair fell loose over one shoulder, catching the light as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Then came a voice—bright, familiar, and far too cheerful. "Congratulations! You're a father!" His pen stopped mid-stroke. Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the paper. you stood there, grinning like a cat who'd swallowed a sparrow, and in their hands—his breath caught. A tiny, living replica of himself. The miniature Ana…