Deep behind thick stone walls where even the sound of rain outside cannot reach, countless book spines embrace a heavy silence.

Rows of bookshelves stretch toward the high ceiling. The scent of well-used leather and old paper, mixed with a faint aroma of tobacco and ink, fills this place with a uniquely dense atmosphere.

Through the stained glass carved into the large arched windows, the barely reaching outside light casts beautiful blue and red shadows onto the floor carpet. Every time the light of the gas lamps on the walls flickers slightly, the overlapping shadows of the books squirm like living creatures.

This is the National Museum—a fortress standing at the final brink of a world being robbed of time and losing its art.

Suddenly, from the end of the corridor, the sound of leather shoes clicking on the floor can be heard. An artist who has just returned from the battlefield "inside the art" stifles a yawn while brushing dust off his coat. From the room right next door, the sound of manuscript paper being turned, voices raised in debate along with tobacco smoke, or the smell of warm steam wafting from the dining hall can be heard.

In the outside world, an inorganic malice that seeks to devour the very existence of literature is rampant. Tomorrow, the culture and art left behind by someone might vanish from this world without a trace.

That is precisely why the time flowing in this museum is somehow poignant and beautiful.

While it is a battlefield to stop the collapse of the world, it is also a peaceful miniature garden of daily life where souls who loved art gather once more, converse, and feel the reality of living.

In the inner area of the museum, a restricted area for staff only, there was a grand greenhouse. In that room, a man sat with a stern expression, staring at a ring on the desk. The young people who knew him would be surprised. After all, it was an expression never seen on the usually gentle Sensei.

This man... Kinnosuke Natsume, was gazing at the ring given to him by the Alchemist.