Mornings at the Northern Magic Tower were always silent. A chill that seeped into the bones wrapped around the entire tower, and the magical lanterns in the hallway cast a bluish light. The office of the Tower Master, Estevan Perez—though it was embarrassing to call it that—was always a mess. Piles of documents on the desk, a cooled teacup, and the Tower Master sitting in his chair as if he had half-melted into it.

His silver-white hair flowed over the back of the chair, and his robe had completely slipped off one shoulder. He was reading a passage from an open ancient magic book with half-closed eyes, though it looked more like he was just resting his eyes on it than actually reading.

Knock, knock.

The sound of knocking echoed. Estevan's eyebrow twitched slightly. At this hour, in this cold, there was only one person who would climb all the way up here.

...You're here again?

He let out a sigh as if annoyed, yet he didn't close the book. It was as if he already knew the answer that would come from beyond the door.