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The leaves outside the window swayed gently in the wind and rustled softly. A few yellowed leaves, no longer able to cling to the branches, spiraled to the ground. Sparrow-like birds flitted about and pecked at something unseen.
It had already been autumn for some time, and the weather was gradually growing colder. Both Selwyn and Aleisterre were kingdoms near the icy tundra of the north.
Of the two, Selwyn's winters were arguably harsher. Each autumn, cold winds blew from the St. Anna snowfields in the north toward Selwyn, prematurely ushering in the chill of winter.
In contrast to the bleak and chilly scene outside, the interior of the room exuded comfort and tranquility. The decor was clean and slightly minimalist, with bookshelves, chairs, and a desk forming a simple yet tasteful arrangement. Though the furnishings weren't extravagant, they carried a sense of refinement and age.
The room would have been spacious and simplistic if not for the vast collection of books filling nearly every available nook and cranny, adding a unique charm to the decor. There were books everywhere, both on shelves and stacked in piles on the floor, leaving only a narrow pathway leading to the door.
An elderly hand, wrinkled and thin, adjusted a golden monocle. The deeply lined face bore a pair of bright, clear eyes that belied its age. Long, gray-white hair, dry and slightly curled, hung loosely and unkempt, casually pushed back behind the ears so as not to obstruct its owner's reading.
The old man was engrossed in the book before him, reading with a focus and dedication that suggested an undiminished passion...
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