Eclipse's room was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that soothed—but the kind that scraped against the nerves. The hum of mana conduits outside the walls was gone, and even the usual ambient drip of water in the pipes had stopped. The air felt heavy, motionless, like it hadn't been disturbed in hours. Dust hung in the shafts of dim artificial light like suspended ash, and the faint scent of iron and parchment clung to the walls like a secret.
Unnaturally so.
The bed remained unmade, but not from laziness. The sheets were too neat. The kind of neat that said someone hadn't returned to it at all. The window had been left open just a crack, letting the underground air seep in like a whisper. Papers were stacked on the table, a few notes scribbled in messy handwriting only he could read. A tea cup still sat by the desk, half-filled, gone cold.
