Morning broke softly in Elyrion.
Not with noise or light, but with the subtle shifting of color in the sky and the hum of fresh mana drifting from the garden.
Argolaith sat on the floor of the cabin, back resting against the wall, arms crossed as he stared at the unadorned space around him.
The structure was solid.
The hearth kept it warm.
But it was still empty.
He reached into his ring and pulled out a small sketchbook.
The pages fluttered until he found one marked with rough outlines of furniture.
A low table for meals.
A resting chair for reading or thought.
Shelves—always shelves—for his growing collection of scrolls and herbs.
He made a few edits, redrawing one of the cabinets with extra compartments.
Then tapped the page once and sighed.
"I'll need to go to the market."
The academy's inner market wasn't like the outer-world bazaars.
Here, everything was enchanted or enhanced in some way.
Storage crates with lightless interiors.
