It didn't take long for Galen and Magnus to roll into Zone 12 after their call with Mystica fizzled out. The train hadn't even cooled before they were already striding through the academy gates, heading straight for her chamber like men on a mission.
Magnus stretched with a groan that could rival a yawning lion. "Mmm, smell that? Sweet, non-demonic air. I swear, I could marry Amthar."
Galen, eyes half-dead and voice lower than the tone of his patience, muttered, "Yeah, the cursed fog back in the Ruins was getting into my skull. Let's see Mystica first, then chug something strong. My throat's drier than a sand witch's humor."
They moved through the courtyard, ignoring salutes from knights left and right. Eventually, they reached the hall leading to Mystica's quarters. Galen didn't bother knocking—subtlety wasn't in the mood—and shoved the door open like it owed him something.
Inside, sunlight poured in like liquid gold with books littered the floor.
