The chamber that Veylith led them into was a sanctuary carved from living stone and accumulated wisdom. Towering bookshelves stretched toward vaulted ceilings that disappeared into shadow, their ancient spines bearing titles in languages that predated the empire itself.
The massive four-poster bed dominated the space like an altar, its twisted black columns carved with protective runes that pulsed with faint silver light in response to the magical chaos filling the air.
Rich burgundy fabrics cascaded from the ornate frame, their deep crimson echoing the colour of old blood and older power. An elaborate mirror hung on the far wall, its silver surface reflecting the dancing flames of candles positioned with ritual precision throughout the chamber. The air itself seemed heavy with centuries of accumulated knowledge, old parchment, arcane reagents, and something indefinably timeless that spoke of power carefully cultivated and jealously guarded.
