Leon's gaze shifted from the depleted pile of skill stones to the collection of technique scrolls still resting on the earthen table. The parchments were rolled and tied with various colored threads—some faded with age, others vibrant and new. Unlike the crystalline solidity of skill stones, these scrolls seemed almost fragile, their surfaces covered in intricate runic writing that glowed faintly in the gathering darkness.
The evening air had cooled considerably, carrying with it the scent of grass and earth. A gentle breeze rustled the parchments, making them whisper against each other like gossiping spirits.
Seraphine approached the table, her fingers hovering over one of the scrolls before she pulled her hand back. Her purple hair caught the starlight as she tilted her head in thought, and Leon noticed the slight furrow of her brow—the expression she wore when calculating strategies.
