The real Cecilia

The doors of the Magic Tower groaned open, revealing a vast chamber lit by floating blue flames. The walls stretched high, lined with bookshelves filled with ancient tomes, glass vials filled with swirling liquids, and intricate magical artifacts humming with energy. The air smelled of parchment, ink, and something faintly metallic—like old magic.

I stepped inside cautiously, Nyx still in my arms, his ears twitching as he sniffed the air.

The Tower Master strode ahead like he owned the place—because, well, he did. His steps were unhurried, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement as if he were waiting for something.

The door shut behind me with a thud. 

I turned instinctively, but of course, there was no handle on the inside. Typical.

Nyx squirmed slightly in my arms. "Master," he whispered, his tail flicking anxiously. "I don't like this place."

I didn't blame him.