Space warped, the familiar, quiet tear of Grey folding reality around me. The scent of Stella's workshop, solder and ozone, vanished, replaced instantly by the unique, sterile tang of high-grade, ozonated mana and the dry, ancient smell of parchment and preserved artifacts. I stood in a place I had not visited in far, far too long. The 200th floor of the Tower of Magic, the personal sanctum of the Tower Master, a space so heavily and intricately warded that its defensive arrays were considered a national treasure, supposedly impenetrable.
"You certainly make an entrance, Second Hero." A dry, amused voice cut through the absolute, library-like silence.
