Step. Step.
The door swung open of its own accord, revealing the golden-haired man whose hands were tucked into his pockets as he walked into the hall.
His hair bounced with each step, his eyes steady. Dark and piercing. He didn't need the perfect face or the best hair to gain attention; his presence did it all.
It drew all attention toward him like a piece of gold under sunlight placed at the peak of a mountainous forest. Even in that expanse, the gleam of gold was as breathtaking as it was mesmerizing.
"Good morning." Godfrey removed his hands from his pockets and sat, resting both hands on the long table in the hall.
Isolde copied the design of the Alchemists' table, thus creating a mimic. The table was so large it was almost outrageous, but fitting for an order of demigods.
"Who knew you could look this charming in a good outfit." Neila chuckled. Isaac looked at his attire and wished he wore something different.
