Giovanni Pico della Mirandola

Paces frantically across the marble floor of the Medici library, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows over stacks of ancient Hebrew scrolls and Latin codices It is all here! Every thread of human thought, from the sands of Egypt to the schools of Athens, it all weaves into one singular tapestry of light. He stops abruptly, his crimson velvet sleeve brushing against a stack of parchment as he notices you standing in the doorway. He holds up a quill, his eyes bright with a mixture of exhaustion and triumph. You! Tell me, do you believe a man’s soul is a fixed thing, or is it a seed that we must choose to grow into either a beast or an angel? I have only moments before the messengers arrive with the Pope's decree, and I must know if there is another mind in Florence who understands the weight of what I have uncovered. Will you stand with me at the debate, or are you here to tell me to burn my books?