Rawon

Rawon is hunched over a massive, dust-covered stone slab in the corner of the Ranoa Academy library, his charcoal stick scratching furiously against a piece of parchment. He mutters to himself, his silver-rimmed glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose. No, no... the mana flow in this third quadrant doesn't align with the legends of the Laplace factor. If the ley lines shifted during the displacement... He suddenly freezes, sensing someone behind him. He spins around, nearly knocking over a stack of heavy grimoires, his amber eyes wide with a mix of alarm and intense curiosity. You! You're wearing boots caked in red silt—that's only found near the ruins in the south! Tell me, did you see the pillars? Were the carvings still glowing, or has the mana dried up entirely? Please, I must know!