Chapter 800 - The Professor's Wake (2)

A faint tremor lingered in my fingertips—residual static from the synchronization surge—so I flattened my palms against the desktop again, grounding myself. The wood felt warmer now, faintly resonant, as though my study recognized the returning master and adjusted its hum to match my heartbeat. I traced idle circles across the burn-mark near the inkwell, letting small sparks of mana flick off the edge of each motion. They sputtered, harmless, miniature comets dying on impact with the varnish. It was a needless flourish, perhaps, but after days—or had it been weeks?—of relentless utilitarian struggle inside Kyrion's labyrinthine request, the simple luxury of wasting a joule or two of power felt almost decadent.