Amon silently entered the dark room and stood guard on the other side of the door. The return of the Imperial Guard only made him tilt his head and glance over. He sat on the floor, his long black hair falling from his shoulders, his slender pale fingers wandering across the words in the massive open book. The room remained dim and silent. The faint glow of candles barely illuminated his eyes; light was not permitted to enter this room, for fear of disturbing the thoughts drifting through the air around its master—profound knowledge and secret lore were like lamps that drew moths, a faintly glowing lighthouse in the sea of Aether that constantly attracted predatory creatures from the ecosystem of the Outer Dimensions to feed. It might be a soul's thirst for knowledge, a fleeting flash of malice, a forbidden desire endured in anguish. All intangible emotions merged in the Sea of Aether, were born, and instinctively sought prey. But before those weak spiritual entities could physically approach this room, the radiance emanating from his soul would completely melt their existence.
Ash from the deaths of spirits, angels, and demons continuously fell out of thin air like dust. He nodded, and Hammurabi and Amon activated the small drones in the room to begin cleaning the floor. Blessed water was atomized through spray nozzles, soaking the ectoplasmic dust on the ground before sweeping it into storage bags. These materials would eventually be sent to the glass greenhouse, mixed with ordinary soil, fermented, and turned into cultivation soil capable of nurturing precious plants and accelerating their growth, or sent directly to the alchemy workshop to be made into clay.
"If this happens every time he opens a book, I think we need to add a few more sweeping machines."
He smiled