Alpha Castle.
The Callan Family's lounge.
Sunlight spilled across the broad balcony onto the platinum-colored carpet. Its long, fine Calcoskin wool shimmered in the light, threaded with magical halos that made its colors all the more enchanting.
Friedman stood amid those colors.
He stood before the desk, one hand in his coat pocket and the other resting on the back of a chair, gazing at an oil painting of sunflowers on the wall. It was as though he were looking in a mirror.
Ordinarily, when sunlight fell on the canvas, the sunflowers in the painting would vie to stretch their necks, spread their petals, and bask in its warmth. Today, their usually radiant petals drooped. Even the edges of their lovely heart-shaped green leaves had begun to dry and yellow.
Just like his spirits.
Sir Friedman stared at the sunflowers and murmured to himself.
On the desk behind him lay a sheet of Dragon Skin Paper. A Tail Feather Pen floated above it, following the sound of his voice in graceful arcs and leaving strings of elegant cursive on the page.
As the blank space on the paper dwindled, his voice grew softer, until it could barely be heard.
A long time passed.
The ink on the Tail Feather Pen's nib gradually dried.
Its blue-green feather swayed, scattering a cloud of glittering dust through the sunlight. Then its dry nib dropped to the end of the Dragon Skin Paper and tapped it several times, hard.
The light tap-tap roused the figure lost in thought before the desk.
Sir Friedman turned, glanced at the impatient Feather Pen, and returned to his desk. He sat down, took hold of the floating Tail Feather Pen, and tapped the air. A golden spark appeared at its nib.
The Tail Feather Pen disliked being held