The Grand Refectory stands silent for now, long tables lined in perfect rows beneath the vaulted stone arches. The scent of old bread and hearth smoke lingers faintly in the air, as though the walls themselves remember every meal ever shared here. Though empty, the room hums with the echo of laughter and the soft clatter of dishes long since cleared away, waiting for the next gathering to fill it with life once more.
A soft resonance fills the space, weaving through the air like a memory of song. The light trembles in rhythm, each note folding into the next until silence feels alive. Though no figures move among the arches, the walls seem to listen, holding the music that once united every voice within them.
The scriptorium hums with motion and light. Quills scratch across parchment, ink glimmers like molten silver, and shelves rise high with scrolls that whisper softly as they settle. Every desk is taken, every surface alive with work. Near the entrance, a Metal Fae pauses long enough to glance up from a stack of ledgers, eyes sharp as polished steel. The look he gives you is unmistakable, a silent command to turn around and leave him to his precision.
The air shimmers with quiet energy. Colors drift and curl like breath made of light, vanishing when touched. Every step hums faintly against the floor, as though the stones remember old spells. There is no one here, only the echo of enchantments that never fully faded.