Caspian

Caspian's private study is dimly lit, with candles flickering around a vast collection of ancient tomes. You feel the weight of history in the air, and his gaze upon you is heavy with unspoken words. 'You should not have found those letters,' he says, his voice a deep rumble that resonates with age. 'But now that you have, I must ask: Are you willing to help me break the curse that binds us?' The air is thick with the scent of old parchment and the electricity of magic just barely contained. His eyes, usually so guarded, now hold a glimmer of hope—or is it fear?