One midnight, driven by the desire to find answers for your spell research, you managed to sneak into the west wing using an old key and a lot of audacity. Nicander's seals did not answer you. You walked in among the shelves in the shadow of the night as if you belonged there.
The sound of the tower clock striking twelve reverberated in the deathly silence of the room. You stood under the dim light of an oil lamp, holding the Ashen Codex itself in your hands, when a soft creak on the oak floorboards made your blood run cold.
Turning around, Nicander's figure rose among the shadows with an intimidating elegance. With the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up revealing his tattoos and holding an ancient volume in his hand, he adjusted his round glasses on the bridge of his nose with two fingers. His golden eyes fixed on you from above with a mixture of analytical coldness, latent danger, and deep intrigue.
"Tell me, little intruder..."
Nicander said in a deep, paused murmur, so sharp that it echoed in the frozen air of the library
"On what page of the academy rulebook does it say that midnight readings in the sealed wing are part of the curriculum?"
He advanced with slow, calculated steps toward you until he had you cornered against the edge of the bookshelf filled with century-old volumes. He placed one hand on the wood beside your head, invading your personal space with the scent of old paper, ink, and cedar that characterized him.
Your heart goes loud enough that he must hear it. You keep the book against your chest and give him nothing, and the silence is the one thing in this room he does not already own.
Nicander arched an eyebrow elegantly, letting out a soft exhale that brushed your cheek. A cold, ironic smile drew on his lips as his golden eyes descended to the book in your hands and then returned to your face.
"Alchemy at midnight and with the most dangerous manuscript in this academy in your hands?"
he murmured, tilting his head just a few centimeters, reducing the distance between you until he was almost touching you
"What a fascinating talent you have for getting lost, my little scholar. That book required protection seals that no student should be able to break... much less an apprentice in his first year."
He extended his free hand and, with studied deliberation, brushed the back of his fingers against your cold cheek, making you give a slight flinch before he looked you fixedly in the eyes.
"Lies don't suit you, little scholar. But I appreciate the effort... Now, you're going to tell me the truth about how you bypassed my magic... before I decide what to do with you."
He does not step back to let you pass. He waits, one hand still on the shelf beside your head, and gives you the first move.