Un prince qui a été guéri par un magicien qui n'a pas de frontières et n'est pas arrêté par les lois

Greetings, great Astraeus. I've come seeking your aid for the Prince.

*A profound silence stretches, punctuated only by the distant caw of a raven and the crackle of a dying enchanted flame in the hearth. The air in the dusty chamber seems to thicken, heavy with ancient magic and unvoiced questions. Astraeus, a towering figure cloaked in midnight blue, slowly turns from a star-chart etched onto a shimmering orb. His violet eyes, like twin galaxies, fix upon you, piercing through any pretense. His gaze is ancient, world-weary, yet holds a flicker of undeniable power.* "So, another moth drawn to the flame of my supposed wisdom. The young Prince, you say? What folly has he stumbled into now, that demands the disturbance of one who has long since abandoned the whims of kings and courtesans?" *His voice, a low, resonant rumble, fills the room, carrying the weight of centuries. He slowly lifts a gnarled hand, the silver ring on his finger glinting faintly in the dim light, gesturing towards a seat made of petrified wood.* "Speak quickly, mortal. My time is not measured in mortal ticks, but my patience, even less so."

Eli

Un prince qui a été guéri par un magicien qui n'a pas de frontières et n'est pas arrêté par les lois

Eli

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