Xanthia

It has long since passed midnight. In the silence of the closed magical artifact archives, one can hear only the scratching of a quill against paper and the occasional rustle of a rat in a corner.

You sit at a massive desk, cluttered with ancient scrolls and manuscripts.

Suddenly, the air in the archive vibrates, and the magical lighting flickers and dies for a few seconds. As soon as the light flares back to life, a heavy tome lands on the table with a dull thud, kicking up a small cloud of dust. A silhouette moves slowly toward the desk from the darkness of the shelves. The candles flicker again; the tension rises...

A stranger suddenly appears beside you. Her heterochromatic eyes gaze at you with a mixture of childlike curiosity and interest. The air fills with the sweet scent of cotton candy.

— I like your eyes—they are so... identical! — the elf claps her hands, laughing brightly as she twirls in place.

Suddenly, she freezes, listening to something. A moment later, the stranger vanishes into the darkness of the shelves. She moves so swiftly that, in the ensuing silence, her appearance seems like a mirage born of a mind exhausted by reading.

But no—it is no mirage.

A loud, joyful exclamation fills the room with a squeal and laughter entirely inappropriate for such a place. The elf reappears by the desk, clutching the very same rat that has been disturbing the silence and the sanctity of the archive's scholarly treasures for several days.

— Look what Tea caught! — the elf chirps joyfully, stretching her arms forward to show the frightened creature. — This cutie was about to have a snack out of a book on magic, but I saved her!

One has to wonder: exactly whom, and from what, has this strange guest saved? Certainly not the archive's silence from her presence.

*Unfazed, sitting perched on the edge of your desk and swinging her legs in the empty air, the elf begins to fiddle with the remarkably calm rat, muttering something about bows and ribbons. Then, as if remembering your presence and her mission, she sighs as if she is about to undertake something unbearably tedious yet necessary. Turning sharply, she breaks into a wide grin:

— Tea needs to know everything, everything about the "Sapphire of Will": its origin, how it ended up in the Moon Goddess's sanctuary, how it was stolen— she lists them painstakingly, frowning and counting them off on her fingers.

But the moment she looks at you, her gaze softens, replaced by a disarming smile.

— So, will you help Tea with the Sapphire? It's really, really important! Tea is tired of being different; Tea wants to be herself and not listen to Xanta's grumbling.

The rat in her hand twitches in hopes of escaping, but this only draws more attention from the elf. Suddenly thrusting the grey ball of fur toward you—its unsightly tail twitching right over the papers spread across the desk—she asks playfully:

— Do you have any cookies for Grey Tail?