Meanwhile, a few minutes ago, just as Michael saw his two titans, in another realm, another Michael was looking around in confusion.
He stood inside a spacious chamber built from pale stone and dark wood. The ceiling rose high, but not overwhelmingly so, supported by sturdy beams carved with simple patterns of leaves and geometric lines. Small glass lamps hung from iron hooks, their steady light filling the room with a warm glow rather than brilliance.
The floor beneath his boots was smooth stone, worn slightly at the edges from years of careful use. A large woven rug covered the center of the room, its patterns muted but tasteful, dyed in deep greens and browns. It softened his steps and dulled the echo of movement.
Along the walls stood tall shelves made from polished oak, filled with neatly arranged books, scroll cases, and sealed containers. Everything was orderly. Nothing felt wasted or excessive. Whoever owned this place valued function as much as comfort.
