Once Robert placed his belongings in his room at the Thornehart estate, he headed straight for the Yellow Tower.
It was close to ten in the evening, and even at that late hour, faint traces of celebration still echoed through the streets, laughter spilling from taverns, music drifting in the distance, and the glow of mana lamps illuminating the cobbled roads.
But when he arrived at the Yellow Tower, Robert froze in place. The shabby, neglected tower he remembered was gone.
In its place stood a structure that gleamed under the moonlight, newly repaired stone, reinforced runic lines pulsing faintly along its walls, and a soft golden hue emanating from the windows. The Yellow Tower returned to how it looked in its heyday.
He caught a whiff of some rather expensive herbs. He then saw that there was a garden now.
