Fated To The Alpha Masters
Approaching the man gathering the last books from the floor, each book seeming to carry a piece of the library's soul, I notice that he is aged, his presence radiating impressive calmness as if he is in no hurry to pick up the books.
The man must be nearly seventy-five years old, with short, already white hair, only a few rebellious strands still wanting to remain gray. Despite his advanced age, his hair is full, a testament to his vitality.
The man's face bears the marks of time, wrinkles around his eyes, and lines of expression on his forehead, each line likely telling a story of laughter and worries lived. His eyes are a deep violet that enchants me in a way that seems to penetrate my sou
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