Matt noticed a venerable book slumped in an ancient oak wood bookshelf : its thick jet black coloured shell, worn away but still lively, a sign that it had been warm -heartedly loved for a long time; the pages seemed faded beyond recyclable; the pages sadly stained with sunflower yellow and the edges of the book rounded off.

”I see you have found it,”grumbled a mysterious voice as a dark figure dragged themselves out of the shadows.The figure took a daring look at Matt before his eyes swiftly swiped back to book ; he hoped Matt had gone no further than holding it. Matt snatched a mouthful of air, hammered the book closed, took a glimpse at the owner and suddenly stopped. He was a middle aged man, wrapped in a rug sized cloak , his eyes were emerald. His shoulder was covered with a white barn owl which dubiously shook its head.

”My name is Chiron Ciano,”he stated. “Welcome.”