Nelon furrowed his brow in irritation as he fumbled with the scattered vials and bottles on his alchemic mixing table. He was just unable to concentrate at all today; the laboratory was a complete mess from last night’s attack, and so was he. He wore a surprisingly clean ivory-colored cloak—a sharp contrast against his ebon skin— with a rumpled white button-up shirt and faded brown trousers tucked into dark leather boots. His normally well-groomed shoulder-length black hair was mussed and his usual bright-eyed gaze, now dull from lack of rest, scanned the alchemic workshop mournfully.