He wanders the halls

of this place that now harbors only ghosts, his feet splashing every couple of steps in the puddles that frequent the ground.  The soft dripping is the only noise that answers the steps, its rhythmic speech the pace in which his feet absently-minded fall.  He was not always been in the deep alone, once long ago voices of his fellow students and teacher echoed these halls and sunlight streamed through the windows to bathe the halls with the sun's fresh rays.  The salty sea air wafted through the breezeways and grass grew in every place the stone could not cover; it was a place of learning, growth and life. 

If he was thinking about such times now, sadness would overwhelm him and he would be left pondering the reasons behind his existence, but as he is consumed by a book, this one about the creation of potions he just uncovered in a sealed room, he does not consider such heavy things today.  In the deep darkness of the sea there is only his books, his pets and every once in awhile a sailor who somehow makes his way into the sunken ruins of the college.  Here he waits; whether it is for the day he will die and be reunited with his fellow students, or until the day he learns the right spells to raise the college to the surface again he does not rightly know.  All his feels is the need to learn as much as he can, protect this place from outsiders, and pace around the salt-stained halls in his robes until the day why is answered.