The walls of the fortress were cold.
Not in temperature though the high mountain wind did send chills through the ancient stones but in presence. There was no warmth in the Citadel of the Gifted, not in its arches or towering halls, not in its tapestries that depicted victories long past. There was purpose, there was discipline, but there was no warmth.
And Andrew Whitmore sat alone in the far wing of the central tower, his fingers trembling around a simple piece of paper. The edges had curled from how many times he'd opened and closed it. He had read the letter over and over again, trying to make the words change.
But they didn't.
Michael Darnell. Deceased.
Body discovered near the eastern riverbed. Multiple unidentifiable wounds. Investigation underway.
Andrew's breathing was slow, but each inhale felt like a blade down his chest.
Whitmore was silent in his mind.
Which made it worse.
Andrew leaned forward, elbows on his knees, forehead pressed against clenched fists. The memory of Michael's laugh, his stupid jokes, his constant poking and prodding the chaos he brought to every room those were all louder than the wind battering the tower windows.
Seraphina Kade watched him from across the training chamber.
She didn't speak. But her eyes narrowed. She'd seen anger before. She'd seen grief, too. But what she saw radiating off Andrew Whitmore was a storm held by a thread.
She approached, carefully.
"You okay?" she asked gently.
Andrew didn't answer.
She knelt beside him, her silver-blonde hair catching the torchlight. "Andrew..."
His voice was low when it came. Cracked.
"They found him in a river."
Seraphina blinked. "Your friend?"
He nodded.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
Andrew stared at the floor. "They didn't even bother telling me. I found out from a courier's report that came with the morning dispatch. Like it was a footnote. Like he was a name. Not a person. Not someone who.....who...."
He shut his eyes. His voice fell to a whisper. "He mattered."
Seraphina reached out but hesitated.
Whitmore finally stirred.
"They didn't want you to know yet," Whitmore said in his head. "But I couldn't stop it. The moment you read it, I felt it."
"He's dead," Andrew said aloud.
"I know."
"And I wasn't there."
Whitmore's silence was guilt-shaped.
"Something's happening back home," Andrew said, standing abruptly. "That kind of wound, the way the report described it that's not natural. That's not random. It's something old. It's something wrong."
He turned from Seraphina, walking fast.
She called after him. "Andrew where are you going?"
"To find the council."
The chamber of the Gifted Council was unusually active. Scrolls lay unfurled across the crescent table. Diagrams glowed in mid-air, arcane charts and timelines tracing anomalies across the world.
Jason Mercier and Lisa stood off to the side, arms crossed. Lilienne Dumas sat stiffly on the far end, reading something with a sharp frown. Ryo leaned against a pillar, silent as always.
None of them looked up when Andrew entered.
Except Valtan.
He was a mage that brought to oversee the gifted since he had more experiences at supernatural events than the rest of them deep down he had a hidden resentment for not being one of the gifted but since he was given the role of overseer he was content.
He was the Only discipline of the dean of Halberd university
"Whitmore," the mage said, adjusting his spectacles. "We were just discussing the leyline rupture near the winterlands."
"This isn't about the leyline," Andrew said flatly.
Valtan paused. "Then what?"
"I'm going back."
That got everyone's attention.
Jason turned. "Back where?"
"To Saint Aramond"
Lilienne furrowed her brow. "Why?"
Andrew looked them all over. His voice shook with control. "Because my friend is dead. And no one is asking how."
Valtan's eyes narrowed. "We received the report. We saw the same description you did."
"Then you know it wasn't natural."
"We know it wasn't our priority."
The words hit like a slap.
Seraphina stepped forward. "He should be allowed to..."
Valtan raised a hand. "This isn't about personal loss. The structure that did this whatever forces are at play are likely tied to the same rising energies we've tracked across the continent. But they are fragments of something larger."
Andrew's jaw clenched. "So you're saying ignore it."
Valtan's voice turned grave. "I'm saying if you leave now, you abandon this mission. You abandon your place here. But if you stah we can work together figure it out and you'll have your revenge so your request to leave is declined ."
Silence.
Jason muttered, "They're serious, man. Don't throw this away."
Lisa looked uncomfortable. Even she, ice-eyed and distant, seemed to understand the weight.
Andrew didn't move.
Whitmore stirred again.
"We can't save him. But we can save others. That's the truth, Andrew. Even if it burns."
Andrew looked down, his hands shaking slightly.
"He was one of the best of us," he said. "And we let him die alone."
Valtan didn't answer.
Andrew nodded. "Understood."
He turned and left the chamber.
Seraphina followed after.
His room was quiet. The fire hadn't been lit. He didn't bother.
He stood by the window, arms folded. The sky outside was grey, bleeding into violet. Clouds moved like restless ghosts.
A knock at the door.
He didn't answer.
Seraphina opened it anyway.
"They didn't mean to be cruel," she said.
Andrew didn't look at her. "They just were."
She stepped inside, shutting the door. "I know what you're feeling."
"No, you don't."
"I do. I lost my sister to a rift portal. Her body never came back. They told me to focus on the mission too. So I buried it. But the pain? It never left."
He finally turned. "What did you do?"
She smiled sadly. "I became better. Stronger. Cold, maybe. But not broken."
Andrew sat down slowly. He held the letter again. The paper had started to tear along the folds.
"He was always the loud one. The obnoxious one. But he had heart. More than me."
Seraphina placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then make it count. Every step you take. Every battle. Make it count for him."
He didn't reply.
But he didn't cry either.
His rage was quiet.
His grief? Louder than thunder.
And as he stared out the window, he knew that something terrible was rising. Something dark. And when it finally showed its face.
He would be ready.
For Michael.
And for everyone else who never got a chance to fight back.