The morning air felt strangely sharp, as if it knew things were about to change.
Alaric stood in the courtyard of his three-story mansion, gazing at the cracked stone tiles with unreadable calm. The house was already in the process of being sold—documents sealed, contacts made, gold secured.
He didn't need the money per se, but neither did he enjoy waste. The mansion had served its purpose, and now it would serve someone else. A quiet end to a quiet chapter.
They weren't leaving immediately. There were still three days left, and in those three days, Alaric had things to do.
The most important was Virellen.
She stood barefoot on the scorched, wind-blasted earth before the destroyed mountain—a desolate landmark several thousand kilometers from the mansion, near the ragged edge of what remained of the Core Forest. This place had become their training ground, sacred and scarred.
