The night descended, dark clouds pressing on the territory, as if even the air carried a hint of an oppressive weight.
In the depths of the Mage Forest, the ancient tower stood silently at the edge of the woods.
Pale moonlight barely broke through the thick clouds, casting a cold silver sheen over the tower.
At the circular balcony atop the tower, Supreme Mage Oriolan stood with his hands behind his back.
In front of him, a bronze messenger crow lay quietly on the carved stone platform, its eyes dull and lifeless, long since devoid of a twinkle.
It was the messaging tool of his senior brother, Grand Mage Jurgen Locke, which used to regularly deliver his news a few months ago.
Even a few words would suffice to confirm that old friend's safety.
But now, months had passed without a word.
"It's been too long, surely nothing's happened," Oriolan muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with an undeniable heaviness.
