The automated glass gates of the Brewer estate parted silently, sliding back into two towering, monolithic pillars of polished white granite.
Edmund Brewer sat in the back of the sleek, dark sedan, watching the rain wash down the reinforced glass windows.
Outside, the sprawling compound sat nestled against the frost-covered hills of the northern district—a sweeping masterpiece of modern architectural excess.
To the outside world, it was the private sanctuary of one of the country's most prominent industrial dynasties.
To those in the know, it was the seat of power for one of the oldest, most arrogant ice-talented lineages on the continent.
Normally, the estate operated with smooth, silent precision.
Automated security drones glided along high perimeter perches, and the air carried a faint, crisp stillness that Edmund had known his entire life.
But that particular day, the air just felt heavy.
