[Velyrian's office.]
The beer bottle clinked softly against the wooden desk as Velyrian leaned back in his wheelchair.
The office was dim, the only light coming from the soft pulse of the Ven core mounted on the wall across from him.
Its glow flickered gently, like a heartbeat that refused to die.
He stared at it for a long while, unmoving, his eyes distant.
"Still ticking, huh?" he muttered.
His gaze drifted down to the letter lying unopened beside the bottle.
It had been sitting there for hours, maybe longer.
The seal was familiar—his master's.
He reached for it slowly, hesitating for just a moment before opening the letter once again.
The paper was old, the handwriting rough but steady.
''Velyrian,
If this letter finds you, I hope you are well.
I've heard whispers of what happened.
Your legs.
The war.
The core.''
Velyrian's grip tightened, but he kept reading.
''You were always the stubborn one.
