Professor Grender Voss headed straight for his office.
He did not slow.
He did not greet anyone.
His mind was already racing, replaying what he had witnessed again and again—the ice chamber, the frozen boy, the unnatural calm breathing beneath layers of solid frost.
(This needs to be reported.)
Grender pushed open the heavy oak door to his office and shut it behind him with a decisive thud.
The room was dim, lit only by the pale blue glow of rune-lamps embedded in the walls.
Shelves packed with ancient tomes and sealed scrolls lined the room, each humming faintly with dormant mana.
He moved directly to his desk.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, he tossed a small messaging talisman onto the surface.
The crystalline object spun once, then steadied, glowing faintly as runes activated.
Grender placed two fingers atop it.
"We need to discuss," he said curtly.
The talisman pulsed.
No name was spoken.
Whoever was on the other end would understand the urgency.
