Chapter 204
The flame (3)
IAM stared at the door for a second longer, then glanced at Elliott. The man was already holding the handle, ready to open it.
Without saying a word, Elliott pushed the door open.
The door swung open, revealing a room that immediately demanded attention. The space was vast, stretching wider than most of the academy's lecture halls, with ceilings tall enough to give a sense of authority and grandeur.
Every corner of the room spoke of wealth and meticulous curation: dark mahogany lined the walls, punctuated with golden accents that glinted under the lighting.
A massive desk dominated the center, sleek black with brass inlays, almost intimidating due to it's size. Papers were neatly stacked in piles, and a small crystal container held pristine pens, their gold tips reflecting the light. Behind it, a high-backed leather chair waited.
Along the walls, shelves stretched nearly to the ceiling, each lined with thick ledgers, fine leather-bound books, and a smattering of rare ornaments that gleamed with value.
A few display cases held intricate trinkets—small statuettes, coins, and jewelry—carefully arranged, each catching the light to remind visitors of their owner's wealth and taste.
Even the furniture away from the desk reflected the same opulence: a pair of deep leather chairs, a low table with an immaculate black lacquer finish, and a single ornate rug that tied the space together, thick enough to silence footsteps.
The far wall was almost entirely consumed by a window, floor to ceiling, the size of the entire wall. Beyond it, the academy spread out in all directions.
From this vantage point, Omari Gold could survey every inch of the grounds without leaving his office.
Which, of course, was exactly what he was doing.
The man known as "The Flame" stood with his hands folded neatly behind his back, his posture was relaxed, yet composed—like a king watching over a kingdom he already owned. As the soft click of the door echoed through the luxurious space, he turned slowly.
He faced his visitors with a smile. It was a grin filled with sharp confidence and an almost boyish mischief that didn't match the seriousness of his title.
He wasn't tall—no more than five foot five—but there was something about him that made it difficult to look down on him. A gleaming coin danced between his fingers, twirling effortlessly from knuckle to knuckle as though it had a mind of its own. His hands, small but fast, never seemed to be still for more than a second.
He took a few unhurried steps toward his desk before sliding into the grand leather chair. Once seated, he resumed playing with the coin, letting it flip over his fingers as his gaze flicked from Elliott to IAM.
Omari Gold was a descendant of the Giant.
His smile widened just slightly, the coin still dancing in his fingers. The room was silent, but Omari didn't seem in a rush to break it.
He was clearly enjoying the moment.
"Welcome! Welcome, come in, my hundred-gold-coin child," Omari said cheerfully, arms spread wide as if greeting an old friend.
Elliott moved silently, taking his place just behind Omari's chair, his ever-present smile still etched onto his face.
Omari gestured to the seat across from him, and IAM wordlessly obeyed, settling down as he took in the room again with curious eyes.
"It's a pretty nice office," IAM remarked.
"Why, thank you!" Omari beamed. "Now, I'm sure you have a lot of questions—but before you go diving into them, allow me."
He leaned forward slightly, interlocking his fingers on the desk and staring at IAM with a sudden, startling seriousness.
IAM narrowed his eyes a little, waiting.
"Is... your name really IAM GRIMM?" Omari asked carefully.
IAM blinked. "What?"
"More specifically... is your last name really Grimm?" Omari repeated, slower this time, watching IAM's reaction closely.
A sudden thought hit IAM like a bolt of lightning, and his eyes widened in realization. Without thinking, he blurted out—
"Is this about my adoptive mother?"
While IAM couldn't remember any details about his own personal life, when he had first come into this world, into this body, he'd discovered a diary tucked away in his desk.
It had belonged to the previous owner—the boy who had lived here before him. The entries had been sparse, vague at best, written with a kind of guarded tone, like the boy had never expected anyone to read them.
There had been almost nothing about his daily life or mention of friends or hobbies. The pages had been lonely.
But there was one moment that stood out clearly: a woman who had wished to adopt him.
She had visited the orphanage multiple times, according to the notes. She had spoken kindly, not like the others. She'd promised to return. Promised to come back and take him home.
But on the day she was supposed to pick him up... she never came.
She had disappeared completely, vanishing from the face of the Holem. Not a letter. Not a goodbye. Nothing.
IAM still remembered the emotion scribbled between the lines of those diary entries. The ink had almost scratched into the paper. Rage. Grief. Hopelessness.
That woman had given the past owner of this body his last hope. And then, she let that hope die.
It was she who had given him the name Grimm. He had chosen to keep it for some reason... or maybe because he didn't have anything else to hold onto.
As for IAM—his first name—it was still a mystery. He had no idea where it had come from. Maybe it had been the name his birth parents had given him. Or maybe... it was just something he had chosen for himself.
But to hear something about her, from the Flame of all people, rattled something in his core.
The Flame, Omari Gold, seemed absolutely delighted, his grin practically splitting his face.
"It truly is you…" he said, his voice soft but filled with excitement. "You're the child she talked about. The one she kept bringing up like a treasure she'd lost. You... are Diana's adoptive child."
IAM's expression didn't change but a chill sank through his chest.
Diana... Diana Grimm...
The woman who had once promised a future to a boy with nothing. The woman who had shown him light in a place where hope came to die... and then left him to die with it.
IAM asked, his voice low and uncertain, "What happened to her...? Why did she abandon... me?"
The Flame—Omari Gold—stopped spinning his coin.
His fingers stilled mid-twirl, and he slowly lowered the coin to his desk. For the first time since IAM had walked into the room, his smile faded, wiped clean.
"Diana Grimm," he began softly, "is dead."
Dead?
He swallowed hard, "How...?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
Omari didn't answer right away. He simply sat back in his seat, hands folded, watching IAM quietly—like he was trying to figure out how much to say and how much to keep hidden.