Atop one of the main buildings of the Greyson Residence, a lone figure stood with a toothy grin spreading across his face as his silvery-white hair trailed smoothly in the wind.
Raising one hand, he clenched it tightly as if trying to trap the wind in his fist before letting out a quiet sigh.
"The wind carries neither malice nor intent, yet every age of turmoil begins with its arrival."
Rysten smiled wryly as he sank deeper into his thoughts, his hands folding behind his back.
Never once in his life had he expected to see the day when all clans and forces within Tempest would bow beneath one banner.
The Greyson banner. Yet here it was.
A strange sense of fulfillment washed over him. With order came peace, something Tempest had been devoid of for a very long time. He could already see a future where the younger generation had ample time to nurture and bloom their talents.
A future where the older generation stepped aside and allowed the young to take the reins.
