The tower of House Zephyr rose like a silver needle against the evening sky, its spiraling architecture designed to catch and channel the wind currents that flowed around Luminis. At its peak, in a circular chamber lined with windows that offered views in every direction, Archmage Aldwin Zephyr sat behind a desk carved from a single piece of white oak.
The current master of Air magic was a man in his sixties, with silver hair that seemed to move even when there was no breeze, and pale blue eyes that held the restless energy of storm clouds. He had held his position for nearly twenty years, ever since his predecessor had been banished from the Conclave for questioning the source of their magical power.
He had never expected to hear her name again.
A soft knock interrupted his evening meditation. "Enter," he called, not looking up from the weather charts spread across his desk.
