In a dim and dilapidated office with walls covered in old, peeling paint, dust floated in the air like a silent dance.
Sunlight streamed through dusty windows, bathing the room in a pale, melancholic glow. The solid wooden furniture, weathered by time, seemed to whisper tales of the past, while the floorboards creaked softly under the weight of time.
In one corner of the office, a mountain of documents loomed proudly, ready to collapse under its own weight.
Dusty files stretched as far as the eye could see, forming a disorderly labyrinth of papers and folders.
Some were yellowed with age, revealing the years of toil that had passed since their creation. Colorful sticky notes, like stray flowers, clung to the documents, bearing witness to futile attempts at organization.
The desk itself was overrun with disorder.
Abandoned pens, their ink dried, lay scattered about, testifying to neglect and apathy.
An old crystal paperweight was carelessly placed, scattering its soft light through the layers of paper. A half-empty, cold coffee mug lay negligently on the right corner of the desk, a testament to the once bustling activity in this place.
A man was engrossed in an unenviable task: peacefully picking his nose.
His weary eyes glanced distractedly at the mountain of paperwork before him, seemingly oblivious to the magnitude of the task ahead.
The silence of the office was abruptly interrupted by the ringing of a landline phone, breaking the dusty and solitary harmony of the place.
The device was covered in a fine layer of grime, like a coat of neglect.
As the shrill sound echoed in the stifling atmosphere, the walls seemed to tremble, disturbing the dull silence that pervaded.
Without a care, the man abandoned his unsavory task and reached for the receiver.
His tired fingers grasped the phone with apathetic slowness.
The echo of his voice, mixed with the faint crackle of the device, reached him with an unsettling strangeness.
[Sorry to bother you, Magister, but someone is asking to see you.]
A woman's voice then came from the receiver.
"Hmm? Who is it?" Asked the somewhat surprised man.
[He says his name is Rashville, Magister.]
At these words, the man's eyes widened for a moment.
His gaze displayed a mixture of detachment and displeasure as he glanced at the piles of documents that seemed to taunt him.
"Tell him I'm busy and can't see him," he muttered disinterestedly.
The woman, visibly embarrassed, timidly acquiesced, a strange noise coming from the other end of the line.
The initially female voice had taken on a masculine tone and a hint of humor.
With a hint of mischief in his voice, the stranger admonished the man: [Do you think we'll swallow such nonsense? The day you work seriously, pigs will fly! You better see me or I'll spill all your tricks to your men.]
Frowning brows and pursed lips, the man exhaled deeply, a sign of his growing frustration.
Seconds passed in tense silence as he stared at the device with a piercing gaze.
Then, after a brief moment of reflection, he made a decision.
"Alright, that's enough! Stop scaring my staff and come straight to my office if you have something to say."
The voice, evidently amused by this response, muttered for a few moments before abruptly hanging up.
With a weary gesture, the man placed the receiver back on its base.
The office, still bathed in semi-darkness, seemed to come alive.
The sunlight, though timid, made the suspended dust sparkle, creating a ballet of ephemeral particles.
The man's gaze, filled with determination, swept the room one last time before finally settling on the door.
He waited, patient, arms crossed over his chest, his nose still slightly red from his recent activity.
A few endless moments passed, then the door slowly opened, revealing a massive silhouette.
A man in his forties, dressed in an elegant dark suit, appeared.
His face bore a smirk that hinted at a confrontational conversation to come.
The tired man's eyes scrutinized his visitor, trying to discern the intentions of this intriguing individual. As a heavy silence settled, the glow of the desk's sole lamp revealed determined faces and minds ready for a showdown.
Suddenly, the two men, suddenly overcome by an uncontrollable fit of laughter, were carried away by their hilarity.
The sound of their laughter filled the room, brimming with joy and affection.
After a few moments, the man sitting on the desk managed to catch his breath and suppressed the last remnants of laughter still shaking his body.
He looked at his friend and, with a radiant smile, remarked, "It's been ages since you last visited me! I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me."
"But come on, it's your turn to come see me, after all, I'm the elder!" replied the visitor immediately, amused.
The teasing banter continued between the two men, friendly jokes stirring up shared memories and creating a warm atmosphere.
"My dear friend, you've aged quite a bit! I'm not sure my desk can contain all the wisdom that's taken over you," remarked the man sitting on the desk with a wink.
"At least I'm not gaining weight in fat!" retorted his friend, laughing.
Their banter continued for a few more moments before the man sitting on the desk invited his friend to take a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs arranged around the room.
His visitor accepted the invitation eagerly and settled comfortably.
"Well, my dear friend, what brings you finally to the humility of my guild?" asked the man sitting on the desk with empathy and sincere interest, curious to know the reason for this unexpected visit.
His friend paused for a moment, then replied in a serious tone, "Do you know what happened in the country of Fion two days ago?"
The man sitting on the desk nodded wearily and replied, "Yes, unfortunately, I had to attend an endless meeting about it. It was quite a commotion."
"Then you know how this crisis was resolved," replied the visitor, with an enigmatic smile.
"In essence, yes," replied the man on the desk, shrugging. "Apparently, two members of the Senkaï guild from Fion intervened and resolved the situation. Not surprising."
The visitor shook his head disapprovingly and whispered, "My dear friend, you're mistaken. The matter is much deeper than that." A mischievous smile spread across his face. "I've managed to get my hands on the true version of events."
Intrigued, the man on the desk remained silent, ready to hear what his friend had to reveal.
"Fion actually enlisted an underground mage to handle this matter," continued the visitor in a more serious tone. "They simply masked his intervention by making it appear to be the work of the Senkaï."
"Hmm, I see," replied the man, not very surprised by this news. "I understand that for a newly emerging country like Fion, it may seem reasonable to use a mercenary as a precaution. But it's disappointing, the lack of honor from their authorities. They let their affairs be settled by a foreigner."
The visitor, observing his friend's reaction, admired his analytical thinking.
"Regardless, the real issue lies with the mage in question," he declared.
"What's so special about this mercenary you're talking about?" asked the man, perplexed.
"This mage is from the Zion guild," replied the visitor seriously.
The man burst out laughing, stunned by this revelation.
"Zion? Really? Fion called in a big shot for a simple crisis? They really have a sense of extravagance, huh!"
The visitor took out his mobile phone from his pocket, manipulated the interface for a moment, then handed it to his friend, saying, "If only things had stopped at mere extravagance. Take a look at this, and you'll understand."
Intrigued, the man took the phone and began to look at the image shown to him.
He could barely make out a silhouette with silver hair.
"What's this? What am I supposed to see from a blurry photo?" he asked, looking at his friend, perplexed.
"This is a photo of the mage in question, a capture I managed to obtain from certain reliable sources," declared the visitor.
The man, lost, was about to ask what significance it held. But the visitor guessed the man's confused thoughts.
"The real issue lies beyond this photo. Scroll through the image, my friend," he added.
Intrigued and a little anxious, the man slid his fingers across the phone screen.
His eyes widened when he saw the image that followed.
He was shocked by what he had just discovered.
He looked at his friend, incredulous.
"Am I dreaming, or is that name really the one that comes to mind?" asked the man to the visitor explicitly.
"I became interested in this mage out of pure curiosity. But when receiving information from the guild through a source, I had a moment of clarity. That's what prompted me to come here, because this concerns both of us," explained the visitor calmly.
The man was still in shock as he held the image on the phone.
The image in question was a screenshot of some sort of identification card, with a clearer photo of the silver-haired man, as well as information about him.
But what caught the man's attention was the name clearly inscribed: Vylrald Grimwald.
The man stared at the image on the phone and asked uncertainly, "Is it really him?"
The visitor shrugged.
"I can't say for sure, as his appearance in the photo is different. But it's possible he underwent plastic surgery or, who knows, a spell," he replied honestly.
The man shook his head, affirming that he was certain he had eliminated this man once and for all.
"I'm absolutely sure I took care of him once and for all."
The visitor then questioned him, "Did you see his body with your own eyes?"
"How is it possible to leave a body when you're reduced to ashes?" replied the man, puzzled.
"Well, then it might as well be an impostor, who knows?" retorted the visitor.
He then took back his phone, fiddled with it again, and handed it back to the man.
"Here's one of the most visible videos, showing the mage in action during the crisis," he said.
The man started the video, and his eyes widened as he saw the sky illuminated with a thousand fires, while luminous projectiles rained down on a city.
He turned to the visitor, his brows furrowed, who commented, "If this man is an impostor, he's still someone very disturbing."
The visitor took back his phone and then asked the man, "What do you plan to do?"
The man took a moment to think, then declared resolutely, "I have to meet him. If he's an impostor, I'll simply ask him his connection to Vylrald, and depending on the circumstances, I'll act accordingly. But if it turns out to be him, then... I'll make sure he regrets coming back from the dead."