The morning sunlight streamed through the grand windows of the Vossmer estate, illuminating the dining table where Elion sat across from Elara. Their breakfast was quiet, the clinking of cutlery and the occasional sip of tea filling the air.
Elion's thoughts, however, were far from peaceful.
Four years.
Four years, and I've found nothing.
Elion sat at the edge of his seat, fists clenched as he stared blankly at the morning light streaming through the window. His golden eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, were clouded with frustration.
He had tried everything—everything—to uncover the origins of the Dred, to understand their connection to the system, to himself. For four long years, he had scoured every lead, and yet, he was no closer to the truth.
Elion's mind drifted back to those long nights when he tried to seek answers from the system. And his first attempt had been simple—straight to the point.
