The days in the city drifted by with a quiet persistence. Willhem's life at the academy settled into a rhythm. Each morning, he would pass through the grand stone gates of the school, the scent of fresh parchment and ink greeting him as he stepped into the library. It was here, amidst the towering shelves, that he found his solace. Books became his companions, filling the void left by his father's absence. Even the occasional conversation with Edwin Hartwell felt like a rare treasure, the other boy's enthusiasm contagious as they poured over ancient texts, searching for secrets long buried.
The lessons, though rigorous, never seemed as important as the pursuit of knowledge itself. Each day, Willhem grew more aware of the world around him—its complexities, its mysteries, and the secrets it held just beneath the surface. And yet, his thoughts often wandered back to his father, to the war that raged far from the comfort of the academy's walls.
The city was an ever-changing landscape, the hum of progress permeating the air. Factories churned out goods for the empire, their iron spires stretching into the sky. The streets, once chaotic with the bustle of people, were now increasingly orderly, the advancements of the age pushing even the most stubborn traditions into the past. But beneath it all, the remnants of the old world lingered. Willhem would occasionally pass a clock tower or a cobblestone alleyway that whispered of ancient alchemical practices, the very things his father had taught him to respect and understand.
It was in the small moments that Willhem felt closest to him—when the scent of old leather books in the library reminded him of the time spent with his father in their study, or when the cool air of the early mornings outside made him recall the feeling of riding through the forest alongside Alwin.
Meanwhile, far from the bustle of the city, the frontier remained a place of isolation and uncertainty. The war, though distant in Willhem's thoughts, continued to unfold with a grim persistence. The rain that had once fallen on Alwin's camp had long since ceased, leaving behind a lingering tension in the air.
Alwin sat by the campfire, the cold night air biting at his skin. His soldiers were exhausted, the fight having worn them thin, but they carried on, driven by duty. There was an odd sense of stillness, as if the war itself had slowed to a crawl. Though the enemy had continued to skirmish along the perimeter, nothing truly significant had occurred in weeks.
"Commander, what's our next move?" a young officer asked, his voice breaking the silence.
Alwin's gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon. "We wait," he replied quietly. "There's something… unnatural about this quiet. It's as if the enemy is waiting for something too."
The tension in the camp was palpable, but there was little that could be done. The weather had worsened again, clouds rolling in from the east like the omen of something unseen.
Back in the city, the world seemed unaffected by the struggles of the frontier. Willhem continued to delve into the mysteries of alchemy, his knowledge expanding in ways he never thought possible. But it was a strange letter that would change the course of the war—or rather, end it.
The letter arrived with an air of finality, its seal marked with the insignia of the neighboring kingdom. Willhem's hands trembled as he read the contents, his eyes scanning the bold words that would mark the war's conclusion.
"The Kingdom of Aberath has decided to withdraw from the conflict. Citing an unnatural disturbance along the western ridge of their territory, all military operations are to cease immediately."
Willhem blinked, the words barely registering. Withdrawal? The enemy… simply withdrawing?
The rest of the letter explained little, but its tone was one of undeniable certainty. The enemy forces had been retreating in an uncoordinated manner, abandoning positions without explanation, leaving vast swathes of land untouched. Entire fortifications were left empty, their defenders disappearing without a trace. It was as if the very ground had swallowed them.
The unnatural occurrence, though not detailed, was whispered about in the corridors of the academy. Soldiers who had been stationed near the frontlines spoke of strange occurrences—ominous lights, a heavy hum in the air, and shadows that moved against the natural order of things. Some spoke of hearing voices in the night, while others claimed to have seen figures standing on the ridge, but the fear that hung in the air was palpable.
Willhem's thoughts drifted back to his father, to the frontier where he sat, waiting for answers that were never coming.
In the barracks, Alwin received the same letter. The days of waiting, of tension, suddenly gave way to confusion. He gathered his officers in the dim light of the command tent, the map of the frontier spread across the table before them.
"This doesn't make sense," Alwin muttered, running a hand through his hair. "They were on the cusp of pushing us back. Now, they just… leave?"
"Maybe it's a trick," Mathers offered, his voice low. "Or a trap."
Alwin shook his head. "It's not. Something has forced their hand. Something they can't explain, and they've retreated to whatever dark corner they came from."
The soldiers, their minds racing with questions, could only look to Alwin for guidance. But even he had none to offer. The war, it seemed, had ended with as much mystery as it had begun.
Days passed, the sun rising each morning over a battlefield now abandoned. As time wore on, the tension that had once gripped the soldiers began to fade. The withdrawal was not met with celebration—there were no triumphant victories, no flags raised in glory. Just a quiet resignation.
Alwin stood on the ridge one last time, the wind tugging at his coat as he gazed over the empty landscape. The frontier, once a place of intense conflict, was now a silent expanse. It was a moment of peace, but it was a hollow one. His soldiers, their faces weary, began the long march home.
Back in the city, Willhem felt the first stirrings of change. The academy's grand clock tower chimed the arrival of a new year, its bell tolling with a somber resonance. The war was over, but things were moving differently.
He could feel it, deep within his bones. The same restless energy that had thrummed through the city's streets was now echoing within him. The world was on the cusp of something greater, something he could not yet understand.