Prologue: Storm
I still remember my father’s death. It was my only clear memory of him. Seeing his body draped across the hospital bed. His neck punctured by a needle. His eyes shut like he was sleeping, hands cold and numb.
I remember my mother kneeling, clasping his lifeless hand, weeping as a man in a crisp suit explained in words as shiny as his polished leather shoes. My father was working when he collapsed, struck by an incurable heart disease. It claimed him before he reached the hospital.
I still remember the man’s name. Pince. Head of consumables. He led the Council, the coalition of Seranid’s business heads. It was he who carried my father to the hospital. He who comforted my mother as she sobbed.
I wondered why he cared so much.
I still remember the other man in that stark, sterile room. The one with wild silver hair who squeezed my hand and whispered, “You’ll be seeing me very soon.” When my four-year-old gaze met his, I glimpsed a storm behind his eyes, threatening to wash away all the colors in the world.
Then he slipped away.
Years later, he saved my life. I set out to finish what my father began.
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