The sky above the academy darkened long before sunset.
Heavy clouds drifted across the heavens in vast, slow-moving waves, swallowing the sun behind layers of gray. Their shadows stretched across the floating city and transformed its silver towers into silent silhouettes standing above a sea of mist. The wind had grown stronger since morning, carrying with it the scent of distant rain and the strange stillness that often preceded a storm.
From the highest levels of the academy, one could watch the clouds moving beneath the floating districts themselves.
It was a sight most students never grew tired of.
Today, however, few paid attention to it.
The revelation inside the Hall of Strategic Operations had spread throughout the upper divisions faster than anyone expected.
The Northern Frontier.
The Black Monument.
The missing expeditions.
The ancient ruins.
And perhaps most importantly—
The possibility that other gates existed.
Rumors moved through the academy like wildfire.
Some students dismissed them.
Others exaggerated them.
A handful became obsessed.
The instructors attempted to suppress the speculation.
They failed.
Naturally.
Kael walked alone through one of the oldest districts of the academy, following a path few students ever used. The stone beneath his feet was worn smooth by centuries of use, while the walls surrounding the elevated walkway carried inscriptions so old that most had faded beyond recognition.
The district felt different from the rest of the academy.
Older.
Quieter.
Almost forgotten.
Many of the structures here had existed before the newer towers were built. Ancient archways connected isolated platforms suspended above the clouds, and massive statues stood watch over deserted courtyards where no students trained anymore.
It was difficult to believe that thousands of people lived only a few districts away.
The silence was almost unsettling.
A cold wind moved through the corridor.
The hem of Kael's coat shifted slightly.
The mark beneath his glove remained dormant.
Yet ever since the briefing, he had found himself thinking about the monument constantly.
Not intentionally.
The image simply refused to leave his mind.
The black stone.
The endless snow.
The figure standing beside it.
Waiting.
The word lingered in his thoughts.
Waiting.
For what?
For whom?
The answer continued to elude him.
The corridor eventually opened into a circular courtyard hidden between several ancient towers.
At its center stood a tree.
It was enormous.
Far larger than any normal tree should have been.
Its silver bark gleamed softly beneath the cloudy sky while countless crystal-like leaves swayed gently in the wind. The branches stretched outward in every direction, forming a natural canopy that covered almost the entire courtyard.
The tree was ancient.
Perhaps older than the academy itself.
Kael had discovered the courtyard during his second year and occasionally visited whenever he needed silence.
Today, however, he wasn't alone.
An old man sat beneath the tree.
The sight surprised him.
The man wore simple gray robes and held a weathered book in his hands. His silver hair moved gently with the wind while his eyes remained fixed upon the pages before him.
For a moment, Kael considered leaving.
Then the old man spoke.
"You've been staring at that tree for nearly a minute."
His voice was calm.
Amused.
Kael froze.
The old man turned a page.
Without looking up.
"Either sit down or continue walking. Standing there awkwardly helps neither of us."
For several seconds, Kael remained silent.
Then he slowly approached.
The old man finally raised his eyes.
And immediately, Kael recognized him.
Not because they had met before.
Because everyone in the academy knew who he was.
Archivist Valen.
The Keeper of Records.
One of the oldest instructors still active within the academy.
Some students claimed he had served three Headmasters.
Others insisted he was older than that.
The rumors varied.
The truth remained unclear.
The old man studied him quietly.
Then smiled.
"So you're the boy causing everyone headaches."
Kael blinked.
"Excuse me?"
Valen chuckled softly.
"The bearer."
Ah.
That.
Kael sighed.
"People are saying that openly now?"
"Only the people who already know."
That was somehow worse.
The old archivist closed his book and rested it upon his lap.
For a few moments, neither spoke.
The silver leaves above them rustled softly in the wind.
Eventually, Valen broke the silence.
"The monument troubles you."
Not a question.
Kael hesitated briefly.
Then nodded.
Valen seemed unsurprised.
"Good."
That answer caught him off guard.
"Good?"
The old man leaned back against the tree.
"Curiosity keeps people alive."
A pause.
"Most of the time."
Not reassuring.
The archivist looked toward the distant horizon.
For a while, he appeared lost in thought.
Then he spoke again.
"Do you know what history really is?"
Kael frowned slightly.
The question seemed random.
"No."
Valen smiled faintly.
"Neither do historians."
The answer only made things more confusing.
The old man appeared pleased by that.
"People imagine history as a collection of facts. Dates. Names. Events."
He shook his head.
"They are wrong."
The wind grew stronger.
Several silver leaves drifted from the ancient tree and spiraled through the courtyard.
"History is memory."
His voice had become quieter.
More thoughtful.
"Not what happened."
A pause.
"What survived."
The words lingered in the air.
Valen looked toward Kael.
"The problem with memory is that it fades."
The archivist's expression darkened slightly.
"Sometimes naturally."
Another pause.
"Sometimes intentionally."
Now that was interesting.
Kael remained silent.
The old man continued.
"There are entire civilizations missing from our records."
"What?"
Valen nodded.
"Kingdoms. Empires. Peoples."
The wind rustled through the leaves above them.
"The world is far older than most realize."
Kael thought of the monument.
The gates.
The ancient symbols.
The stories Ragnor mentioned.
Slowly, the pieces began connecting.
"The gates."
Valen smiled.
"Ah."
A dangerous smile.
The smile of someone who knew more than they intended to share.
"The gates are history."
Kael's eyes narrowed.
"What does that mean?"
The archivist looked toward the clouds.
For several moments, he remained silent.
Then he answered.
"It means they were built."
The same conclusion Ragnor had reached.
Yet hearing it confirmed by someone else made it far more real.
Kael felt a chill run down his spine.
Because monuments were built.
Academies were built.
Kingdoms were built.
Nothing simply appeared.
Someone had created the gates.
Someone had designed them.
Someone had understood them.
The implication was terrifying.
Valen observed his reaction calmly.
"Exactly."
The old man closed his book.
A faint sigh escaped him.
"The problem is that we no longer know who."
Silence settled between them.
The silver tree swayed gently overhead.
Far away, thunder rolled through the clouds.
The coming storm was drawing closer.
Eventually, Kael asked the question lingering in his thoughts.
"The monument."
Valen's eyes sharpened.
"The one in the Northern Frontier."
A brief pause.
Then the archivist nodded.
"What about it?"
Kael looked toward the distant horizon.
"The mark reacted."
For the first time since the conversation began, the old man's expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Subtly.
Concern.
It vanished almost immediately.
Yet Kael noticed it.
Valen remained silent for several moments.
Long enough for the answer itself to become meaningful.
Finally, he spoke.
"That is unfortunate."
The words sent another chill through him.
Unfortunate.
Not surprising.
Not impossible.
Unfortunate.
Which meant the archivist had expected something similar.
The realization settled heavily in Kael's mind.
Before he could ask another question, thunder echoed once more.
This time much closer.
Both of them looked upward.
The storm had arrived.
Dark clouds now covered the entire sky above the academy.
Rain would begin soon.
Valen slowly rose to his feet.
Despite his age, his movements remained steady.
The old man tucked the weathered book beneath one arm.
Then looked toward Kael one final time.
"The frontier remembers things that the rest of the world has forgotten."
His voice was calm.
Yet there was something unsettling hidden beneath it.
"Be careful what answers you seek."
The archivist turned and began walking away.
Several steps later, he stopped.
Without looking back, he added:
"Not every ancient truth wishes to be discovered."
Then he disappeared into the corridor.
Leaving Kael alone beneath the silver tree.
Moments later, the first drops of rain began to fall from the darkened sky.
And somewhere far beyond the horizon, beneath endless snow and forgotten centuries, a black monument stood in silent darkness.
Waiting.