He arrived outside the Thorne family estate. The sprawling property, once a beacon of diligence showcasing over a century of accomplishments, was now unkempt. The statues were cracked and caked with mold, and the windows, once stained with exuberant patterns, were now grayed out. With considerable exertion, he opened the rusted iron gates emblazoned with the family crest and walked along the cobbled, moss-filled pathway until he was indoors.

The entrance hall stretched out before him; his gaze lingered on a canvas encased in an ornate golden frame: a painting of his parents. They stood together, his mother’s eyes filled with a warmth and tenderness he had long forgotten, and his father’s posture exuded a strength he often felt he lacked. He closed his eyes, and a wistful smile crossed his face as he tried to recall memories of them, but the memories faded and blurred.

He opened his eyes in response to clicking on the marble floor. Julian Thomson, Negus’ godfather and sole guardian since the death of his parents, greeted him.

“Wesley, it’s good to see you.” He looked up to the painting. “I hope I didn’t intrude on anything...”

“You didn’t, Julian. How have you been?”

“Good, but I’ve been meaning to ask you that. You’ve been rather distant since your return. I barely even see you home. What’s been keeping you?”

“The changes, I suppose. This city, this estate, held so many fond memories, and it feels like it’s dying. I’ve been gone so long, I can’t really remember it all from… from before they died. It’s all a hazy memory now.”

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Negus shifted his gaze to his godfather’s attire. He wore a tunic embroidered with an elegant gold pattern made from fine linen.

“What’s the special occasion, Julian? I haven’t seen you wear your finer garments since before I left.”

“I’m meeting a friend at a gathering. Many of the city’s nobles will be there.”

“Justard’s gala?”

“I’m surprised you’ve heard about it.”

“I ran into him on my way back to the estate. He told me about the gala.”

“Yes, I’m sure it will be quite the showing. Many members of the council will be there. Good people.”

Negus laughed. “Good people? From what I’ve seen, most of the council couldn’t care less about this city. I’m sure they’re more interested in filling their pockets.”

“Wesley, plenty of good people are still left on the council. You’ve been gone for years; do not come back and suddenly think you know it all.”

Negus looked back at the painting, his mother’s eyes no longer tender but haunting. “When you sent me to that school, I waited for a letter from you, proclaiming the all-seeing council would have news of my parent’s killers. But after all this time, nothing. Not a single damned thing. So yes, sorry, my faith in this city’s leaders isn’t adequate.”

“These things take time, son. I want answers as much as you, and I trust the council to see this investigation through.” He placed his right hand on Negus’ shoulder. “They’ll find who killed your parents. Now, you must excuse me; the gala will begin soon.”

The gala.

Negus made haste out of the estate and back into the city.