“Just a moment,” a voice called from within. The door swung open and a Southern man with short-cut blonde hair and icy blue eyes greeted her, the goatee around his mouth curling into a smile. “Vhalla, come in, come in,” Minister Victor ushered.

She was welcomed into the lavish office; it was a level of wealth that she was still unaccustomed to. Plush cerulean carpet beneath her booted feet reminded her of the Imperial Library in a physically painful way. Vhalla quickly sat at one of the three chairs situated before the desk.

“I was just finishing my breakfast. Are you hungry?” He motioned to a plate filled with an assortment of pastries.

“No.” Vhalla shook her head, bringing her hands together and wringing her fingers.

“No?” The minister cocked his head. “You couldn’t have eaten.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Now, Vhalla,” he scolded in a familial tone. “You need to keep up your strength.”

She stared at the muffin in his extended hand. Her training won out, and Vhalla listened to the man above her station. She picked at it listlessly, but that seemed to be enough for the minister.

“So tomorrow is the day,” he stated obviously.

“It is.” Vhalla nodded.

“I’d like to go over one or two things with you, before you march.” Vhalla continued to pick at her food as he spoke. “Foremost, I want you to know that no one in the Tower harbors any ill will toward you.”

Vhalla had a few bruises from Major Reale’s training that could beg to differ, but she busied her mouth with the muffin.

“I have informed all of the Black Legion that you are to be kept under close watch and be defended at all times,” Victor continued. “As the first Windwalker in nearly a hundred and fifty years I’d like to see you live long enough to study in the Tower.”

“Have you informed the Senate of this decision? I’m fairly certain they want me dead,” Vhalla replied numbly.

“Resentment doesn’t suit you.” The minister leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingers together.

“Excuse me,” Vhalla mumbled a half-hearted apology and snuck the partly eaten muffin back onto the minister’s plate.

“You need to return alive, Vhalla.” Minister Victor regarded her thoughtfully. “I need you to believe that you will be able to do this.”

Vhalla didn’t know how she could be expected to keep herself alive when she could barely manage magic. Mother, she could barely manage to close her eyes for more than a few minutes without horrors haunting her. “Very well,” Vhalla feigned agreement.

The minister only sighed at her response. “Will it help you if I give purpose to your days?” Minister Victor leaned forward, his elbows on his desk as though he was to impart a great secret upon her. “There is something I need ... and only you, as a Windwalker, can retrieve it.”