It was time.

A tall figure walked slowly through the woodlands, worn boots striding through the long grass, the occasional branch tugging at his black leather jacket. He crested a small rise as the trees around him thinned out, and the wanderer emerged into a clearing overlooking a collection of buildings just as the sun slid over the horizon, bathing the scene in the blood-gold light of dawn. A light rain began to fall, barely more than a mist but enough to dampen the dark hair that framed an older face than last looked upon this sight.

After the disastrous events that led to his rapid departure from FourPoints Academy, Branden had never been certain he would return. Old wounds, both physical and otherwise, still burned on late, tormented nights. He looked down and flexed his right arm, watching the long, upraised scar that travelled the length of his inside forearm shift with the movement of his muscles. It had been a long time, and logically he had no place here, but it felt right to return. Perhaps he might yet find some old friends, if time had not swept them all away.

He stood for a time and looked out over the school as the sun slowly crept up the sky. The light fell across his face, lightening the thin scar on the left side of his jaw and reflecting something new in his eyes. There was still something here for him, old ghosts to lay to rest. He gave a small nod and began walking again, moving with a more determined stride down the hill toward the Academy.

It was time to come back.