No News of Owen Yates

Yvette sat at her grand desk, surrounded by the familiar hustle of her bustling office. The weight of her achievements pressed down on her, but something felt off—something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Her mind kept returning to Owen, his sudden absence, and the strange, haunting image of him lost in the snow.

She tapped her pen against the desk, lost in thought, as the soft hum of conversation continued beyond her office door. Finally, with a sigh, she called for her assistant.

Yvette: "Jessica, come in."

The door creaked open, and Jessica, Yvette's efficient and composed assistant, stepped inside.

Jessica: "Yes, ma'am? How can I assist you?"

Yvette leaned back in her chair, her expression neutral but thoughtful.

Yvette: "I need an update on Owen."

Jessica hesitated, frowning slightly as she glanced at her notes.

Jessica: "I'm afraid I don't have any updates, ma'am. His cell is still unreachable, and there's been no word from his side. I've tried tracking his usual routes, but…"

She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence.

Yvette's eyes narrowed, her frustration barely contained beneath her composed exterior.

Yvette: "Unreachable? For weeks?"

Jessica nodded, her tone tinged with confusion.

Jessica: "Yes, ma'am. I've contacted every possible source, but there's been no trace of him. The authorities, his family—no one knows where he's gone. It's as if he vanished into thin air."

Yvette's fingers clenched the edge of her desk as she processed the information. A strange unease curled in her stomach. The man she had dismissed, the one she once viewed as irrelevant, had completely disappeared without a trace.

Yvette: "Thank you, Jessica. That will be all."

Jessica bowed slightly and turned to leave, leaving Yvette to sit alone in her office. The silence stretched, and Yvette found herself unable to focus on her work. Her thoughts, instead, drifted to Owen.

Yvette (to herself): "Where are you, Owen? What have you done?"

Her once-steadfast confidence was now replaced by a gnawing sense of doubt and lingering uncertainty.

The air was sharp and cold, cutting through like the blade of a warrior. Owen stood on the edge of a steep cliff, his body covered in scars from his relentless training.

The serene backdrop of snow-covered mountains belied the storm raging within him as he prepared for what lay ahead. His breath was steady, his gaze fixed, and his mind focused.

The head monk, a figure of wisdom and calm authority, stood a few feet away. His hands clasped behind his back, his face solemn, as if weighing the gravity of the words he was about to impart.

Monk: "Owen, your training has reached its peak. You have mastered the art of endurance, the flow of divine energy, and the discipline of the mind. But now comes the hardest part."

Owen turned his head slightly, his expression calm but curious.

Owen: "And what would that be, Master?"

The monk stepped closer, his voice grave.

Monk: "Your enemies from this point on will not just seek to kill you. They will be more dangerous than death itself. They will attack your mind, your soul, and your very essence. Their power will test not only your strength but your will to remain who you are."

Owen clenched his fists, his jaw tightening.

Owen: "I am ready. I have no fear of death or of these enemies."

The monk shook his head gently, his expression one of pity and understanding.

Monk: "Fear of death is not the concern. The true danger lies in what you may become as you face them. The line between righteousness and destruction is thin, Owen. In your pursuit to destroy the evil you despise, you must ensure that you do not turn into the very thing you swore to destroy."

Owen was silent, his mind processing the monk's words. For a moment, doubt flickered in his usually steadfast eyes.

Owen: "What if... what if it's the only way to defeat them? What if becoming like them is the price I must pay?"

The monk's gaze hardened, his voice sharp.

Monk: "That is the temptation they will offer you. Power without restraint, vengeance without mercy. But remember this, Owen: no victory is worth losing yourself. The path you walk is not just about defeating your enemies. It is about upholding the values you fight for."

Owen looked down at his hands, scarred and calloused, the hands of a man who had endured unimaginable trials. His voice was low but resolute.

Owen: "I understand, Master. I will not falter. I will not become what I despise."

The monk placed a hand on Owen's shoulder, his expression softening.

Monk: "Good. But always remember, the battle within you will be as fierce as the battle outside. Stay true to yourself, Owen. Only then can you truly prevail."

As the monk turned to leave, Owen looked out at the vast expanse of mountains before him. He clenched his fists once more, his resolve stronger than ever.

Owen (to himself): "I will face whatever comes, and I will remain who I am. No matter the cost."

The snow began to fall softly, a quiet prelude to the storm of challenges that awaited him.