Night descended slowly over the black castle. The magic torches along the walls glowed steadily, their pale-blue light reflecting on the snow's surface. The winter wind slipped between the tower crevices, carrying the faint clinking of chains that hung from ancient stone statues. Yet, despite the thousands of new zombies now occupying the outer courtyard, the atmosphere did not feel chaotic.
These troops from Nocture were unlike the zombies of this world. Their eyes were not the hollow voids of shambling corpses, but calm, controlled carrying a faint but directed awareness. In a single night, they had already begun adapting: guard lines on the walls stood firm without command, hunter units patrolled the surrounding forest in disciplined groups, and even a few undead mages erected small wards in the courtyard's corners.
From the main tower balcony, Sylvia watched it all.
