Morning light stretched thin across Greyhold as Arden and his party moved together through the town's still-quiet streets.
No words were needed, the invitation had already weighed on their thoughts through the night. By the time the castle loomed before them, the air felt heavier.
Greyhold's castle wasn't as vast as the one Arden remembered from the city ruled by House Caelum, but its walls were solid and imposing.
The stones carried an old gray tint, marked by faint runes that still pulsed with protective aether.
To others it would look grand, but to Arden it lacked the sharp pride and brilliance of Caelum's keep, and the thought lingered quietly in the back of his mind, a memory not his own yet sharp enough to sting.
