(Part 1: Arrival & Castle Description)
The castle of Carfein loomed like a mountain of white stone against the night sky. Moonlight struck its high towers and glimmered across banners that carried the crest of the great tree—its roots entwined in red and gold.
Aria was led by two guards through the eastern wing, her steps echoing against a floor polished so smooth it almost reflected the stars. The walls breathed history. Every panel was carved with battles, triumphs, and the faces of Quarties long dead. Some had wings spread wide, others tails curled like serpents, all of them tall and regal, their features sharp as blades.
Her heart wouldn't stop pounding. She could feel sweat prickling the back of her neck beneath the heavy dress Lirien's attendants had forced her into. Silk clung to her in layers, embroidered with symbols she didn't understand. She felt like a lamb wrapped in finery, walking toward the butcher's blade.
They reached a set of doors so vast she thought they could swallow her whole. The wood was blackened, etched with veins of silver that formed intricate spirals around a central sigil—the glowing tree she had glimpsed from the balcony.
The guards pushed them open.
What lay beyond stole her breath.
The council chamber was a cathedral of roots. High above, branches arched across the ceiling as though the living tree itself had pierced the stone and spread inside. The air smelled faintly of sap, resin, and something older—like forgotten soil. Along the curved walls hung banners dyed crimson and green, interspersed with torches that flickered and cast shadows as tall as giants.
At the far end, raised upon a dais, stood the throne.
It wasn't just a seat—it was a crown carved into the shape of twisting roots, each tendril wrapping around like veins of an ancient heart. Upon it sat King Julian Almoth.
Time had weighed heavily upon him. His hair was silver, falling in a mane around his shoulders, and his skin bore the lines of centuries. Yet his eyes were hard amber, steady and unyielding. On his brow rested a circlet wrought from living vines, still green, still pulsing faintly as if alive.
Around him gathered the council: six figures seated at a crescent table of blackwood. Each bore a cloak marked with their station—emerald for wisdom, crimson for war, gold for law, and blue for knowledge. Their eyes followed Aria with the same intensity a hawk gives a mouse.
She stumbled as the guards urged her forward, feeling the enormity of the room swallow her whole.
The king raised one hand, and silence blanketed the chamber.
"Bring her closer." His voice was deep, steady, though softened by age.
Aria's knees trembled as she approached the dais. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to hide, but the guards flanked her too close for escape. She forced herself to lift her chin, though her eyes betrayed the fear she carried.
The king studied her for a long moment, his gaze sharp, weighing her like one might weigh a weapon before battle.
"So," he said at last. "The human."
The word struck her chest like a stone.