The carriage stopped slowly in front of the impressive gates of Frostborne Hall, its wheels making a crunching sound on the snowy path as it came to a rest. Towering iron gates, frosted over and adorned with intricate carvings of wolves and crescent moons, loomed ahead. The Frostborne crest had a subtle gleam that seemed to emerge from the cold surroundings, giving it an almost ethereal glow under the faint light of the clouded sky.
Erik, still sitting inside, gazed out at the familiar sight of the family stronghold. The structure was as imposing as ever, its icy battlements cutting into the skyline like sharp, frozen blades. Frost clung to the stone walls, and the banners bearing the white wolf and crescent moon hung heavy with snow.
