Luke stood at the edge of the building, his eyes scanning its aged yet graceful structure. The pull he felt wasn't fading; if anything, it grew stronger, like an invisible thread winding around his chest and tugging him closer. The whispers in his mind weren't words but feelings—a mix of intrigue and unease that sent shivers up his spine.
The building's exterior seemed more ancient than the rest of Hematheas. The architecture was distinctly elven, but the subtle cracks in the stone and the overgrown vines hinted at neglect, as though it hadn't been used in years. Its seclusion only added to its mystique, detached from the rest of the castle as though forgotten by time itself.
"What is this place?" Luke murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible over the faint rustle of leaves. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the cool stone. The surface was smooth, almost unnaturally so, and the moment his skin made contact, a jolt of energy surged through him.
