The night air was cool, but a heavy tension filled the atmosphere as Alaric's carriage rolled toward the Macallisters' stronghold. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver light across the rocky path. Alaric sat inside the carriage, his expression impassive, while Gilbert, ever the vigilant servant, drove with steady hands. Their destination loomed ahead, a massive stone fortress nestled among the rugged cliffs—a fitting home for the ruthless Macallisters.
As the carriage approached the stronghold's gates, two werewolf guards, burly and menacing, stepped forward, halting their progress. Their eyes gleamed with suspicion as they scrutinized the dark, imposing carriage.
"Who are you? What business do you have here?" one of the guards barked, his voice rough and commanding.
Gilbert, remaining calm, replied, "We're here to speak with Duncan Macallister."
