As Kiaren neared his destination, the city around him faded into silence, leaving only the towering golden gate before him. The gate gleamed faintly in the dim light, its intricate carvings of twisting vines and serpentine dragons appearing almost alive as the shadows danced across them. Towering walls stretched on either side, their seamless stone construction imposing and cold.
Above, two tall guard towers loomed, their torchlight casting flickering halos around the watchful figures perched atop them. Three soldiers observed his approach with sharp, suspicious eyes, their armor polished to a near-blinding gleam that caught the faint glow of the enchanted lanterns lining the walls.
As Kiaren reached the base of the gate, he stopped, his movements deliberate, his posture calm but commanding.
"Do not move any further. State your purpose," one of the soldiers barked, his tone edged with authority.
Kiaren inclined his head slightly, his expression placid. "I am but a messenger. I bring a message for the Duke," he called out, his voice steady and measured, carrying easily over the cool night air.
The nearest soldier, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running from his jawline to his temple, leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing as they scrutinized Kiaren. "A Dragonkin?" he muttered, his voice laced with disbelief. "What business do you have here?"
Kiaren didn't flinch. His reply came smoothly, accompanied by a slight bow of his head to emphasize his subservience. "I am merely a servant," he said, his tone as calm and unwavering as his posture.
The scarred soldier snorted, clearly unconvinced. "And what person wields the power to make a Dragonkin their servant? Who do you serve?"
Kiaren hesitated for the briefest moment, the kind of pause that seemed natural for someone choosing their words carefully. "I serve two merchants," he replied. "They wish to discuss business with the Duke. I request permission to deliver their message personally."
The soldier's suspicion only deepened. "Who are these merchants? What are their names?"
Kiaren's glowing green eyes flicked up slightly, catching the faint glint of the soldier's spear under the torchlight. "Their names are Blanche and Trevor," he said, his voice never faltering.
The soldiers exchanged glances. Their suspicion remained evident, but Kiaren's demeanor—humble yet confident—seemed to disarm them just enough.
One of the guards, a younger man with a deep frown etched across his face, leaned toward the scarred soldier and muttered something too low for Kiaren to catch. The older soldier gave a curt nod before gesturing to a gatekeeper stationed just inside the archway.
"Go. Inform the Duke that a messenger awaits."
The gatekeeper saluted sharply and disappeared into the shadows beyond the gate, his steps echoing faintly against the stone.
Kiaren remained motionless as the moments stretched into minutes, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. He appeared every bit the obedient servant, yet his senses were razor-sharp, tuned to every sound, every flicker of movement in the periphery.
The city around him seemed to hold its breath. The muffled murmur of distant voices faded as the hour deepened. The golden gates before him loomed larger with each passing moment, their glowing carvings casting faint, hypnotic patterns across the ground. Kiaren's sharp eyes caught the subtle glimmer of warding glyphs etched into the stone, their ancient magic thrumming faintly against his aura.
This was no ordinary stronghold.
Behind him, the whispers of unseen onlookers reached his ears, carried by the still night air.
"A Dragonkin? Here?"
"What does he want?"
"Trouble, for sure. Their kind always brings it."
Kiaren ignored the murmurs, his mind focused on the task at hand. Each second was an opportunity to assess, to gather details about the Duke's operation. This mission wasn't just about delivering a message; it was about pulling threads, revealing weaknesses, and most importantly, baiting the vampires that Noir had suspected lurked in the shadows.
An hour passed. The torches burned steadily, their light unmoving in the still air. Kiaren remained rooted, unmoving, his presence as unyielding as the stone walls surrounding him.
At last, the gatekeeper returned, leaning close to the scarred soldier to deliver a whispered message. The older man listened intently before straightening, his eyes returning to Kiaren. "You have been granted permission to enter," he said gruffly. Turning to the other guards, he barked, "Open the gates!"
The massive, gilded gates creaked and groaned as they slowly swung inward, revealing the inner court of the Duke's domain.
Kiaren stepped forward, his movements silent against the polished stone pathway that stretched ahead. Two soldiers fell into step behind him, their armored boots clanging heavily in contrast to his near-soundless stride.
The inner court unfolded like a twisted masterpiece, beautiful and unsettling in equal measure. A colossal tree dominated the space, its thick trunk blackened and twisted as though scorched by centuries of darkness. Its gnarled branches stretched skyward, blotting out the faint moonlight, while its roots sprawled like a web, breaking through the stone and sinking deep into the earth.
Kiaren's eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. The tree emanated an aura unlike anything he had encountered before—dark, ancient, suffocating. The faint vibration beneath his feet grew stronger, pulsing in a rhythm that seemed to sync with his own heartbeat.
The walls surrounding the courtyard were no less unnerving. Carvings of serpents and winged beasts twisted together in violent depictions of conquest and chaos, their gemstone eyes glinting faintly in the cold light. Kiaren couldn't shake the feeling that the walls were watching him, their stony gazes heavy with judgment.
Each step forward sent a ripple of discomfort through his body—a gut-wrenching sensation that gnawed at his resolve. The energy radiating from the tree seemed to push against him, warning him to stop, to turn back. But Kiaren pressed on, his expression calm despite the storm of unease swirling within him.
At last, he reached the castle itself. The doors, towering nearly twenty feet tall, were crafted from a shimmering crystal that seemed to shift and ripple under the moonlight. Their translucent surface concealed a deeper layer, veiled and enigmatic, as though hiding something monstrous just out of sight.
Kiaren paused for a brief moment, his glowing green eyes narrowing. "This place feels alive," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.
Without warning, the crystal doors swung open with an eerie creak, revealing two massive figures waiting on the other side.
The giants were clad in dark, rune-etched armor, their faces weathered and devoid of emotion. Though smaller than the true behemoths of the mountain ranges, their sheer presence was no less imposing. They motioned for Kiaren to follow, their movements slow and deliberate.
Kiaren stepped forward without hesitation, his stride measured as he entered the dimly lit hall beyond. The air grew heavier, each breath a struggle as though the very atmosphere sought to drain him of his strength.
Yet he did not falter.
The silence of the castle was oppressive, broken only by the distant creak of ancient timbers and the faint hum of energy that seemed to pulse from the very walls. Kiaren's sharp senses picked up every flicker of shadow, every subtle shift in the air, as he moved deeper into the unknown.