The travels to Castle Winstromme were filled with nothing but silence.
The night before the current day had been full of sleep and less wine. It was unnatural, almost, that they had been quiet. Henry Savoy had kept his mouth shut. Always, even when he drew breath, he felt the gaze of Lady Keirin, eyes crossed and red with irritation. It wasn't a good time to say the least.
But it made their travel fast, so much so that they had reached Castle Winstromme in just three days.
Yes, it was supposed to take two but the hindrances along the way kept them from reaching early.
From far away, Castle Winstromme was unassuming. It was a stereotypical castle you'd see in some English mound, but the only difference was this place, although made with marble, looked eerie and grim. And that is for a good reason.
"That's Castle Winstromme," said Ammonete, seemingly staring at it far too long for it to be just some place. "If it weren't for you, Henry, we wouldn't have taken this route."
Henry Savoy looked at Ammonete, who walked beside her, eyebrow arched and knitting. Then, with one glance past Ammonete, he saw the fuming Lady Keirin. She really wanted to tear Henry Savoy apart, just from being in the vicinity of other women that got too close.
So, he quickly averted his eyes from Ammonete and stared at the grim vistas that was Castle Winstromme, rubbing his nape while wincing slyly.
"Why's that?" Henry Savoy said. "It looks scary as shit, but isn't it Vorhan Empire's?"
"Yes and no," replied Ammonete resolutely.
"What do you mean by that?"
Then a cough came beside Ammonete and Lady Keirin took a step, going in-between Henry and Ammonete. She had no reservations putting what she felt out there, and that drastic difference from the Saint Keirin Henry knew made him a tad bit afraid of her, and, consequently, his own capability to change people.
And he never quite knew if it was for the better or worse.
"I will take it from here," Lady Keirin said. "As the lady was saying. It is neither the Empire's nor it is. A part of it was the belief that Castle Winstromme housed a great curse stemming from its first lords—House Harrow."
Henry snickered, thinking that that's over the top. House Harrow cursing a castle? That's really cheap. It is as if whoever made this to be was really putting a show of eeriness that was borderline ridiculous.
"It is no laughing matter, Henry Savoy," said Lady Keirin, staring straight at the side of his head. "House Harrow was known to be accursed traitors. They were practitioners of demon magick, and whatever they had done was kept there in Castle Winstromme. I may have removed myself from the position of the Saint of Oberin, but laughing at such a thing, taking light of it, is an action I dare not do."
Henry cleared his throat, the laughter dying in his chest as Lady Keirin's words wrapped around the air like a noose. Her gaze burned into him, sharp enough to cut through the thick chill that seemed to seep from the castle itself.
"Demon magick," he said, his voice dropping as though the words themselves carried weight. "You really think it's real?"
"It doesn't matter what I think," Keirin replied, her tone clipped, yet beneath it was something else—a warning, maybe even a trace of fear. "What matters is what they believed. And what lingers."
Ammonete, still standing slightly to the side, folded her arms and glanced at the castle with a frown. "The stories aren't just superstition," she said, quieter now. "Travelers avoid this place. Even the Empire's soldiers leave it be unless they have orders. I've passed by it twice, and each time, something…" She trailed off, her fingers brushing absently at the edge of her sleeve.
"Something what?" Henry pressed, a flicker of unease creeping into his chest.
"Something feels wrong," Ammonete said finally. "Like the air is heavier. Like the ground itself doesn't want you here."
"Superstition," Henry muttered, but he glanced back at the looming castle nonetheless. Its silhouette against the gray skies seemed almost too perfect, its towers too still. Too lifeless. He couldn't tell if the feeling crawling up his spine was his own nerves or something else entirely.
Lady Keirin ignored him and motioned to the dark path ahead. "We don't have the luxury of superstition. The castle is our only safe shelter in these lands."
"Safe," Henry said with a hollow chuckle, gesturing at the grim structure. "Right."
"No one will follow us here," Keirin said simply.
That stopped him short. He wanted to argue, to point out the absurdity of taking refuge in a place people feared more than they feared the Empire's wrath, but he knew better. Keirin had always been resolute—unyielding in her beliefs, even now, when her Saintly robes had been replaced by tattered black. And deep down, he knew she was right.
"Fine," he said, shifting the weight of his pack as though it might lighten the air around him. "Let's get this over with."
They trudged on, the gravel path crunching beneath their boots as the castle grew larger, its jagged towers and crumbling walls looming closer with every step.
The wind picked up, a low, mournful howl threading through the trees that bordered the path. Henry's hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, an instinctual gesture, though he wasn't sure what he expected to fight.
Ammonete walked in silence now, her eyes fixed ahead, her posture tight. Lady Keirin took the lead, her steps steady but deliberate, as though she felt the weight of every inch of the ground beneath her.
The gates of Castle Winstromme finally loomed before them, wrought iron twisted into patterns that seemed to shift under the pale light of the sky.
"Do we knock?" Henry said, half-joking, but his voice faltered as the wind hissed through the bars like a whispered warning.
Keirin turned to him, her face set in stone. "No one answers," she said. "Not here."
Without hesitation, she pressed her hand against the gate. For a moment, nothing happened, and then with a groan that echoed like a dying man's cry, the gates swung inward.
The air beyond was colder, heavier, like stepping into another world entirely.
Henry hesitated. "I don't suppose this place has a cozy fire waiting for us?"
Keirin didn't answer. She stepped forward, into the shadow of the gates, her figure swallowed by the gloom. Ammonete followed without a word.
Henry lingered, his feet rooted to the ground. He glanced back at the path behind them, at the pale, empty stretch of land leading back to the safety they'd left behind.
And then he stepped through the gate, into the cold embrace of Castle Winstromme.