Somewhere along the borderline between Donghe and Flica.
Amidst the ghastly pale snowscape, a decrepit, grey-white ancient castle stood silently in the deep of the night.
Openings in the form of massive round archways pierced all sides of the castle, allowing the wind to pass through at will.
Most of the walls were broken, with mottled signs of wear betraying its exceedingly long history.
By one of the main gates, there was a commemorative stone slab, its edges marked with three red-painted characters: "Ning Lan Castle."
Below it were some informational descriptions intended for tourists.
Regrettably, what was once a site rich in historical and cultural heritage had long since stopped seeing visitors, with only remnants of its past remaining.
At this moment, inside the castle, in the vast hall over ten meters high.
A scattering of figures in hooded black robes and black metal masks stood under the flickering, feeble candlelight.
