While all of this unfolded, a man had just arrived at the castle gates.
The massive stone walls loomed over him, their cold surface seeming to absorb the morning light. He moved with purpose, his steps echoing against the cobblestones as he approached the main entrance.
His cloak fluttered slightly in the breeze, revealing the hilt of a sword that was sheathed at his side, its craftsmanship impeccable.
The guards at the gate eyed him with caution, but he didn't even regard them. His eyes were steady, his expression unreadable.
His presence was commanding, and though his appearance was simple, there was something about him that seemed out of place—perhaps his calm demeanor in the face of such an event, or the air of someone who had seen many battles, many victories, and many losses.
The guards, parted and allowed him to pass. He moved forward, his gaze scanning the castle's towering walls.
