The journey to Blackthorn was comfortable. Where mist and rot once lingered, wildflowers now grew.
By the time Tristan and his family arrived, the gates of Blackthorn Keep stood open.
The twin banners of Dravenmoor, sewn by the twins, hung proudly from the towers, with the ancient wolf crest stitched in silver thread. The air felt lighter than he remembered—no trace of the old heaviness.
Sidhar met them at the gate, grinning broadly. "You're just in time. I thought you'd miss breakfast."
Therese climbed down from the wagon and gave him a measured look. "Don't tempt fate. I might still pour water on you."
He laughed. "If it's clean water, I'll take it."
Behind them, Tara tried not to smile as she took in the restored courtyard. The stone walls were scrubbed clean, vines trimmed, and torches newly mounted. The scent of fresh paint and rosemary oil lingered.
Shannon greeted his father near the grand stairway. "They're here, Father."
