Miles and miles away from the quiet town of Dwern, far beyond the winding roads and shadowed forests, a lone black carriage rolled slowly across a forgotten stretch of land. The horses snorted softly as they came to a halt before a looming structure that rose against the darkening sky.
The castle was ancient—older than most men alive could remember.
Its towering walls were built from massive blocks of dark, weathered stone, each one scarred by time and the harsh breath of countless winters. Ivy crept along the outer walls like silent fingers reclaiming what had once been human domain, crawling up the tall towers and hanging in thick vines over cracked battlements.
Several of the castle's spires had long since crumbled, leaving jagged silhouettes that clawed at the sky like broken teeth. Narrow windows, tall and arched, stared out over the desolate land like hollow eyes. Many were shattered or covered with wooden boards, while others glowed faintly with the dim flicker of candlelight within.
The iron gates stood crooked on rusted hinges, their once-grand designs now eaten away by years of neglect. Beyond them lay a courtyard swallowed by weeds and patches of wild grass growing between the stones.
Despite its ruin, the castle still carried a strange, imposing presence—as though it refused to fully surrender to decay.
The carriage came to a stop near the great wooden doors.
The coachman climbed down without a word and opened the carriage door.
Anthony stepped out.
Draped over his shoulder was Christiana's unconscious form, her dark hair spilling loosely down his back as he carried her with effortless strength. Without hesitation, he crossed the courtyard and pushed open the heavy castle doors.
They groaned loudly as they swung inward.
Inside, darkness swallowed him.
The air within the castle was cool and still, thick with the scent of aged stone and old wood. Faint torchlight flickered along the walls, casting long, shifting shadows across the corridors.
Anthony moved forward without pause, his footsteps echoing softly against the ancient floor as he navigated through a series of winding hallways. The castle was a labyrinth of passageways, arches, and staircases that twisted like veins through the old structure.
Finally, he entered a long corridor lined with multiple doors on both sides.
The hallway stretched into dimness, each door identical to the next—heavy oak with iron hinges and simple locks. At the very center of the corridor, Anthony stopped before one particular door.
A key had already been placed on the hook beside it.
He took the key calmly, slid it into the lock, and turned it with a soft click.
The door opened.
Inside was a quiet chamber, modest but clean compared to the rest of the castle. A single bed stood near the far wall, covered with fresh linens, and a small candle burned softly on a nearby table.
Anthony walked to the bed and carefully lowered Christiana onto it.
Her body sank gently into the mattress, her breathing steady but deep as unconsciousness still held her.
For a moment, he remained standing there.
His eyes lingered on her face, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. The faint color had returned to her cheeks, and the tension in her expression had softened.
After a short while, Anthony turned away.
He walked to the door and stepped out, locking it behind him with the same quiet precision.
The corridor swallowed him once more.
After several turns through the dimly lit halls, he eventually reached another room. Pushing the door open, he entered a study warmed by the glow of a fireplace.
A man stood there with his back turned, gazing into the flames.
Without looking behind him, the man reached toward a nearby table and lifted a glass filled with a dark red liquid. He extended it slightly behind him, offering it to Anthony.
Anthony accepted the glass.
"There's a gathering at Barrowberg tomorrow," the man said calmly, his voice steady as the fire crackled before him.
Anthony raised the glass slightly but did not drink yet.
"Any news on the witch?" he asked.
"No."
The reply was short and direct.
Only then did both men lift their glasses and take a small sip of the dark liquid.
Silence lingered between them for a moment, filled only by the quiet crackle of burning wood.
The man eventually turned as though to leave. As his hand reached for the doorknob, Anthony spoke again.
"Robert."
Anthony extended a folded parchment toward him.
Robert took the parchment without a word. His eyes scanned it briefly, though his expression revealed nothing.
Then, still silent, he opened the door and exited the study, leaving Anthony alone with the flickering fire.
The first pale light of morning had only just begun to spill across the land when Robert left the castle. The heavy gates creaked open as he rode out on the back of a powerful black stallion, the animal's hooves striking the stone path with steady rhythm.
Cold wind brushed past him as he rode.
He passed through several small towns along the way—quiet places still wrapped in the slow wakefulness of dawn. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, merchants were only beginning to open their shops, and the streets were mostly empty save for the occasional farmer leading livestock to the fields.
Robert did not stop. His destination lay farther ahead.
Hours later, the horse slowed as the land began to change. The air grew colder, heavier somehow, and the sky above seemed dimmer despite the rising sun.
Finally, Robert pulled the stallion to a halt at the edge of an abandoned town.
The place looked as though life had vanished from it years ago.
Crooked wooden buildings leaned dangerously against one another, their roofs sagging and broken in places where time and storms had taken their toll. Windows were shattered or boarded up, leaving hollow dark openings that stared back like empty sockets.
The streets were coated in thick mud and scattered debris. Rusted lantern posts stood crooked along the road, their glass shattered and their iron frames eaten by corrosion. Pieces of torn cloth hung from balconies, fluttering weakly in the wind like forgotten banners.
A thick mist clung to the ground, curling around the structures and drifting slowly through the empty streets, muffling sound and swallowing the distance.
The entire place felt eerily lifeless.
Robert swung down from his horse, his polished black boots landing in the mud with a soft splash. Despite the filthy ground, his clothes remained immaculate—his dark coat perfectly pressed, his posture calm and composed.
His sharp black eyes scanned the ghost town slowly.
There was nothing.
No voices.
No footsteps.
Only silence.
The stallion snorted quietly behind him, its breath forming faint clouds in the cold air.
Robert's gaze eventually landed on a house near the edge of the street.
The structure was barely standing.
Its wooden walls had warped with age, several planks missing entirely. The roof sagged deeply in the center, and the front porch leaned to one side as though it might collapse with the slightest pressure. One of the porch rails hung broken, and pieces of shattered glass glittered faintly across the wooden boards.
Robert began walking toward it, a slender black cane resting lightly in his hand.
His boots crunched over the scattered glass as he stepped onto the porch, the sound sharp in the otherwise dead silence.
He leaned slightly and peered through the broken doorway into the house's interior.
Dust coated everything inside. Rotting furniture lay overturned, and the floorboards were warped and cracked with age.
Then—
He stopped.A faint sound reached his ears.
Movements from behind him. Robert's head turned instantly.
Something blurred through the mist at inhuman speed—darting straight toward the stallion.
Within seconds, Robert moved.
His body shifted with unnatural swiftness, his form cutting through the fog as though the air itself parted for him.
He caught the figure before it could reach the horse.
The man struggled violently in Robert's grip.
His clothes were torn and filthy, hanging loosely from a thin frame. His hollow eyes bulged with terror as he fought desperately, clawing and twisting to free himself. But Robert's grip was iron—unyielding.
The man's panic only grew.
Robert regarded him calmly.
"Hello," Robert said pleasantly, a polite smile appearing on his lips. "Where can I find the witch called Boni?"
The man spat at the ground.
"I'm not snitching!"
Robert's smile did not fade.
Without another word, he lifted his cane and drove the sharp end straight into the man's chest.
The cane pierced through flesh and bone halfway.
The man's scream ripped through the silent town, echoing across the empty streets.
Pain contorted his face as blood seeped through his ragged clothing.
"Okay! Okay—I'll talk!" he gasped desperately. "Just don't push it in any further!"
Robert paused.
Then he slowly pulled the cane back, but not completely.
The tip remained lodged slightly inside the man's chest.
"The last thing I heard…" the man wheezed through trembling breaths, "…was that she's at Willow Woods. Now please—please take it out!"
Robert studied him for a moment, then he pulled the cane out fully.
Relief flickered across the man's face. But before he could even inhale properly—
Robert's hand moved.
With a swift, brutal motion, he twisted the man's head sharply. A sickening crack echoed in the mist. The body went limp instantly and collapsed to the muddy ground.
Robert looked down at the corpse calmly.
"I pulled it out," he said softly.