—Nightfall, Abandoned Stronghold of Varenth—
The fortress rose like a grave carved into the mountains. Snow drifted lazily around its crumbling towers, its once-proud banners now nothing but torn fabric.
Elira stood beside Kaelion, wrapped tightly in furs, a hood shadowing her face.
"This place…" she whispered. "It's not on any of the kingdom maps."
"It's not meant to be," Kaelion replied, pulling the rusted gate open. "This is where deals are made in blood. Where my family keeps its oldest truths."
"And lies?" she asked.
He glanced at her. "Especially those."
—Interior Hall, Lower Levels—
Their footsteps echoed through stone corridors lined with rotting tapestries. Kaelion carried a lantern, the flickering flame casting gold across weathered murals—battles, treaties, executions.
At last, they reached an iron door sealed by an arcane sigil.
Kaelion pressed his palm against it.
The sigil glowed red. Then… dissolved.
Inside was a small chamber. And at its center:
A chest.
Silver-trimmed. Locked three times over.
He knelt and began unlocking it wordlessly, the weight of generations pressing down on him. Elira stood beside him, heart hammering.
When the final lock clicked, the chest creaked open.
Inside lay letters—hundreds—bundled in silk cords. And tucked between them, a small velvet pouch.
Kaelion opened it.
Inside was a signet ring.
Elira recognized it instantly.
"My mother's…"