From the deck of Alfred's vessel, the ancestral seat of House Morgain looked less like a home and more like a threat. Black stone climbed out of the white mountains in hard tiers, buried to the shoulders in snow that did nothing to soften its edges, every wall angled to break an army before it reached the gates.
High on the main tower a banner cracked in the gale. Even in this weather, figures moved along the battlements, because the beasts that prowled these peaks kept no schedule, and a wall left unwatched was a wall waiting to be tested. Impenetrable was the word the old builders had chased. Looking at it now, Trafalgar could admit they had caught it.
"Looks like we have finally made it home," Lysandra said, coming up beside him at the rail.
He studied the fortress a breath longer. "I would not call that place home, if I am being honest with you. I have yet to find one thing inside it that earns the word."
