They moved like shadows across the broken causeway, the castle-like structure looming ahead half-buried in ash, its towers cracked, its walls scorched by fire that had burned centuries ago and never quite gone out.
Vaelros chewed another wad of redleaf, the bitter juice numbing his tongue as he spat the pulp into the dust. His head throbbed from the constant pressure of the enchantments woven into the very stones of this place. The magic here wasn't just old it was defensive, like a body rejecting a foreign presence.
The bridge had collapsed in places, leaving jagged gaps over a chasm of blackened stone. They picked their way across cautiously, leaping one by one over a narrow break where the stone had crumbled into nothing.
When they landed on the other side, the ledge beneath them groaned.
They turned to look back.
The section they'd just crossed collapsed, vanishing into the mist below.
"Well," Tharn muttered, adjusting the axe on his back, "looks like we'll need a different way out."
"Or a dragon," Calen Waters added dryly. "You sure this wasn't a major lord's seat?"
Vaelros shook his head, still catching his breath. "No. House Vharax weren't highborn. Not in the way the Targaryens were. But they were great craftsmen. Every dragonlord had a castle—even the minor ones. Rock was cheap when you had fire and magic."
He gestured toward the looming structure. "Look at it. It's like a city within a fortress. The dragons didn't live in towers. They lived beneath in pits, in caverns carved into the bones of the earth. That's what we're looking for."
He paused, eyes narrowing. "The forge. The pit. Maybe both."
As he spoke, he reached out with his senses, fingers twitching as he traced a disruption in the air a ward, still active after all these years. It resisted him, like a locked door pushing back.
He shoved another wad of redleaf into his mouth and pushed.
The magic fought him. It was like trying to breathe underwater. His vision blurred, his knees buckled but then, with a final surge, the ward shattered, the air rippling like heat off stone.
The path opened.
"Go," he rasped, wiping blood from his nose.
Tharn didn't wait. He stepped forward and kicked the door in, splintering the weakened frame. Dust and ash billowed out, revealing a narrow corridor lined with rusted sconces and crumbling murals.
"This was a servants' entrance," Vaelros said, coughing. "They wouldn't have used the main gate. Too dangerous."
Calen smirked. "Fitting. You always did have a noble's taste for back doors."
Tharn snorted. "Careful, bastard. You're starting to sound like a lord."
They chuckled, the tension easing for a moment as they stepped inside.
The air was thick, heavy with the scent of old fire and something else decay, maybe. Or memory. Their boots crunched on broken tile. The walls were scorched, but the architecture still held arched ceilings, dragonbone supports, sigils carved into the stone.
They moved slowly, blades drawn, eyes scanning every shadow.
"Stay sharp," Vaelros murmured. "There could be stonemen. Or worse."
The castle groaned around them, as if it remembered.
And somewhere deep below, something stirred.