A cold wind swept across the borderlands as the Arakuro Clan's contingent of Magi descended the ridge on horseback and approached the stronghold.
What was once a vigilant outpost, with its lanterns lit throughout the night and banners fluttering with proud colors, now stood eerily silent.
No guards at the gates. No sentries on the walls. Nothing.
Only stillness.
The Arakuro Magi exchanged tensed glances as they crossed the threshold. They were ordered by the can to visit this place and find out what happened. If it were up to them, they would have never come to this ghostly place.
The main gate of the stronghold hung open, one hinge broken as though someone had kicked it in without resistance. Dust drifted across the courtyard. Even the torches had been burned down to brittle, blackened stubs.
"Be vigilant," the leader murmured as he unsheathed his sword. "There might still be enemies."
