Luther moved through the ancient halls like a shadow woven into the stone itself. The deeper he walked, the quieter the castle grew, until even the torches seemed afraid to burn too loud. This wing was restricted—only a handful of guards stationed here, the kind who didn't need armor or weapons to tear an intruder apart. They stood still as statues as he passed, bowing faintly in recognition but never speaking.
He walked through three archways, down a long, curved corridor carved into dark marble, then stopped at a pair of towering doors marked with old runes—doors that only opened inward, controlled from within.
Before he could knock, the runes glowed a soft red.
The doors slid open on their own.
Inside, the chamber was dim—red candles lit the corners, shadows stretching long across the floor. Thick curtains draped the walls, swallowing sound. A faint scent of old incense lingered in the air.
Luther stepped inside and closed the doors behind him.
