Alaric sat on the mountain peak, legs dangling over an edge.
Below, the Drakenfell fortress sprawled across the mountainside like a scar carved into stone.
It was massive. Even from this impossible vantage point, the scale was staggering. The main structure had been built directly into the mountain itself, as if some ancient architect had decided the best fortress was one that couldn't be separated from its foundation without destroying both.
Black stone walls rose hundreds of feet, reinforced with essence formations that glowed faintly even in the dim light.
Towers jutted at irregular intervals, each one positioned to provide overlapping fields of fire.
The main gate was currently sealed behind layers of defensive essence that shimmered like heat haze.
And everywhere, vampires worked.
Thousands of them. Moving supplies. Reinforcing walls. Installing additional defensive formations. Building killing fields in the approaches.
