"I'm sorry we took so much time. Getting clearance to open the gate is a tedious process, as you should know better than anyone," Jarync said, his voice carrying a mix of apology and subtle reprimand, the latter directed pointedly at his son, Edmond. His weathered face, lined with years of leadership and loss, betrayed a flicker of concern as he stood before the towering stronghold gates.
The massive reinforced doors of Stronghold 12 groaned open, their heavy steel panels grinding against ancient mechanisms with a low, resonant rumble that echoed across the barren, wind-swept plateau. The air was thick with the acrid scent of scorched earth, a lingering reminder of past battles against the frostmaw trolls. Only after meticulous scans confirmed no hidden trolls lurked nearby did the gates part fully, revealing the sanctuary's inner defenses—a labyrinth of turrets and mana-infused barriers glowing faintly under the dim, overcast sky.
