The moon hung low over Corzedar Manor, its silver glow draping the rooftops in soft silence.
The streets below were empty; only the whisper of the wind moved through the lamps and the leaves.
Khael stood before the gates of his home a place both familiar and foreign.
The iron bars rose before him, tall and blackened by rain, vines threading through the gaps like veins of memory. Beyond them, the manor's windows glimmered faintly, eyes half-asleep, waiting.
He took a slow breath.
"Three years…" he murmured. "Three years of fire and flight—and now, I'm home."
The gates groaned open, the sound echoing through the still night. Moonlight spilled across the gravel path as Khael stepped forward, boots crunching against stone. The air smelled of pine and steel and faint embers his family's scent.
(Has it really been this long?)
The manor loomed ahead, vast and quiet, but before he could lift his hand to knock, the great doors burst open.
Light flooded the courtyard.
