The road to the northern highlands was long and steep, difficult even for his seasoned horse.
The black towers cut against the pale sky, their banners barely stirring in the cold wind. Below, the valley lay covered in mist, as though even the earth bowed to the Dravenmoor name.
Shannon reined in his horse at the final bend and let his gaze sweep the fortress.
No matter how many times he returned, the place carried the same weight—a home built as much for defense as for family.
A keep that whispered of wars survived, promises held, and legacies not easily shaken.
The gates opened without a word. Guards in dark cloaks bowed low, wolves of the household pack, their loyalty unquestioned. Shannon passed inside, the sound of hooves echoing against stone walls scarred by age but never weakness.
