The Stormborn fortress held echoes of old secrets and ancient burdens, tucked away in dusty corners few dared to disturb. Layla descended into the dim lower levels, guided by a sense of dread she couldn’t wholly name. Torches flickered along the subterranean corridor, illuminating stone walls that had witnessed countless memories, both triumphs and horrors.
She paused at a heavy wooden door, once sealed for good. A ring of rusted metal served as a handle. When she tugged it open, the hinges groaned in protest, releasing a stale draft of air from within. Beyond the threshold lay a small chamber lined with shelves. Stacked upon them were remnants from an era she’d long sought to bury: her father’s old journals, forbidden tomes with symbols scrawled in dried blood, and scrolls pinned shut by
