Chapter 17
388 Words
Day One
I don’t wait.
The moment I’m dismissed—no escort, no warning, no instruction beyond an open door—I move. Fast. Purposeful. Curiosity sharp and restless beneath my skin.
The corridors branch like veins, stone swallowing sound as I pass. Torches burn low in iron brackets, their light warm but restrained, never bright enough to blind. The walls are thick. I brush my fingers along one as I go, feeling the cold buried beneath layers of age.
Old stone. Not decorative. Structural.
I climb first. Stairs spiralling tight enough to slow pursuit. Landings placed where a defender could turn, strike, retreat. Arrow slits cut high into the walls, angled inward. Anyone firing from them would be protected, nearly invisible.
Thoughtful.
At the top of one tower, I shoulder open a heavy door and step into wind sharp enough to sting. Snow stretches in every direction, untouched and blinding. No tracks. No roads. No sign of movement beyond the keep’s reach.
Just white and sky and distance.
I scan the horizon until my eyes ache, then turn back inside and keep moving.
Rooms pass in steady rhythm—sleeping quarters, storage, armories lined with steel and leather. No smell of oil or fuel. No engines. I pause in a room that should hold something more. A desk. Ink. Paper. A map pinned to the wall, hand-drawn and layered with notes, edges worn soft with use.
No screens.
No wires.
No hum.
That’s… odd.
I move faster, checking doors that look important. Opening spaces meant for planning, for record-keeping. Ledgers instead of terminals. Slate boards chalked and erased by hand. Everything necessary. Nothing excess.
Nothing that reaches outward.
By the time I reach the outer grounds, my breath is already steaming. I break into a run, testing the land as much as my body. Snow drags at my legs, hides uneven drops beneath smooth white curves. The cold sharpens with distance, stealing warmth faster than I expect.
Still, I find nothing.
No outbuildings. No transport. No sign of life beyond the walls.
When I turn back, it isn’t fear that stops me.
It’s understanding.
The land doesn’t funnel outward. It curves inward. The slopes don’t guide you away—they turn you back without ever feeling forced.
I return as the light fades.
No one stops me.
- Writer
