(Paige’s POV)Darkness sits heavy in Blackstone Keep's main hall, deep and still. From a fireplace big enough for a whole cow, flames leap and crackle, yet warmth climbs only so far. Up above, cold air holds the smoke, trapping it beneath the high arches where shadow gathers thick. Stone forms the walls - raw, uneven, untouched by tools meant for beauty. Underfoot, flat rocks lie cracked and smoothed, shaped not by design but by time and tread. Nothing hangs on the walls but old weapons. Axes, long spears, shields - silent, worn, resting against stone. Light from the flames licks at metal, giving them a cold shine. Portraits? Tapestries? Not here.Fergus stands there, a weathered man from the north. Tight features shape his face, hard as if carved from rock. A flicker of gray lives behind stony eyes - cold, sharp. Bowing comes slow, almost unwilling, more habit than respect. “Your Grace,” he says, then adds, “My Lady,” like it was forgotten. Sound scrapes out o
最終更新日 : 2026-01-14 続きを読む