Thoren
The lower storage levels beneath the castle smelled like dust, cedar, old paper, and time.
The air felt different down here.
Heavier.
Like centuries of secrets had settled into the stone walls and never truly left.
I moved slowly through the narrow aisles, the beam from the overhead lights casting long shadows between stacked crates and sheet-covered furniture. White cloth draped over forgotten chairs and cabinets like ghosts standing silently in rows. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, packed with old records, ledgers, paintings, military archives, and relics from rulers long dead.
Most of this level hadn’t been touched in years.
Possibly decades.
My boots echoed dully against the stone floor with every step, the sound swallowed quickly by the silence around me.
