The road to Kharzun Vale felt colder long before they reached its gates.
It was not the kind of cold carried by winter winds or mountain rain.
It was sharper than that. Cleaner. The sort of cold that settled into the bones and reminded a man that some kingdoms did not need warmth to survive.
Dark mountains rose like ancient guards around the kingdom, cutting through the horizon with cruel precision. Rivers of silver ran between black stone cliffs, reflecting the late afternoon sun like broken blades.
Even the banners looked severe.
Two black serpents twisted around each other on a field of silver, flying high above the fortress walls.
Charles stared up at them and sighed dramatically.
"Why does every powerful kingdom look like it was designed by emotionally unavailable people?"
General Raven adjusted the strap of his sword without looking at him.
"Because it was."
Charles looked personally offended by that answer.
