At last, when we arrived before the massive gates of Castle Black, the tension I had been suppressing finally began to rise.
From atop the towering walls, a sentry caught sight of our family crest and immediately shouted down to the guards below. The gates opened without delay, and our carriage barely slowed as it passed beneath the looming structure and into the fortress.
Inside the carriage, I straightened slightly, forcing my body to remain still, to betray nothing.
Yet when I turned my eyes toward Alexander, I found him already watching me—his expression faintly sour, as if he had seen straight through me.
I parted my lips, though my throat had already gone dry.
"Gods… this place hasn't changed at all."
Alexander listened, then gave a careless shrug.
"The Wall hasn't changed," he said calmly. "But something beyond it has. That's why we're here again, Luci."
I kept my face as blank as I could and turned my gaze back toward the window.
Our arrival had been announced days in advance. Preparations had been made.
When I focused on the scene outside, I saw them—hundreds of soldiers standing in flawless formation. These were no ordinary levies drawn from some lord's lands. These men were fully armed, battle-hardened warriors.
The core garrison.
The ones who stood between the Wall… and whatever lay beyond it.
When the carriage finally came to a halt, a servant rushed forward and opened the door, bowing deeply.
My hands were damp inside my gloves. My pulse refused to settle.
I pushed it all aside.
Rising from my seat, I stepped forward and emerged from the carriage.
The moment my boots touched solid ground, I drew in a slow breath.
The air struck me at once.
Cold… sharp… and laced with something I couldn't quite name—like iron left too long in the wind, like echoes of something that refused to fade.
It dragged something up from the past.
Memories I would have preferred to leave buried.
When I looked toward the carriage ahead, Father had already stepped out. He stood waiting, his posture rigid, expecting us.
Alexander jumped down behind me almost immediately, stretching his arms wide.
"What a wonderful, terrible new home," he muttered.
A quiet amusement flickered within me, though I didn't show it.
"Come," I said. "Father is waiting."
I stepped forward. Alexander followed close behind.
Strangely… [Mirror of the Heart] was silent.
No flickers. No whispers. Nothing.
For a moment, a faint unease crept into my chest.
Gods… I truly hate this ability.
When we finally reached him, Father gave me a brief glance before turning his attention forward again.
Following his gaze, I saw them approaching.
One was enormous—built like something that barely belonged among men, his presence overwhelming. The other, though shorter in comparison, was still tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with authority.
They stopped before us and bowed deeply.
Even with that size… how are you that fast?
The shorter one spoke first.
"Your Grace," he said, voice steady, "welcome to Castle Black. We have been informed of your arrival."
He straightened.
"I am Ludwig, Acting Lord-Commander. This is Bane, Commander of the Garrison."
At the mention of his name, Bane bowed once more.
"Your Grace."
Father's expression remained cold as he surveyed the surroundings.
"I see you have maintained order," he said. "The soldiers and the Wall remain intact."
Ludwig seemed hesitant to smile, as if unsure whether he was allowed to. He opened his mouth to respond—but Father cut him off.
"I did not come here to inspect your discipline."
The words fell like ice.
Ludwig froze.
For a brief moment, he stood completely still, then bowed again, sharper this time.
"My apologies, Your Grace. I understand. Please… follow me. I will take you to the late Lord-Commander."
He turned on his heel and began walking toward the inner keep.
Father made a small gesture, signaling for us to follow.
Ludwig led the way. Bane stepped aside, giving Father space, his massive frame shifting with surprising restraint.
We moved as one toward the inner fortress.
The wind that swept across the inner keep did not belong to any one man.
As the group advanced, a cold northern wind swept across the fortress, cutting through stone and steel alike.
When they entered the inner keep, nothing changed.
The cold remained.
The air felt just as heavy. Just as lifeless.
They walked through long corridors, descended narrow stairways, and finally came to a stop before a single door.
There was a brief hesitation.
Then Ludwig's companion turned back, his expression dark, weighed down by something unspoken.
"Your Grace…" he said quietly. "The body of the late Lord-Commander is inside."
The Duke showed no hesitation.
Without a trace of weakness, he stepped forward and pushed the door open in one smooth motion.
A wave of scent spilled out from within—
burning herbs… bitter incense…
and something beneath it that no fragrance could truly conceal.
The Duke stepped inside without hesitation, drawing in a slow breath.
Those behind him followed.
The first was his eldest son.
He walked with a composed, almost detached expression—so controlled that it was impossible to tell whether he felt tension at all. His posture was straight, his steps steady, and his raven-dark hair remained perfectly unruffled.
Immediately after him came the second son.
He resembled the first in form, yet everything about him felt different. His posture was looser, more relaxed. Even if his poker face concealed it well, there was a clear sense of detachment in his gaze—as though the events unfolding here held little meaning for him.
Alexander lowered his eyes toward the body before them, studying it in silence.
Like the others, the room was empty of anything unnecessary.
Cold stone walls. A single stone table in the center.
And upon it—
the remains of their late relative.
Lucius did not react outwardly.
He had seen death before.
Eight years ago had already taught him what corpses looked like when meaning had long since left them.
But this… was different.
Not because of the sight itself—but because of what the wounds implied.
There were countless ways to describe them, yet none felt precise enough.
Some were old. Some were fresh. The newest ones stood out the most.
They did not resemble clean cuts from steel.
They looked more like the work of something that did not fight like a man.
Claws. Crushing force. And deep, uneven pressure marks that suggested something far heavier than human strength.
At last, Duke Illian Castus spoke.
His voice was heavy. Muted. Almost weary… as though regret itself had settled into his bones.
"I have come, brother," he said quietly. "I have come to take you home."
Silence answered him.
The room remained still, the air pressing down like a shroud.
Then Illian straightened.
The softness in his voice vanished, replaced once more by the steel of authority.
"As you can see," he said coldly, "your uncle was not killed by some ordinary barbarian. Even a peasant could understand that much."
I had seen corpses before.
But this… was nothing like any of them.
There were too many wounds—none of them following the clean, deliberate path of sharpened steel. My gaze moved slowly across the body, tracing each mark, each tear… trying to make sense of something that refused to be understood.
Claws.
Pressure.
Something that did not fight like a man.
As my eyes lingered on the deeper wounds, I felt it.
A faint pressure against my mind.
[Mirror of the Heart].
It wasn't coming from the body.
It was coming from him.
From Father.
The realization settled in quietly—and with it, a sudden weight. My thoughts dulled, just slightly. My chest tightened, and a strange exhaustion crept in, as if something unseen was pressing down on me.
All of it…
was suffocating.
For a moment, I said nothing.
Then I forced myself to move.
I lifted my gaze and looked directly at him.
"Father… then what exactly is this?"
He shifted ever so slightly before turning toward me.
His eyes were sharp.
But what followed cut deeper than any blade.
"Since the construction of the Great Wall," he said, his voice low and steady, "its true purpose was never to keep the barbarians out."
A brief pause.
Then—
"Its purpose was to prevent what lives in the Armstrong Mountains… from descending into the central lands."
The words settled like frost.
"To stop the Corrupted from bringing slaughter upon this world."
My hands tightened inside my gloves before I realized it.
A cold sensation spread through my fingers, damp and unsteady.
The weight in my chest grew heavier.
"The Corrupteds..?"