The final stretch of the journey stretched ahead like a dark promise. The rolling hills gave way to jagged cliffs, their black stone etched with ancient scars from long-forgotten battles. The Hunters moved with deliberate pace, boots crunching against loose gravel, the wind whipping faintly across the ridges.
Cael's eyes scanned the horizon, muscles taut. The forested valleys and plains behind them seemed small now, swallowed by the vast expanse of wilderness. Every shadowed hollow, every outcropping of stone, felt alive—potential shelter for predators, or worse.
"Up ahead," the woman with the braid said, voice carrying a sharp edge over the wind. "You see that?"
Cael squinted. A dark silhouette rose from the cliffs far ahead. Towering spires of black stone stretched into the sky, jagged and imposing. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys at the base, and distant lights flickered like fireflies caught in the stone folds.
"The Hunters' headquarters," the scarred man said, almost reverently. "Shadowspire."
The name hit Cael like a pulse of weight. Shadowspire. It was no castle built for comfort or beauty. Its walls were sheer, sharp-edged, built for defense against a world that had no mercy. Every tower, every battlement, every slit in the walls suggested vigilance and readiness.
They descended toward the base, following a winding trail carved into the cliffside. The path hugged the rock, with sheer drops on one side and the towering walls of Shadowspire on the other. Even from this distance, Cael could see trenches dug around the perimeter, watchtowers bristling with archers' platforms, and banners bearing the Hunters' emblem: a silver claw grasping a black flame.
"This place… it's massive," Cael muttered under his breath, voice almost lost in the wind.
"Few outsiders ever see the full scope," the woman said. "The interior is divided into several sections: living quarters, armory, training grounds, and observation towers. Everything is designed for survival, combat, and research."
Cael's gaze traveled across the walls. Stone staircases wound around towers like skeletal spines, and metal gates, reinforced with bands of iron, glinted dully in the fading light. Smoke from the central hearths rose into the sky, mingling with the mists that clung stubbornly to the cliffs. Even the simplest details—the sound of clanging metal from distant blacksmiths, the faint smell of smoke and cooked rations—made the place feel real, alive.
"Do all Hunters live here?" Cael asked, voice low.
"Not all," the scarred man said. "Only those who dedicate their lives entirely to the Hunt. Novices, specialists, and those who've proven themselves in the field. You'll find people from all corners of the Northern Wilds… even some from lands you've never heard of."
Cael's eyes lingered on the tallest tower, its top lost in the mist. Something inside him stirred—not fear, not excitement, but a quiet resolve. He was small compared to this fortress, small compared to the Hunters, small compared to the vast wilderness surrounding it. But he had something they didn't: hatred tempered by cunning, and the memory of Eldhollow burning like a beacon in his chest.
As they reached the main gate, a pair of guards—mounted on dark, lean horses—stepped forward, eyes sharp, weapons ready. The scarred Hunter called out, and the gates creaked open with a sound that resonated deep in Cael's chest.
Shadowspire lay before him, alive and imposing. Towers, courtyards, and battlements stretched beyond what he could see. Every stone whispered purpose. Every shadow promised training, survival, and danger.
Cael stepped forward, boots echoing against the stone floor, heart pounding not with fear, but anticipation.
Tomorrow, he would begin.