“Land ho!” cried the husky voice of the ship’s watch.

“Finally,” Protea muttered under her breath as she stood from the tiny bench she’d been confined to in the galley. As she stood, she stretched and rolled her shoulder back - three weeks of nothing but sitting and laying down hadn’t exactly done wonders for her back.

She shuddered as she stepped out onto the deck of the ship, pulling her cloak closer around her. Snow gently drifted through the air which prompted her to pull the hood of the cloak over her. The dead of winter had come and it certainly felt like it. Throughout the whole of the trip, Protea, and the warden assigned to her had been forced to sit by the tiny hearth that occupied the cabin.

Protea squinted as she peered into the foreboding mist surrounding the ship. Far into the distance was a wall of dark, craggy shapes, growing ever closer. There were tiny islands on either side of the ship, devoid of any features aside from the occasional palm tree or rock. It didn’t seem like there was any life in the gulf - the water seemed oddly still, something Protea was grateful for, considering that they had been caught in a storm a week into the journey, but even still it was unnerving. There was a sense of complete and total emptiness, not even broken by the occasional call of a seagull.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Protea jumped as she whipped around to face the warden. The ochre skinned woman stared at her with a wide grin, green eyes sharply focused on the craggy cliffs and gravelly beach ahead and wild ginger curls sitting haphazardly on her head.

“I suppose,” Protea replied after a while. Willow Highmore was an odd woman, to say the least. When they boarded the ship together, Willow asked about the bird faced woman on the front of the ship.

The red-faced man stared at her with one glassy eye and one eye that looked through her and said, “Consider yourself lucky, lass. Few sailors have had the fortune to never meet a harpy.”

“Harpy?” Willow asked. “I thought the sirens were the ones that attacked ships.”

“They attack all the same. But at least the sirens’ll give you a quick death. If ye run into a harpy’s flock, Gods help you.”

“What happens with the harpies?” Willow leaned forward ever so slightly, bright green eyes carrying a certain glint.

The captain set his jaw like concrete and said in a low harsh voice, “They’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, cackling like crows all the while. Ye’ll never have another peaceful sleep, they’ll make sure of it. You’ll lose everything: your fortune, your family, your mind. I seen it once, when I was a wee swab.” The captain turned away, directing an unfocused glare at the frothing seawater. “Took all our cargo and a few of my mates. None of ’em have ever set foot on a deck again.”

“Is that how you lost your eye?” Willow prodded.

The captain whipped around like a top, his scarred lip curling up into a sneer. He hasn’t spoken to her since then. Willow didn’t seem to mind all that much. After all, there were other people on board she could bother.

“Do you know how Uliazin came to be?” Willow turned to her with that same glint in her eye.

“I know of the Nine Days’ War, yes,” Protea said carefully, “After the New Gods banished the Arn- the Primordials from the realm, they realized their fighting had nearly destroyed Vostea. As a solution, they elected to remake the world in their image, but they kept a few parts of it so humanity wouldn’t forget about what had happened. They called this new continent Uliazin, the Wretched Lands.”

“Ah, but you don’t know the story of Infinitum?”

“No, I don’t. Enlighten me.” Willow’s smile seemed to get wider, and Protea suddenly regretted her decision to humor the warden.

“Infinitum is, or was, the capital of the Old World. Back when the War first started, monster kind - the demons, in particular - banished them all from the capitol. When humanity fought back against the demons, they took Infinitum for themselves, but the previous owner left a little surprise for them. The castle, the grand jewel of the capital, is said to be enchanted, but if you ask everyone else they’ll tell you it was cursed.”

“How so?”

“The castle seemed to be alive! Walled-off hallways, stairs that went nowhere, windows that keep changing; it practically drove their king insane! Many an unfortunate soldier has been lost to the changing walls. I wonder if there are still bodies left there...” Willow turned back to the dark cliffs they were approaching.

Protea felt a shiver run up her spine. So it seemed the castle had some skeletons in its closet, maybe even in a literal sense.

The castle’s top spires pierced through the fog, golden tips glinting through the thin layer of snow that had covered them. The many towers that made it up slowly came into view as they grew closer to the gravelly beach. The stone practically immaculate, untouched by the weathering of time and nature. If Willow’s story was true, then the castle has been standing strong for over 400 years.

As the ship floated into what remained of the harbor, Protea looked up at the daunting cliffs. There was only a tiny path carved into the craggy cliffside that winded upwards at a slow rate. For a moment she wondered how they would take all their luggage up with them; the gulf had a line of sharp rocks at the entrance so if high tide came, the sailors wouldn’t be able to leave for months. Then Zephyrine pulled out a wand made from hard oak and caught the bags and suitcases in a violet aura that matched her eyes.

Protea couldn’t help but marvel at it; it was one thing to see magic through a set of pixels, but it was another thing entirely to see it right in front of your eyes.

Protea stepped on to the rotting wood of the dock with wobbling legs like a baby deer. The captain quickly took up the wooden plank that connected the tiny ship with the landing, and they were gone without so much as a goodbye. Sometimes she forgot just how much she was hated on the mainland.

It took a good fifteen minutes to travel up the precarious pathway. Several times, Protea almost slipped off the snowy footpath, and Willow seemed absolutely tickled by that, much to Protea’s chagrin. Oddly enough, Zephyrine didn’t have any problems getting up the path, even with the added weight of everyone’s luggage - although, her magic may have eliminated that factor entirely.

When they came up to the top of the cliff, the motley group found that they would have to circle around to the front of the complex in order to enter it, which elicited a round of silent bemoaning from Protea. After what seemed like an eternity of walking, they finally came to the front gates. A sense of deep despair fell over Protea as she took in the once great citadel, now merely a shell of itself. All around them were remains of life; withering trees with dingy ribbons tied to their branches, broken down carriages with shattered windows, and empty ruins of houses filled with rotting furniture. In the walls of the city, there was only one structure that was fully intact: the castle complex in all of its macabre majesty.

They walked through the gates dilapidated gates unimpeded - it seemed they weren’t part of the castle itself so they were simply left to rot away. In front of the complex itself, there was a single stele carved from black quartz. There was a passage at the bottom written in Enirkria, the common language of all monsterkind. But it was the passage at the top that caught Protea’s attention.

Whosoever sets foot on this land, if they are of daemon blood, shall become master of this land.

Raf’r whuruyas rarlae uk dhaur aesd, au esa rha u naenuk fruun, rherr fasuna nerdas u dhaur rek’n.

Zephyrine simply walked by, the stele seemingly invisible to her, and Willow stopped to give it a cursory glance, pausing for a split second on the bottom passage before passing on. Protea rushed forward to stop them - Willow’s story had unnerved the young woman - but as soon as she set foot on the stone steps behind the monument, a sound like the screeching of nails on a chalkboard rung through her ears, accompanied by deep intense pressure. Then it was over as soon as it happened. Protea blinked and looked down at herself. She was still wearing the same dress and it didn’t feel like she’d been hurt.

“Is there something wrong, my Lady?” Zephyrine looked at her with a mote of worry.

“No, I...” Protea struggled to voice her thoughts at first. “I’m fine. I just thought I heard something.” Although, she did notice that the castle didn’t seem as daunting as it did before. It even felt welcoming in a certain sense.

As they came across the front courtyard, all coated in a light layer of frost, it became clear that there was some measure of truth to Willow’s tale. Everything typical of a castle was there. There were purple banners adorning the walls and the space above the doorways, all depicting a golden wyvern with a spear clutched tightly in its talons. A grand fountain sat in the middle of the fountain where a sultry figure with horns and cloven hooves sat with a beckoning gesture. The steps that led up into the main building were decorated with a purple carpet similar to the banners which had swirling gold designs along the edges. They pushed past the giant doors of the building and finally came to a stop before the two curving sets of stairs. Zephyrine set the luggage down in a heap near the doors.

“So, what shall we do now?” Willow turned to the others with a tilt of her head.

“We should take inventory,” Zephyrine suggested. “Patrol the grounds, make sure everything is in order. There’s no guarantee that we’re the only ones here.”

As much as Protea wanted to gripe, she was right. They were in unfamiliar territory right now, and it wouldn’t do to live in a place that still had hiding spots.

“Let’s go.” And so the group set off once more, despite the pins and needles that ran through her legs.

They came across a kitchen connected to a dining room that doubled as a ballroom. The hearths in the kitchen still had firewood sitting underneath them and the chopping boards still had knives and forks lodged in the blocks. There was no food, none that was edible at least. The majority had either been taken or left to rot.

At the back of the complex, there was a garden overlooking the massive gulf. The space it occupied was small, so it had to get creative with a terraced design. There were many fantastical plants here; one flower was big enough for a human to sit in, a tree had bunches of tiny pink berries even in the winter, and another plant that sat in the garden’s waterfall pond with iridescent transparent leaves. Protea would have stayed there longer if Zephyrine hadn’t pulled her away.

There was a multitude of bedrooms as well, exactly 38 if Zephyrine was correct. They all had some manner of silken sheets and fluffy pillows, but of course, everything was suspiciously empty. There were a few articles of clothing left behind, but Protea didn’t feel particularly inclined to any of them. Willow on the other hand was very much interested. She whisked them away to parts unknown before anyone could even ask her what she would do with them.

“Oh, poo,” Willow pouted childishly, “We didn’t even find anything interesting.”

“Maybe you didn’t,” Protea said under her breath. On their way to the main bedrooms, she finally found the room that she’d really been searching for: the library.

The books were as untouched as ever, with no even a speck of dust to speak of in the whole room. The shelves seemed to stretch on forever, the structures towering over the tiny alcoves that once held studious scholars. In the very center of the room, there was a tall stained glass window overlooking a recessed area that held a wide oak tree and a small grassy field. The oak’s bark had veins running along the trunk and branches with an otherworldly light running through them. Magic moved through this place in droves, and Protea could feel her skin tingle in excitement. She couldn’t tell it was from the mystic atmosphere or if it was just her, but she didn’t care.

This was where her plan was going to be realized in its entirety. All the information here - the tomes, the scrolls, the archives - held the key parts to all of her machinations. There was only one question left; where would she go from here?