Arcanae

Chpt. 02 // Road of Remembrance

Afore long, I began my wary descent from my bedroom tower. I was still rubbing the last specks of sleep out of my eyes, nearly losing my balance in the process. With a newfound caution, I much more carefully walked down the flight of coiling steps.

Every time the heel of my boots collided with the cold stone, it brought about a new echo within the stairwell.

These steps were steep and cruelly unforgiving, too.

A cold shiver went down my spine as a dull, nagging sense of pain in my knees flared up momentarily. Ah, it was the mark of my past clumsiness, having managed to cause great injury to both my lower legs in the past.

The approach and departure, for that matter, to and from my rise had always been a silent trial of endurance.

I came to a halt somewhere along the way, peering out the nearby torch-lit window.

Letting out a shallow huff, I swiftly scanned the Manor of Lords' premises.

There was no motion near the stables quite yet; Petyr had yet to reach them.

Then, for a fleeting moment, my gaze fell upon Silvermoon Wharf, the isle's world-renowned harbour: an impressive centre of trade that offered vast stocks of masterfully forged weaponry, delicately woven clothing and ample more.

Oddly enough, in spite of the rich treasures, Crescent Isle had never succumbed to a pirate invasion or anything akin. Though there were some attempts over the centuries, either they would be repelled by the forces present on the Ashwood Peninsula, or the Great Tides would grow ferociously violent, smashing any and all ships apart on the rocky shores.

As silly as it sounded, it was as though the very sea had sheltered us, warding off external dangers.

With that notion, I gathered myself and resumed my walk through the central tower's winding staircase, reflecting on the nature of the keep.

The Manor of Lords had always seemed a great stronghold; enormous bolt-locked gates, twinned drawbridges, and the recent installation of ballistae atop the outer walls were only the first of many defensive precautions.

However, on the other side of the spectrum, there was a keen eye for detail. Years ago, Mother had hired foreign carpenters from Verdus Isle to adorn the keep, to let it exude a grand sense of wealth to commemorate the thriving state the isle had garnered over the last centuries.

And til this very day, their marvellous work embellished these hallways.

I paced through them, passing by several entrances to the guestrooms, the kitchen area, the expansive armoury, and before long, I crossed the intersection connecting to the Guards' Quarters and, of course, the Small Chamber: Mother's office in which she would regularly meet the townsfolks' representatives.

I drew closer to the great foyer, and a familiar voice greeted me from the opposite end of the narrow hallway. Beyond two embroidered pedestals, each housing a historical relic, Father's voice rang forth; "I wish for our new defences to be prepared before nightfall, my friend. Would that be possible, Vhersio?"

A second voice with a deep, gruff touch emerged, "A reasonable request, Lord Pryce. If all goes according to plan, everything should be installed and operational well before the Tides take the sun."

A door shut.

Their voices grew fainter.

I continued my walk, passing by the room both men had entered; Father and Vhersio had lowered their voices. I minded it not, for their debates usually revolved either around the maintenance of defensive structures across the isle or the latest craft of some Mainland smithing master.