The Vigil of Alden

I. The Winter Raven

The snowy wasteland brought gales howling through the long forgotten halls of a bastion in ruins, creating a mournful symphony that echoed through its hollowed frame. The structure, sighing under the decay of centuries, was far from disappearing into obscurity — perched on a lonely hill amidst a frozen wasteland, it loomed against the pale twilight sky, a jagged silhouette. Among its haunting splendor was a small, lone figure, in a suit of armor, standing watch.

Alden Grayheart, once a knight in the service of the Amaranthus Kingdom, was the solitary occupant of this cursed place. The cold air gnawed at his bones, and the weight of his exile pressed heavily upon him. Banished to these haunted halls, after failing in his sacred duty — to protect Princess Nevina Amarantha, the beloved heir to the throne. Seven years had passed since her death, and the castle had become his prison, the icy and lifeless landscape a mirror of his own desolation.

The tall tower in which he stood, high above the wasteland, felt more like a tomb than a place of vigilance. There was no warmth here, no life. Only the echo of a distant past lingered among the shattered windows, cracked walls and endless curtains and tapestries. Alden lived only in a small apartment of the castle, once reserved for nobles and diplomats, it was now one of the few places indoors that didn't accumulate snow.

Alden believed in the ghosts — of lost honor, of promises broken, of a princess who had once smiled and laughed but was now only a memory. That, and the harpsichord would strike a dissonant tune every witches hour.

As Alden gazed out at the endless expanse of snow and ice, twilight began to settle into the blur, turning the sky into a bruise of violet and gray. The castle, a structure of ancient stone, cast long shadows that seemed to stretch into an eternity of fading white. Once the sun had set, that distant howl of wind was joined by the haunting cry of a raven — a sound that made Alden's chest tighten.

He had seen that raven before...

Every night for the past week, the raven had appeared. It arrived at twilight and perched upon the highest tower of the castle, above the tattered flags of a ancient ruler - watching him with those beady black eyes, its feathers gleamed like obsidian. There was something unnatural about it, something far too intelligent in its gaze. Alden had come to dread its presence. It became the latest reminder of something he could not escape... a harbinger of doom, that of which he could not outrun.

On this particular night... On the seventh day it arrived, the raven's call was different. It was sharp, cutting through the silence with an urgent cry. Alden's breath caught in his throat as the bird flapped its wings, soaring towards the darkening sky.

It was then that Alden knew... deep in his frozen heart, that this creature was an omen.

He was going to die tomorrow.

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