Secrets of the Obsidian Keep

Seraphine was led through the ancient halls of the Obsidian Keep, her boots echoing against cold stone. The corridors were vast but eerily silent, lined with towering pillars that bore the scars of time. The air was thick with the scent of burning torches, damp earth, and something metallic—blood.

Veylan walked beside her with an air of ease, as if this ruined fortress were a second home. His golden eyes watched her closely, amusement flickering in their depths.

"You've read about this place, haven't you?" he murmured.

Seraphine kept her face impassive. She had. The Obsidian Keep was once a sanctuary for exiled nobles, rebels, and those who sought to challenge the crown. It had been abandoned for decades—or so the kingdom believed.

"Why restore a ruin?" she asked.

Veylan chuckled. "Because ruins hold history, and history... holds power."

They reached a massive iron door engraved with symbols she didn't recognize. Veylan pressed his palm against the markings, and with a deep, guttural groan, the door unlocked.

Inside, the chamber was unlike the rest of the keep. It was pristine—ornate rugs covered the stone, shelves of books lined the walls, and a massive map of the kingdom was stretched across a grand oak table.

A council of figures stood waiting. Men and women in dark robes, their faces partially shadowed. At the center, a man older than the rest sat in a high-backed chair. His presence was commanding, his graying hair framing sharp, calculating eyes.

Seraphine inhaled sharply. She knew that face.

Her father.

She turned to Veylan, rage flashing in her gaze. "So this was your plan all along?"

Veylan tilted his head. "Not quite. But fate does have a way of bringing people home."

Her father leaned forward, his voice smooth and unhurried. "It's good to see you again, my daughter."

Seraphine's blood turned cold.