Rooted in the Earth: Sanctuary

He found her alone in the small, weatherworn cottage nestled in the foothills below Nightfall, a place almost swallowed by the shadow of the looming mountains.

Hayden had watched the cottage for days, noting the rhythm of its quiet existence. He never saw a man enter or leave, and the absence of a protector fed his confidence. Whoever might stand in his way, he was certain he could overpower them.

After a quick search, he found her in the kitchen, standing by a rough-hewn wooden table, pouring steaming water over a bundle of herbs in her cup.

She didn't notice him at first. Her back was to him. The scent of the tea she was brewing hung in the air, sharp and earthy. He hadn't expected the aroma to linger with him long after.

When she turned and saw him, her reaction was everything he'd anticipated. Her eyes widened, startled at first, then sharp with defiance. He could see the tension flood her slender frame, her knuckles whitening as she clutched the edge of the table. She scream but there was no one to hear.

She struggled against him, her nails raking against his arm, her small fists striking out in desperation. Just as he hoped she would. He wanted her fury, her resistance, the proof of her fire. It wasn't strength that would save her, though—it never was.

He subdued her easily, her wrists caught in his grip like fragile bird bones. The sharp intake of her breath and the fear in her eyes only made the moment more electric. Part of him savored the challenge she gave. The other part? It craved the moment she would realize resistance was futile.

She twisted in his grasp, her every movement defiant, but Hayden's grip didn't falter.

"You'll wear yourself out," he said, his voice low, steady. "And you'll still be mine."

She screamed once more and Hayden muffled it was a smile. Defiance was beautiful. It would make the moment she broke all the more exquisite.

When it was all said and done, Hayden knew just exactly where to bury her body; right on top of his dead friends.

He first bundled her in a banket he found draped over an armchair by the fireplace before slinging her over the back of his horse and making for the burial grounds.

The earth was still loose over Jeffrey's grave. Hayden made quick work of hiding her corpse. Truth be told, she had died a little sooner than he had anticipated. During their struggles, she'd struck her head heard on the edge of a stone step.

The resounding crunch as her skull caved in still rang in his ears. Her eyes had remained open, staring into nothing, just as Jeffrey's had, while blood pooled around her head.

Such a waste, Hayden scowled softly to himself as he threw the shovel full of dirt ontop of the grave.

"You should be well-stocked," Viktor remarked, his tone laced with forced levity as he stepped into the courtyard. "Judging by those saddlebags, Aida's packed enough to feed you for a week—or two." He gestured toward the leather bags slung over Eskilarr's broad back, their seams straining against the bulging contents.

Standing beside his imposing mount, Kastiel tightened the girth of the saddle with the ease of long practice. "Aida might not care much for me," he replied dryly, "but she'd never let me starve."

"She'd see that as a stain on the house's honor," Viktor quipped, his lips curling into a faint smile. "Even if it means enduring your presence a little longer."

Kastiel snorted softly at that, though his expression remained impassive.

When Aida had learned the Val 'Rhayne was departing for the Vale of Shadows, the meticulous Headkeeper of Helston House had immediately set to work, preparing enough provisions to sustain a small army. Kastiel, though not her favorite person, would not be allowed to leave unfed. It was a matter of principle, and Aida's principles were unyielding.

The evidence of her labor was undeniable. The saddlebags sagged heavily under their weight, stuffed with neatly wrapped packages of dried meats, cheeses, and fresh bread. Yet Eskilarr, Kastiel's Nightmare steed, bore the load without complaint. The stallion's hulking frame radiated heat, steam rising from his black hide in the chill morning air.

Though only two lanterns flanked the manor's main doorway, the courtyard was awash in an eerie crimson light. Eskilarr's internal fire burned fiercely, illuminating the area with a mesmerizing glow that flickered like molten lava beneath his skin.

Viktor cast a wary glance toward the high walls that surrounded Helston House, silently praying his neighbors remained oblivious to the otherworldly phenomenon.

The Nightmare's fiery eyes burned brightly beneath his ornate headstall, which was shaped like a dragon's face, its red "eyes" gleaming ominously in the early morning gloom. No reins linked the mount to his rider—there was no need. After nearly two thousand years of partnership, Kastiel and Eskilarr communicated without words, their bond as ancient and unshakable as the mountains.

Clearly, the stallion shared his rider's eagerness to leave the capital behind, even if only for a brief time. He shifted restlessly, pawing at the cobblestones with a massive hoof that struck sparks in the dim light.

"The Queen's tournament is in two months, isn't it?" Kastiel asked, breaking the silence as he performed one final check of his saddle.

"Yes," Viktor replied, stepping closer, his breath visible in the cool air. "I expect the King will announce the ride to the Storm Coast about a week before it begins."

Eskilarr snorted, his nostrils flaring as if to voice his own opinion on the matter.

Kastiel nodded, his gaze flicking up to meet Viktor's. "I won't be long."

Viktor watched the interaction with a faint smile, though his thoughts were heavy. Kastiel's departure was necessary, but it left an unease he couldn't quite shake. "Take the time you need. But it would be good to have you back before the chaos begins," Viktor added, his tone subdued.

With effortless grace, Kastiel swung into the saddle, his movements fluid and practiced. Eskilarr shifted beneath him. The stallion's restlessness was palpable, and within moments, the pair moved toward the gate.

"Three days' ride to the Vale. Give or take the weather. Three days back. So that gives me just over a month to locate the Harbinger. Slay the terrible beast. And otherwise restore peace to the Vale. Sounds like a good time," said Kastiel.

"Thank you for your help, Kastiel. Again." Viktor said, looking up at the ancient knight.

"Don't mention it. I was getting bored here and Eskilarr needed the exercise. He's put on some weight," the knight said.

In response, the stallion instantly craned his neck around until the pair of blood-red eyes peered back at his rider from behind his dragon fashioned headstall.

"What? You think I can't tell? I had to let your girth out four notches, my friend. Four. Trystan clearly hasn't missed a feeding, and nor have you." Kastiel said, unphased by the Nightmares glare.

Eskilarr snorted indignantly and tossed his head. The nightmares' long black mane fluttered in the cool spring breeze that swept across the courtyard.

"Safe travels to you both. How I wish I was riding to Nightfall with you," said Viktor.

As the crimson glow of horse and rider disappeared into the thick morning mist, Viktor lingered in the courtyard, his arms crossed over his chest. The weight of looming events pressed heavily on him, but for now, he could only watch the retreating figure of his oldest ally and hope they would both be ready for what lay ahead.

The northerly road to the Vale of Shadows stretched ahead, its surface weathered by the relentless rains of spring. Though the path was marred by potholes and loose gravel, Eskilarr moved with an ease and confidence that belied the terrain's poor condition. His gait was steady and sure, his powerful frame navigating the pitted road as if it were smooth stone.

From the first steps beyond the courtyard of Helston House, Eskilarr's energy was palpable. He carried himself with a buoyancy Kastiel hadn't seen in years, and it reminded of him of the playful vigor of a yearling.

Kastiel, allowing his companion to choose the pace, marveled at the swiftness with which they covered ground. It was more than enthusiasm—there was something almost restless about the Nightmare's movements, as if the beast shared Kastiel's eagerness to return to Nightfall.

Hours passed, the sun sinking below the Midlands' rolling hills, and still, Eskilarr pressed on, his fiery glow illuminating the road long after darkness claimed the landscape. It wasn't until the moon rose high above them that the stallion finally slowed, veering off the road and into the shelter of a small grove. Kastiel recognized the signal without words: Eskilarr was done for the day.

The grove offered a quiet sanctuary beneath its thick canopy of trees, their branches swaying gently in the cool night breeze. Kastiel dismounted with a soft grunt, his muscles protesting after hours of travel.

He removed the ornate dragon-shaped headstall from Eskilarr's proud face and eased the saddle from his broad back. Steam rose in delicate tendrils from the Nightmare's glossy black coat, the warmth of his inner fire banishing the chill from the air around them.

Kastiel opened one of the bulging saddlebags, its seams groaning under Aida's meticulous handiwork, and retrieved a portion of grain and dried apples for Eskilarr. The stallion snorted softly, his glowing red eyes flickering as Kastiel worked. "Don't act like you're not spoiled," Kastiel murmured, rubbing the stallion's neck affectionately.

Eskilarr ate with gusto while Kastiel busied himself brushing the stallion's coat, his strokes brisk but gentle. When the Nightmare finally settled onto the forest floor with a contented groan, his massive body radiated a soothing heat that filled the small clearing. Kastiel followed suit, claiming his own meal from the provisions Aida had packed.

Once his hunger was sated, Kastiel packed away their supplies and leaned back against Eskilarr's flank. The stallion's rhythmic breathing and the soft glow of his fiery body were as comforting as a hearth on a winter's night. Kastiel pulled his black cloak tightly around himself and raised his hood, intending to keep watch. But the warmth and quiet pressed against his wearied body like a lullaby. Before long, sleep claimed him.

The night passed without incident, and Kastiel woke just before dawn to find Eskilarr already alert, his ears swiveling as he listened to the forest's waking symphony. They set off again under the pale light of morning, the Nightmare's steady pace eating away at the distance to Nightfall.

By the second day, Eskilarr's initial bursts of energy had softened into a determined, spirited jog. The long, effortless strides carried them across the Midlands' rolling hills, and Kastiel began to wonder if they might arrive earlier than anticipated.

It was on the third day, cresting the final hill overlooking the Vale of Shadows, that Kastiel's optimism waned.

A brooding storm churned above the valley, its dark clouds swirling ominously around the jagged peaks of the Blackrock Mountains. Lightning flickered in the distance, casting eerie shadows over the ancient hold of Nightfall, carved from the living black stone of the mountain itself.

"Well, we almost made it without getting drenched," Kastiel muttered, sighing heavily as he surveyed the tempest. He patted Eskilarr's neck, adding, "At least Thomas will have hot mash, a cozy blanket, and a dry stall waiting for you."

Eskilarr snorted, his glowing eyes narrowing as he pawed the ground impatiently.

"You might have to share," Kastiel said with a dry chuckle. "If Mae doesn't let me in, I'm claiming the stall next to you."

The view before them was breathtaking despite the storm. The Blackrock Mountains loomed like ancient sentinels, their snow-capped peaks piercing the turbulent skies.

Though the Emphyeral Hold was a place of beauty and history, Nightfall felt like home in a way no other place could. It wasn't just the grandeur of the hold or the comfort it offered—it was the connection, the sense of belonging. Eskilarr, born of fire and fury, seemed to share Kastiel's sentiment, glowing brighter as they neared the hold.

As they began their descent into the Vale of Shadows, Kastiel's thoughts turned inward, his brow furrowing. He couldn't shake the unease that had lingered since he'd left Viktor behind. The choice to offer his guardianship to the Lord of Nightfall had not been made lightly, and the idea of leaving her unprotected gnawed at him.

"Damn it, Eskilarr," Kastiel muttered, his voice tight with frustration. "Why did she stay?"

Eskilarr's only response was a low snort, his glowing hooves striking the earth with steady determination as they made their way into the storm's embrace.