Rooted in the Earth: Sanctuary

The Arterian Ambassador departed the capital the same morning as the Val 'Rhayne. By the time Viktor arrived at the Emphyeral Hold, the courtyard was a hive of activity. Servants darted in all directions, narrowly avoiding collisions as they carried trunks and crates filled with the Ambassador's household belongings. These were to be loaded into one of the four carriages forming the caravan bound for the Everwinter.

Amidst the commotion stood the Ambassador's wife, Lady Aine Haeldryn, her commanding presence belying her petite frame. Heavily pregnant, her rounded belly stretched against the fabric of her blue, fur-trimmed dress, yet she moved with an efficiency that seemed unaffected by her condition.

Aine was a textbook Arterian, a striking embodiment of her northern kin. Barely five feet tall, she wore her long, snow-white hair in a series of intricate braids that cascaded down her slender back, framing an oval face with features so delicate they seemed almost fragile. Her skin was as pale as the Everwinters endless snows, lending her an ethereal quality that made her seem almost otherworldly.

But it was her eyes that drew Viktor's attention—and unease. Arterian's had an unsettling gaze, their irises a pale, icy blue so faint they nearly blended with the surrounding whites of their eyes. In Aine's case, those large, doe-like eyes missed nothing. There was an intensity in her stare that belied her fragile appearance.

Viktor lingered at the front of the caravan, resting his hand on the shaggy head of one of the four Arterian ponies hitched to the lead wagon. The pony, with its thick winter coat, snuffled at his palm in search of a treat. Absently, he let the animal nuzzle him as he observed Aine, who orchestrated the chaos around her with precision, issuing commands to the servants and ensuring that nothing was overlooked.

For a fleeting moment, Viktor saw a reflection of someone else in her—a faint reminder of Nileyna, his wife. Or rather, his estranged wife. Over a decade had passed since he'd last seen her, though the weight of that absence still pressed heavily on his shoulders. Of all the burdens he bore as consequences for his selfishness, this perhaps was the heaviest.

Viktor's gaze lingered on Lady Aine as she moved from servant to servant, her braided hair swaying with each step. Though she and Nileyna shared no physical resemblance, there was something in her demeanor—an unyielding strength beneath a composed exterior—that struck a chord within him.

He let out a slow breath, pulling his thoughts back to the present. The caravan would soon depart, carrying the Arterian Ambassador and his wife to the frozen lands of their homeland.

"Blessed are those who rise with the dawn," Viktor greeted, the hollow refrain slipping from his lips with the practiced ease of one resigned to the new order imposed by the Ascended, voice of the Risen God. The words, though weighty in intent, felt as empty as the air they traveled on.

Lady Aine turned her pale gaze to him, her large, doe-like eyes meeting his unflinchingly. There was no malice in her stare, yet it carried a weight that was difficult to ignore. "Blessed are those who rise with the dawn," she replied evenly. Her tone matched his—calm, polite, and devoid of true conviction, though her faintly bemused expression suggested she shared his skepticism of the words.

"The court shall lament your departure," Viktor offered, inclining his head slightly. The statement, though formal, carried a touch of sincerity.

Lady Aine's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Perhaps," she said, her voice smooth and measured. "And you are kind to say so, my Lord of Nightfall. But not my husband's, I think."

Viktor allowed himself a wry smile in response. "Ambassador Zeven has a certain... pragmatism that does not always endear him to the soft hearts of court," he said. "But truthfully, I rather like him." He hesitated, the admission lingering between them for a moment before he added, "Had circumstances been different, I'd like to think we might have been friends—or even allies."

Lady Aine's smile deepened, a flicker of genuine amusement lighting her pale features. "Zeven often speaks of you with something resembling respect," she said, tilting her head slightly, her braids shifting with the motion. "And for him, that is no small thing."

Viktor chuckled quietly, brushing his gloved hand along the shaggy coat of the Arterian pony beside him. "High praise, indeed. I'll take it as a compliment."

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, sharp yet thoughtful. "He admires the way you hold to your principles, even when they chafe against those who think themselves above them. In that, I believe, you remind him of our homeland—unyielding, resilient."

Viktor's smile faltered slightly at her words. There was truth in them, though he wasn't sure if it was a compliment or a reminder of the burdens he carried. 

A brief silence stretched between them, filled only by the clatter of servants shoes and the distant murmur of voices. Finally, Aine broke the stillness, her voice softer but no less poised. "Take care, my lord. The shadows grow longer with each passing day, and not all who walk within them have your fortitude."

Depends on which shadows you walk with, Viktor thought of Kastiel. Knowing Eskilarr's eagerness to return to Nightfall, the Val 'Rhayne would be well on his way to the Vale of Shadows by now.

Viktor regarded her for a moment, "And you, Lady Aine."

Her smile returned, faint but warm. Then, with a nod, she turned back to the caravan, her movements slow but purposeful.

"I hear your shadow has departed for Nightfall," Guil Ashford said, his tone light but probing as he fell into step beside Viktor.

The sharp rhythm of Viktor's cane striking the stone floor echoed in the corridor, its deliberate cadence a counterpoint to the soft murmur of their conversation. Early morning light filtered weakly through the narrow, arched windows of the external portion of the Emphyeral Hold, casting jagged slashes of illumination and shadow on the polished stone walls. 

"Word travels quickly, I see," Viktor replied, his tone carefully neutral, though there was a flicker of irritation in his sharp gray eyes.

Together, they navigated the winding halls, their footsteps resounding in the emptiness. The sprawling series of chambers allotted to the Lord of Nightfall loomed ahead, a testament to the hold as the second most powerful seat in the realm, second only to the king himself. 

These quarters, recently refurbished to suit Nileyna's refined tastes, offered a rare blend of elegance and comfort. Viktor's heart ached faintly with longing every time he spent time within them. Though she was gone, here in these halls, her presence lingered strongest.

His residence in Helston House had been a necessity, but it lacked the familiarity and warmth of these apartments.

"One of my guards saw him leaving," Guil continued, his voice tinged with amusement. "Apparently, the red glow moving through the streets was unmistakable. Hard to miss a Nightmare in a good mood."

Viktor exhaled softly, masking his frustration. Kastiel was usually far more discreet. "I'd hoped they would be more subtle than that."

Guil chuckled, his stride effortlessly matching Viktor's measured pace. "Subtlety has never been the Nightmare's strength, has it?"

"I hope your guardian need not be away too long," Guil said, his tone shifting, growing heavier with implied meaning. "We may find ourselves in need of his talents in the coming months."

The faint tightening of Viktor's jaw was the only outward indication that Guil's words struck a nerve. He kept his stride steady, the tap of his cane against the stone floor unbroken, though the weight of the conversation pressed down like the stone ceilings above them. 

Guil had a point, but Viktor's priorities lay elsewhere. Kastiel's presence in the Vale was vital now. The Vale of Shadows, as part of the territory of Nightfall, fell under Viktor's protection, and as it's lord, he should have dealt with the issue himself,.

The Lord of Nightfall's grip on the raven handle of his twisted blackwood cane tightened in frustration. But he'd believed Lord Conrad when he said he would handle the matter of the monster. Instead, it seems the Lord of Vesper was distracted by his hunt for the Harbinger.

Viktor knew that only once that matters of the Vale were resolved could he turn his full attention to the impending Nameday celebrations for Queen Taitianne—and the King's dangerous obsession with Collaring a Storm.

He could only hope that Kastiel was swift to act.