Rooted in the Earth: Sanctuary

The last snow of the season fell that night. The large, feathery white flakes of snow, as they drifted lazily down from the cloudy late-night sky, were a final swan song from a particularly harsh winter that had long overstayed its welcome.

"Dammit." Viktor sighed softly as he took pause atop the half-stair that led up to the massive doors of the Grand Entryway to the Emphyeral Hold and cast a baleful eye up towards the cloud-covered sky. 

After nearly a decade of trying to outrun his demons, Viktor had returned to his homeland of Voltaine just in time to experience one of the worst winters on recent record. Temperatures had plunged lower, and for longer, and the snow had fallen deeper than normal.

This last snow, as it drifted upon the air currents, dancing around the holds towers and battlements, was just a final kick in the ass from a winter that had long overstayed its welcome. 

Across the expanse of the Emphyeral Holds, Viktor spotted his black carriage drawn on by two perfectly matched blood bay stallions. At their head, stood his driver and master of horse, Trystan Forsyth. 

As one of those from the tribes of the Iron Hills above Illumasca, horseflesh ran deep in Trystan's blood. His people were said to be on horseback before they could walk. Horses were an essential part of their identity. A heritage Viktor could not question as he looked down at the pair of blood bay stallions that stood utterly still at the head of his black and silver carriage.

The soft glow of the torches made the stallion's blood bay coats shine while their black points faded softly into the night and with the feathery flakes of snow drifting down around them from the sky, swirling and cartwheeling around them, they looked positively ethereal. Only the vapor rising from their flares nostrils gave any indication these beasts were flesh and blood and not carved from stone by the Children of the Mountain.

Setting off, Viktor could only pray the polished courtyard stone had not grown so slick with melting snow that it might pose a danger. Since the accident in the courtyard of his own hold of Nightfall, surefootness was not exactly something on his side. He was both thankful and resentful, of the cane at his side. 

Echoing throughout the courtyard, the sound of his blackwood cane made any form of discretion impossible.

"Trying to break the other leg, I see," whispered the shadow that suddenly appeared at his side.

Most men might have been startled at the Val 'Rhayne's sudden appearance, but more than twenty years on, Viktor was well accustomed to Kastiel's habits. Viktor knew that, on a night like this, Kastiel would not be far at hand. He never was. Even if the Emphyeral Hold was forbidden to him.

"I couldn't stop it," snarled Viktor softly to the shadow, but he maintained his pace, marching across the courtyard.

Even in the light of fires along the ramparts of the Emphyeral Hold, the courtyard still held enough shadow to hide Kastiel until he was ready to be seen. This ability for the Val 'Rhayne to remain hidden in the shadows had proven useful throughout their years together. It was clearly a gift from his ethereal mother, the legendary Lost Star. The Old Kingdom's, beneath the blazing desert sun, may be Kastiel's place of birth, but the shadows were his home.

"Yes, it is a pity she was born here," said Kastiel, his voice low, "The Gift is strong with that one."

Every child in the realm grew up with the stories and tales of the five legendary Val 'Rhayne brothers, all born of the shadows cast by the Lost Star. On the day the Lost Star left them. A light had disappeared from the world and shadows had taken its place.

"Not yet. Now will you slow down? I am a dead man should you fall again," Kastiel's voice rolled through the darkness like silk, rich and smooth with a unique blend of the many places he had called home over thousands of years, "Never thought I would meet my end to an overprotective housekeeper, but that is what would happen should you get hurt again."

Ah, yes. Aida.

Viktor snorted softly but slowed his pace. "Yes, she did say something along those lines, didn't she?"

Normally, when staying in the Capital City, the Lord of Nightfall would reside in the recently renovated, opulent apartments within the Emphyeral Hold. But Viktor hadn't felt at ease in a court that he no longer recognized. 

Kastiel's banishment from the Hold following his run-in with the Ascended had only solidified Viktor's decision to relocate to the Helston House—a sprawling manse nestled beyond the Hold's walls.

The Helston House, an immaculate edifice of pale white stone, wrought iron, and gleaming glass, came furnished to perfection. Its grandeur extended even to its staff, among whom was one remarkably protective housekeeper. 

Aida Franecturn had taken charge of the estate with the same resolute devotion her elder sister showed as the Head Keeper of Nightfall. Yet unlike her sister, whose allegiance was singularly tied to Nightfall, Aida had formed an unexpectedly fierce attachment to Viktor. 

For five months now, Viktor had endured her unyielding oversight, a consequence of his infamous fall in Nightfall's courtyard—an incident Kastiel still hadn't heard the end of.

As they crossed the courtyard of the Emphyeral Hold, Viktor and Kastiel passed over ancient runes, carved deep into the living stone by hands long gone. The intricate patterns formed a perfect arch stretching across the expanse. 

Their true purpose or meaning remained shrouded in mystery. As did much of these ancient holds the people of Voltaine now inhabited. 

Silence hung between Viktor and his shadowy companion as they moved under the towering archway of the Hold's massive gatehouse. A brisk spring wind swept through, its chill biting at their faces as they paused just outside the walls to await Trystan. The master of horse maneuvered the carriage toward them, the blood bay stallions moving with effortless grace.

The Emphyeral Hold, sister to Nightfall, loomed behind them, its towering gray walls and spires carved directly from the mountainside. Viktor leaned against his cane, absently running his thumb over the carved raven's sapphire eyes atop the cane's handle. 

His gaze shifted to Kastiel, who stood quietly, his dark green eyes scanning the Capital City below. From this vantage, the city seemed to tumble down the foothills in a cascade of rooftops, flickering torches, and distant chimneys trailing thin ribbons of smoke into the crisp air.

The long winter had drained the vitality from Viktor's complexion, leaving his skin pale and his features etched with a weariness that mirrored his soul. 

By contrast, Kastiel seemed untouched by time, his smooth skin still carrying the sun's warmth as vividly as it had in the deserts of the Old Kingdoms. Despite being together over two decades, Kastiel's appearance had not shifted—unchanging and eternal, a stark reminder of his otherworldly heritage.

Viktor, however, could no longer deny the passage of time. Once, people had mistaken him for Kastiel's elder brother. Now, such illusions had long since faded. 

The accident at Nightfall had marked the end of Viktor's delusion that he might somehow be exempt from aging, that time might grant him the same reprieve it seemed to grant Kastiel. 

He looked out over the city, his thoughts dark and introspective. The carefree youth who had once roamed the sun-scorched hills of the Old Kingdoms was gone, buried beneath layers of responsibility, regret, and the weight of his title. 

That version of himself lingered only in memory, a phantom at the edge of his consciousness. Unlike the other demons that clawed at the walls of his mind, his younger self did not press to be let in. Instead, it stood at a distance, a taunting specter that shouted reminders of what had been—and what could never be again.

Of all the demons Viktor battled, this one was the most cruel. It didn't rage or demand. It simply lingered, whispering truths he wished he could forget. It was a constant reminder of his own mortality, of dreams lost to time, and of a freedom that had slipped irrevocably beyond his grasp.