The dead of the night brought with it shadows, a darkness that could only be found in the depths of this aged, abandoned castle. The dark stone bricks had a cold that penetrated through the thickest of coats, with the winds of the storm passing through the cracks of the keep and creating sounds akin to the whispers of the dead. Ciaran walked with slow, steady steps through the hallway.
The light of the moon peaked in between the looming dark storm clouds, shining onto the hallway and floor through ceiling-high windows, leaving its trace on the sides of his face as he wandered, lost in thought. The whistling of the wind coincided with the low voices resounding in his mind, some yelling while others would mutter something in a hushed tone. They spoke over one another, the voices overlapping so that only a few words and fragments of sentences could be made out. He ignored them, as he always did, and didn’t pay attention to the phantoms swaying behind the glass, knowing they were all illusions that didn’t exist outside of his mind.
The mist from the hailing rain filled the air as Ciaran passed by an old painting of a young man that looked very similar to himself. The dark wooden frames of the oil painting were carved with intricate designs by a renowned woodcarver, the details showing dark dragons mid flight, surrounded by the stars and a withered, black rose. They were symbols found on the noble crest of the family that once lived here, though they had all fallen to a near-ruined state several years ago. He looked at the man in the painting. Hair darker than the night, with eyes that shone a silver brighter than the moon. His sharp features and piercing gaze penetrated the onlooker, as if his spirit was haunting these halls, watching any that walked by.
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Ciaran raised a hand and touched the painting, whispering to himself, “Grandfather… It’s been a while. How are you? I hope you’re doing well, wherever you are. I can finally accomplish the goal you dedicated your life towards. If you’d just wait a little longer, your life’s work will be complete. Our family… won’t have to bear this burden for much longer.”
He let his eyes linger for a second longer before turning his gaze to the path ahead and walking again, the echo of his boots colliding with a clap of thunder. The lighting that flashed a second later illuminated Ciaran’s face under the hood of his dark cloak, as well as the long, thin scar running over his left eye. He pursed his lips, then tugged his hood forward, encasing his features in shadow.
