Dark energy slithered from the ground like veins, winding hungrily around the castle walls. With each pulse, the tendrils swelled, throbbing like a sinister heartbeat.
Jagged cracks split the earth beneath them, the likely source of the tremors shaking the land. From these gaps, more of the ominous energy seeped out, creeping toward its next host—the surrounding area of the castle.
The Castle of Asvaldur was nearly consumed. The lower walls were already ensnared, swallowed by the writhing veins of darkness. Only the upper spires remained untouched, their towering peaks still defiant against the encroaching force. But it was only a matter of time. Soon, even they would be claimed.
Inside and outside the castle, tiny figures moved—too small for Puck to make out clearly, but he assumed they were vampires. Something was off. They weren't going about their usual routines; instead, they drifted aimlessly, like sleepwalkers lost in a dream.
