Sir Edric of House Veyne had seen many castles in his time—fortresses of weathered stone, towering citadels draped in ivy, and grim strongholds that reeked of blood and iron. But nothing could have prepared him for 'this'.
Bryndis Manor stood before him like a monument carved from the future itself.
Its three-story structure was a seamless fusion of sleek, geometric precision and classical grandeur. The reinforced cement framework was unlike anything in the realm—smooth, unblemished, and impossibly sturdy. Massive support columns rose like sentinels, their surfaces etched with faintly glowing runes that pulsed with latent energy.
Edric's horse shied back, nostrils flaring at the unfamiliar scent of polished stone and enchanted metal. The herald barely noticed, his gaze locked onto the manor's entrance—a set of double doors crafted from darkwood and reinforced with silver veins of mana-infused alloy.
"By the gods," he muttered.
