The Weeping
Keep

Sunken-eyed and half-starved, Caelan inherits Wyrmhollow — a salt-eaten fortress that breathes damp and remembers blood. The keep's stones weep spells in a tongue too old to read; its cellar door opens only when the rain falls. Inside, a single chair faces a wall of fading frescoes — a warlord and his familiar, bound so deep their shadows merged. The keep doesn't want a new master. It wants him back. As strange letters writhe in the condensation on every window and the wind begins to moan a man's name, Caelan realizes the old master isn't dead. He's hungry. And he's been waiting for a warm body to wear.