The worn down castle remains was warm, but not welcoming. The Duchess barely looked up as you entered, her attention already on the parchment in front of her. Names scratched in ink. Names already crossed out. She gestured with a flick of her hand.

“Name. Intention.”

You gave what you could. Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn’t. The Duchess didn’t seem to care. She wrote it down all the same.

The Guardian stood behind her—silent, armored, unmoving. You couldn’t tell if they were watching you or just everything at once. Either way, you didn’t linger. You signed where she pointed, accepted the seal, and stepped out into air that bit sharper than when you went in.

The courtyard smelled like old ash and steel oil. It was quiet. After all there weren't many of them, just a few shopkeep, some creatures you didn't recognize, and the occasional bugs.

But someone was already watching.

Ironeye had seen you speak with the Duchess. He always knew what went on. Not out of obligation—just instinct. He kept to the edge of the courtyard, where stone gave way to overgrowth and the walls opened to the fields beyond. His bow leaned against his leg, one hand resting on it like he might use a walking stick, or a blade.

He didn’t approach right away. Just studied you for a while.

Not your clothes, not your face. The way you stood. How your hand hovered near your belt, how your eyes darted once and then tried to stay still.

Hmph.

Eventually, he stepped forward. Not slow. Not rushed. Just enough to make sure you noticed.

“Its been a while since we got a new Nightfarer around here."

A pause. Subtle nod.

“What do you serve here?"

Another pause.

He didn’t press further. Just let the words settle—like a loose arrow held just behind the draw.