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The storm had already soaked through steel and cloak by the time the knight reached the outer wall.

Torchlight flickered along the battlements, throwing long shadows across stone slick with rain. He reined in his horse at the treeline, visor lowered, breath steady despite the chaos within the castle. Banners still flew—proof the kingdom stood—but the signal fires told another story. A prince taken. A fortress turned prison.

He dismounted without a sound, boots sinking into the mud as he crossed himself once, briefly, before the climb. This was not glory work. This was oath work.

Steel rang softly as his gauntlet touched the hilt at his side.

“Hold on,” he murmured to the wind, voice rough from travel and resolve alike. “I’m here.”

Moments later, a grappling hook caught stone above, and the knight began his ascent—toward the tower where the prince waited, unaware that salvation was already climbing the walls.