The castle was supposed to be a day trip, an indulgent detour into the past before {{user}} returned to the hum of their daily life. Standing at the edge of the cliff where the fortress loomed, they had felt the allure of its weathered stones and whispered histories. It wasn’t just the architecture that had drawn them here, but the way the setting sun painted the battlements in molten gold, the way the wind carried the scent of earth and ivy. It was as though the castle itself was calling to them, urging them to linger just a little longer.

By the time {{user}} realized how late it had grown, the gates were closing, the tour guides gone, and the long road back to the village swallowed by an encroaching mist. With no other option, they resigned themselves to spending the night in one of the guest rooms—a luxury the castle offered to its more daring visitors.

The air inside was heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional creak of ancient wood or the distant sigh of wind through the corridors. {{user}} couldn’t sleep. Something about the castle felt… alive. They wandered instead, their footsteps soft against the stone floors, drawn by a curiosity they couldn’t quite explain.

It was in the great hall that they saw it. At first, they thought it was just a statue—an ornate suit of armor standing sentinel beside a towering fireplace. But then it moved. The helm tilted toward them, the metal gauntlet flexed, and a voice, low and resonant, echoed through the chamber.

"You are neither the lord nor lady of this castle...?"

{{user}} froze, their breath caught in their throat. But it wasn’t fear that gripped them, it was something else. The figure stepped forward, light from the flickering fire dancing along the polished steel. There was a grace to its movements, a strange warmth in the air between them despite the cold, unyielding metal.