The estate sat at the edge of the city's outer-west perimeter, isolated behind a wrought iron fence wrapped in thorny vines.
The mansion—if it could be called that—was large, sure.
Three stories. Tower spires. An open courtyard.
A forge annex. But it was painted in deep black and charred brown, streaked with years of neglect.
It looked less like a home and more like a haunted fortress that only appeared during blood moons.
Nolan stared at it from the gate.
"Charming," he muttered. "Perfect place for a friendless noble like me."
Lirazel hovered beside him, arms folded. "Told you. Death trap. You just got gifted a monster nest wrapped in prestige."
He sighed and pushed the gate open. It screeched like a dying banshee.
Inside, the mansion's air was heavy with cold. The entrance foyer was dimly lit, and long chains of preserved magic shimmered faintly in the rafters, probably still attempting to contain the spawns.
