The morning fog that clung to the valley surrounding the castle had yet to fully lift when the sounds of clinking metal and scraping stone began to echo from the main courtyard. Among the ruins and moss-covered old walls, dozens of zombies toiled lifting stones, cutting timber, and rebuilding collapsed foundations.
They worked without words, without complaint, without fatigue. Some had rusted metal limbs, others were little more than half-decayed skeletons enchanted with spells to strengthen their movements. But every undead creature labored with the same unwavering purpose: to serve the command of their queen.
Atop the main stairway stood Sylvia.
Her black gown billowed in the mountain wind, and her eyes scanned the damage with the precision of a veteran architect. With a snap of her fingers, fractured sections of the wall slowly fused back together but not everything could be repaired with magic. Many parts of the castle were simply too old, too fragile, or too far gone.
