It had taken Arannis several days to travel to the ruins. He had set out from Adeluna and made his way to the North, following the river up into the mountains. The ruins themselves were magnificent to behold. Arannis found it a shame that such great civilizations fell, leaving only ruins of their former glory. He imagined the knowledge that must have been lost. He surveyed the towering structures of polished granite. Ivy hung from the buildings that loomed over the deep green forests. The air was fresh and clean, and overall there was a deep feeling of peace to the place. Arannis studied his surroundings. The way the rubble was haphazardly strewn about the bases of the still standing structures, the way certain pillars had fallen at precise angles. He took in the sights, the sounds, the scents, memorizing every detail he could. Finally, he broke his concentration from his surroundings, and instead pictured a different place in his mind's eye.

He saw around him a simple wooden room, illuminated by a single window framed by earthy brown curtains. There stood a well made oaken table along the Eastern wall with two chairs. One of the chairs had a small crack in the seat, at a 30 degree angle from the edge furthest from the backing. The table itself was clean, the smallest bit of sawdust was sprinkled along the floor beneath it. Opposite the table was a pair of beds of the same oak, one along the North wall and one along the South. Each bed had the same sand-colored sheets, tidily made up. Between the two beds stood a heavy maple chest with an iron lock. Arannis blinked his eyes, and he was there.

A seven year old boy sat at the table, upon which a large raven sat. The boy and the bird both looked up to Arannis when he suddenly appeared in the room. “Hi dad!” the boy said, excited, “Did you find the place you were looking for?”

Arannis smiled at his son and wrapped him in a hug, “I did Aran, I just came to drop these off for you before I entered the ruins.”

Aran was the spitting image of his father, the boy had the same well cut dark hair, same green eyes that always seemed to be searching the area for any potential information, even the same basic facial structure. He would grow up to look just like Arannis.

Arannis put his son down and reached into his pack. He pulled out several sheets of parchment and placed them on the table. The raven looked down and eyed the parchment, and Aran’s attention snapped to them as well. The young boy quickly snatched up the top sheet and began to stare at the runic symbols drawn there.

Arannis smiled again, “Some more puzzles for you to work on while I am away.”

The child put down the parchment and quickly turned around, wrapping his arms around his father, “Thanks dad! I bet I’ll get them all done before you get back!”

Arannis chuckled and said, “I know you will.”

Arannis a quick glance at the raven. His expression hardened as he locked eyes with the bird, and the raven looked away. Arannis nodded and finally stepped away from his son. As he walked out of the door to the room, he said, “I’m going to get some lunch for us.”

The precocious child was already seated at the table, hard at work reading the primordial runes that Arannis had drawn upon the parchment. The boy’s mind worked quickly, deciphering the literal and symbolic meanings of the sigils, and the spells they might equate to. Arannis chuckled and made his way downstairs.

After a brief chat with the innkeeper, Arannis made his way back up to his room carrying two trays. Upon each was a fine fish platter with herbs and fixings, and a flagon of water. When he saw his father enter, Aran pulled the parchment from the table and put the sheets upon one of the beds. The pair dined and enjoyed their meal, chatting about mundane topics. When the meal was ended, Arannis took the trays back to the innkeeper, thanked him for the fine meal, and returned to the room. He embraced his son one more time, and then stood and concentrated.

Once more he saw trees in his mind’s eye. He imagined the feeling of sunrays bathing his skin and the scent of the forest air. He pictured the trees and the precise locations of the fallen rubble of the ruins. He saw the ivy gently swaying in the breeze, and blinked. Arannis arrived back at the ruins of the temple. He made for an odd sight, a man appearing out of thin air, dressed in the clothes of the nobility. His eyes quickly darted to the entrance to the ruins themselves, and Arannis began to walk into the site.

The castle lay like an old man of the hill, the moonlight shone on his craggy, tumble down the face. Moss clung in the shade of the ancient walls like a straggly beard. The castle crumbles in slow motion, slower than the eye can detect even over a lifetime. Only the sun and the moon themselves witness the steady deterioration of these abandoned turrets and ramparts. This castle, once the lifeblood of the low-lying regions that stretch horizon-bound from these hill battlements, is where we stop for the night. Within walls that have defied eons our safety isn't guaranteed but enhanced and there is some protection from the driving rain that threatens to come. The castle is more ancient than any bone left in the soil. The once smooth rock is pitted and scarred. This old man of the hill knows how fleeting time is, how soon the present becomes the past and the important becomes irrelevant. In this hallowed and ancient site, the trees have seen the centuries blow past in the winds of each season and witnessed the folly of our struggles. Walls stand mute, water awaits the call of the wind to ruffle and move as the molten glass of deepest green. Greystone rises from the land, unapologetic and bold to defy entrance and protect what has been entrusted to their care. Below the uneven patches of grass are arrowheads of old, hilts of broken swords and armor that failed to protect.  The trees surrounded the caste-like great armies defending their citadel. Their armored trunks reached out in the air protectively. This great expanse of green enhanced the castles eerieness and beauty as its particulars made out of hard iron guarded the passage. Sentinels silently walked the walls keep two eyes watched. The circle towers had a spiraling staircase. The staircase made it awkward for invaders to fight upwards. The steps were also uneven so the defenders had an advantage. Great mighty pride trebuchets stood with legs on towers ready to unleash their hinged fury. The grey stone seemed eerie in the night as it enhanced its beauty with the radiant moon shining down guiding it by its face. The keep drew the attention as turrets take root and grew like trees. Spooky doesn't quite cover it and eerie is an understatement. In the shadow, cast by castle walls thicker than my arm is long, a chill creeps over the uncut grass. The scent of late fall is laden into those gusts that push impetuously against the sentinel stone. Every flutter of a leave catches our attention, sparks our minds to turn faster, loosening their tenuous grip to the agreed upon version of “reality.” Willow enjoyed seeing this old ruin in the darkness it was most beautiful in the dark but she knew it will be even more fun in the light of day. The sun rose like a flower opening, gifting its petals unto the world. Amid the dancing, raindrops were the blush of scarlet, the warmth of tangerine. Gazing toward the illuminated clouds, still beneath the ethereal glow, Willow felt at home in a way she never had before. 
The yellow shining sun started rising from the ground. It filled the sky with mighty colors of red and splashed the clouds with endless rays of pink. It was bright and mesmerizing as it inviting me to stare, deep into the horizon. A smirk crossed her lips as she knew she was going to find something special indeed. Crimson hair resting on her lower back, gloved fingers brushed the smooth grey stones, eyes searching as she looked at feeling how old the castle really is.

Arannis felt it before his eyes caught up. He felt an aura of the arcane, the feel of mortal blood mixed with magic. There was a mage nearby. He reached out with his senses until he locked upon them. He turned to see an elven woman entering the site. She had long hair in a red color that cascaded down her shoulders, and golden eyes that seemed to shift in the sunlight. She had the lean build common to most elves and looked young; although that meant little when dealing with elves. Her magic felt volatile and chaotic, far from the controlled and calculated style he maintained. Her magic felt not unlike his former apprentice, another elf who preferred to solve his problems with fire and lightning rather than Arannis’ arithmancy and rituals.

Despite the wild magic he felt from her, Arannis did not judge her as an immediate threat. He decided it would be more prudent to confront her now, rather than waiting for her to stumble across him when he was already deep within the structure he had been readying himself to enter. Standing tall and confident, Arannis strode across the way, bringing himself into plain view. When she was clearly visible he spoke, “Unusual destination for a stroll, is this not?” He punctuated the joke with a smile.