43: Reclaiming Hope (II)

As he stepped down from the shuttle, accompanied by sunlight and fierce sea winds, Karyl beheld a castle that had been created by brutally hollowing out an entire mountain.

It stood atop sheer cliffs, its lines sharp and severe, like some terrifying relic carved by blade and axe. Yet beneath it lay a glittering sea, calm and steady, with scarcely any waves—while the weather itself was likewise clear beneath a cloudless sky.

Of course, this was merely an illusion created by the ecological dome. If it were shut down, the castle would most likely become hideous in an instant.

Rogal Dorn smoothed the folds in his coat, his boots striking the landing pad. The primarch's steps were naturally swift and steady, yet they still produced a dull, thunderous sound against the ground.

Karyl raised a hand to hold down his wide-brimmed hat, squinting as he looked up at the castle once more. A huge Imperial Fists emblem stubbornly showed through the moss- and vine-covered brickwork.

Its designer must have foreseen this situation from the very beginning. Otherwise, how could it have escaped time's merciless power?

They walked onward and upward, setting foot upon a narrow, winding mountain path.

The path was ancient and poorly maintained. Many of its stone slabs had vanished mysteriously, while those that remained had either weathered away or cracked apart. Even the relatively intact portions felt unpleasant beneath one's feet, their texture enough to make a person wonder whether they might turn to dust at the very next moment.

The natural scenery on either side of the path was lush and beautiful. Untended trees had spread their roots across the surface, while some particularly old and massive ones had grown even more brazen, proudly heaving up the stone slabs and roadbed while letting their canopies flourish,