The castle on the hill was terribly old, every stone weathered smooth,
but it wasn't nearly as decrepit on the inside as it looked from the outside after it'd had Illusion cast upon it a few times.
Ash had grumbled at first, but Sydney suspected the dragon was secretly pleased; if the tales of the castle's fiery defender didn't keep the curious away, the air of desolation certainly would.
The illusion Sydney had crafted made the place look as if it'd been picked clean by generations of adventurers, which was just the way he liked it.
While there were times when one
to deal with one's fellow humans, he preferred to keep those occasions to a minimum. His patience and his person fared far better when he was alone.
And yet he was not alone, as the dragon liked to remind him. In his head, in any room of the castle. Of course, Ash generally had every right to be vocal.
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