The sky burns behind the ruin, stitched in layers of yellow and gold that cut through the cold. Light pushes upward, curling into blue and silver cloud, but the silhouette stays rooted, solid and dark. The castle stands firm, but not untouched. A burst of red threads near the edge hints at what's coming - a flare, a warning, a wound. The texture is dense, like stone that has held too many storms. Sea and land blur at the base, stitched with the weight of history and tide. This is a portrait of presence before change. A holding-on. A last shape before the break.