Točník, the ancient stronghold, perched high upon Zámecký Hill, in the land of Bohemia, where the wind howls and the stones whisper tales of yore. Mighty walls, once unyielding, now lie in ruin, yet still they stand defiant against the passage of time, a testament to the glory of heroes long gone. In days of old, when Wenceslas, son of the kings of men, strode the earth with fire in his heart, he called forth the stones from the hill and commanded them to rise into a fortress—a bulwark against the chaos of the world. Točník was born, a bastion of strength, where the king might find respite from the strife of his reign, a place where his heart could be still, and his mind clear. But dark days fell upon the land, and the fires of war consumed the earth. The Hussites, fierce and relentless, came upon the castle, yet it stood firm, its walls unbroken, its spirit unbowed. The Kolovrats, the Gutštejns, and the Vartenberks, noble lords of old, took up the mantle of its defense, each adding their own strength to the fortress. Yet even the greatest of fortresses cannot withstand the ravages of time unscathed, and the cruel hand of fate began to pull Točník down, stone by stone, as the years wore on. Long was the siege of time, and relentless its assault. The Thirty Years’ War, a storm of steel and blood, hammered upon Točník’s walls, hastening the ruin that had begun. By the seventeenth century, the castle, once proud and mighty, was but a shadow of its former self—abandoned, forsaken, left to crumble into the dust from whence it came. Yet still, it stood—its twin palaces, though shattered, remained, like the bones of a fallen giant. Within its walls, the great hall, second only to the mightiest in all the land, echoed with the ghosts of feasts long past, where warriors had once sung songs of victory and love. Now, in this latter age, Točník opens its gates to the people of the world, who come not to conquer, but to witness the majesty of the past. The moat, once a barrier to foes, now cradles beasts of the forest—Martin and Agáta, brown bears born of the wild, who dwell where once the clash of swords rang out. The Ancient Tale Long before the stone walls rose to meet the sky, Zámecký Hill was a place of power, where the spirits of the earth dwelled. In 1999, wise men uncovered the bones of an ancient people, who had made their homes upon this hill in the Hallstatt days, when the world was young. Wenceslas, son of kings, knew in his heart that this was a place destined for greatness, and so he called forth his builders and raised the castle of Točník upon that sacred ground. Wenceslas, with the fire of kings in his blood, began the work in the final years of the fourteenth century, after the flames had consumed his older fortress at Žebrák. The castle rose, stone by stone, a monument to his will and his vision, and by 1398, it stood proud and tall, a haven for the king who had crafted it. But as the years passed, the glory of Točník began to fade, as all things must. The Kolovrats, who took the castle after Wenceslas’s passing, kept it whole, but could not rekindle the fire that had once burned within its walls. The years turned to centuries, and Točník, though it stood firm, grew weary. The Final Battle In the seventeenth century, the castle faced its greatest foe—not an army of men, but the slow, creeping decay of time itself. The Thirty Years’ War brought soldiers to its gates, but the real enemy was the relentless march of years, which battered the fortress more surely than any siege engine. The burghers of Žebrák, careless of the castle’s history, turned it into a dumping ground, showing no respect for the ancient stronghold. The last garrison left in 1648, and Točník was abandoned, left to crumble into the earth. But not all was lost. In the years that followed, Točník found new stewards—first Bethel Henry Strousberg, who cared little for the castle’s past, and then the state, which took up the mantle of its protection. In 2007, a new battle was fought—not against men, but against the decay of time. Craftsmen, skilled as the smiths of old, began the work of restoring the Royal Palace’s roof, using the ancient ways of building. A wooden crane, like those used in the days of yore, was brought forth to lift the beams into place, a sign that the spirit of Točník still lived. The Legacy of Točník And so, Točník endures—a monument to the strength of kings, the glory of warriors, and the relentless passage of time. Though it may crumble, it shall never fall, for its memory is written in the very stones of the earth. The tale of Točník is one of resilience and honor, a saga that echoes through the ages, as timeless as the hill upon which it stands.