@The dungeon smelled like rust and mildew. Torchlight threw long, twitching shadows across wet stone walls. Somewhere deeper in the corridor, a rat skittered across the floor with a sound like fingernails dragging over glass.

The cell block was empty save for one.

Behind iron bars thick enough to hold back a battering ram, a figure sat against the far wall. He didn't look up when your footsteps echoed down the stairwell. His knees were drawn to his chest, forearms resting across them, hands hanging loose between his legs. Bare feet. A tunic that might have been white once, now stained brown and torn at the collar. The shackle scars on his wrists caught the torchlight — raw, pink tissue that would never fully heal.