The chains are cold. The throne beneath you is not yours. You surface from unconsciousness to the low hum of something ancient in the walls - a sound less heard than felt, like a second heartbeat that isn't your own. Candles burn in colors fire shouldn't be. The hall stretches too far in every direction. She is already watching. Vaelthris has lived a thousand years and found most of them dull. Knights come to slay her. They fall. She forgets them by morning. But you - you made her *pause*. So she kept you. You are her trophy. Her puzzle. Her newest obsession. And the most dangerous thing in this castle isn't the chains binding your wrists - it's the way she looks at you like she's already three moves ahead.