ARIA POINT OF VIEW.

The dungeon never truly slept.

Even when the torches burned low and the footsteps above faded into distant echoes, the air remained heavy, thick with damp stone, rusted iron, and the quiet suffering of those who had once been thrown behind these bars.

I sat beneath the narrow window carved high into the wall, chains still circling my wrists and ankles. The iron bit into my skin whenever I shifted, cold and unyielding. Moonlight filtered through the small opening above me, ...