The heavy iron door at the base of the dungeon groaned open, the echo spiraling down the dim corridor like a slow-moving shadow. Boots tapped steadily against the stone floor, deliberate and unhurried, the sound sharp in the quiet as Miles descended the final steps into the depths of Arcania's keep. His face, partially lit by the flickering torches, was unreadable, calm but contemplative.
He walked the narrow corridor without pause, bypassing all the other empty cells until he reached the final one. There, behind thick iron bars reinforced with magic seals, sat Rayne. Still on the bed. Still in the exact same posture, elbows resting on his knees, back tilted slightly forward, as though he hadn't moved in hours. His blue eyes met Miles' the moment he arrived, their radiance steady, calculating. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of Rayne's lips, like he'd been expecting him all along.
