With steady, deliberate steps, Zyren moved toward the shadow-cloaked corridor. The air grew denser with each cell he passed, empty iron-barred chambers yawning like silent mouths in the dark. His eyes—glowing a deep, unwavering red—remained locked on the corridor's far end, where he finally came to a stop in front of the second-to-last cell.
It was pitch black. A human would have seen nothing, not even the outline of a wall. But Zyren stood still, his expression unreadable, sculpted in cold stone, his arms relaxed by his sides as his red gaze cut through the darkness.
Inside, the woman sat slumped on the filthy ground, her mouth parted, her eyes vacant—like her mind was lost somewhere far beyond reach. A strange, subtle smile hovered on her cracked lips as she turned her head slowly, almost dreamily, catching sight of the figure standing in front of her.
