Soraya's POV
The dungeon was quieter than it had been earlier.
Not peaceful—never that—but subdued, as though the stone itself had grown tired of echoing screams. Daylight filtered weakly through the narrow vents high above, thin shafts of dust-filled light cutting across the floor before dissolving into shadow. It was enough to tell time had moved forward, that the world above continued as usual, indifferent to what lay beneath it.
I sat against the cold wall, knees drawn close, breathing slow and measured. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of iron and old stone. Chains clinked faintly somewhere down the corridor, followed by a distant cough—another soul sharing this buried existence.
I closed my eyes briefly, grounding myself.
This place thrived on weakness. On despair. On waiting for you to forget who you were.
I would not give it that satisfaction.
Whatever came next—whoever came next—I would endure it the same way I always had.
Silently.
Unbroken.
