As we neared, I noticed more of those same guards patrolling the city, some entering and exiting the circular building ahead. The structure loomed large and imposing, its silhouette dominating the dark sky. Along its walls were window-like openings that dotted the stone exterior. The darkness made it hard to discern finer details, but as we approached the base of the building and I looked up, I felt impossibly small like standing at the foot of a mountain.

Two men flanked the entrance, their postures stiff. When they saw the knight, they clicked their heels together and slammed their fists to their chests in the same manoir i had seen the other guards do.

“Sire!”

they barked in unison, their voices sharp but perfunctory, as though they were more concerned with protocol than genuine respect.

The knight returned the gesture with a half-hearted tap to his chest, dismissing them without a word. The guards, seemingly content with the bare acknowledgment, returned to their posts without further interaction.

I followed behind the knight as we stepped through the doorway. The air inside was warmer, lit by rows of torches that cast an orange glow along the stone hallway. The flames flickered softly, their light creating dancing shadows against the walls. Each torch seemed to call out to me, faint and distant, as though their warmth was beckoning me closer.

The hallway led us to a spiral staircase that descended into the depths below. The stone steps were worn smooth, evidence of countless feet having tread this path over the years. Without hesitation, the knight started down, his heavy boots echoing in the enclosed space. I followed close behind, the weight of the silence broken only by the rhythmic clinking of his armor and my own hesitant steps.

The descent felt endless, but eventually, we reached the next floor. This level was starkly different from the one above. The torches here sat in pale metal sconces inset into the walls, their flickering orange glow casting long, jagged shadows. The air was heavier, thicker, and the pale metal bars that lined the walls gleamed faintly in the dim light. They stretched from floor to ceiling, enclosing small cubbies that barely passed for cells.

Inside each cubby was little more than a mat of straw and a wooden bucket. The smell hit me like a physical blow—a nauseating mix of blood, excrement, and damp rot like a festering wound. It clung to the air, invading my senses and churning my stomach. My body tensed as bile rose in my throat, but the fear of upsetting the knight again forced me to swallow it back down. The effort left my chest tight.

The knight didn’t seem to notice—or care. He continued forward, his pace steady and unbothered by the oppressive atmosphere. Each step echoed in the corridor. As we moved further, my eyes caught sight of a set of thick wooden doors ahead. They were large and imposing, their surface reinforced with heavy metal bands.

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Sitting behind a simple wooden desk just before the doors was a lone man. His desk was plain, the surface cluttered with parchment, ink, and a thick ledger. As we approached, he looked up from his book, his gaze shifting between the knight and me. After a brief pause, he dipped his quill into the ink and began jotting something down.

“What cell group is he going to, sire?”

the man asked, his tone professional but distant. It was clear his task was to keep meticulous records of who entered and where they were assigned.

The knight sneered slightly before replying.

“He’s heading to the section where the Fire Cultists are kept.”

There was a distinct venom in his voice when he mentioned the cultists, as though he carried a personal grudge against them.

“Understood,”

the man said, making a few more notations in his book.

“I have you logged, and the boy recorded. You’re free to proceed.”

“Understood,” the man said, making a few more notations in his book. “I have you logged, and the boy recorded. You’re free to proceed.”

Without another glance at the man, the knight pushed open the heavy doors. Their hinges creaked loudly, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent hallway. He stepped through, and I followed closely behind.

Beyond the doors, the corridor was lined with more of those cubbies, but this time they weren’t empty. As we walked, I couldn’t help but glance into each one. In one cell, a small green humanoid creature—a goblin—huddled in the corner. Its form was familiar, eerily similar to the ones I had killed before. It was curled into a tight ball, trembling as it let out soft, pitiful sobs.

In another cell, two ragged men stood pressed against the bars, their eyes vacant and hollow. Their sunken cheeks and gaunt frames told a story of starvation and despair. They didn’t move, didn’t speak—just stared ahead as if the life had been drained from them.

The deeper we went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The air felt heavier here, colder, as though the despair of the occupants had seeped into the very walls. I tried to keep my focus forward, unwilling to meet the hollow gazes or hear the muted cries coming from the cells we passed.

Eventually, the knight slowed his pace and turned his head to the right. Without hesitation, he walked over to a metal door and unlocked it with a sharp click. The door groaned as it swung open.

“Get in. This is your new home when you’re not fighting or training,” he said curtly, his tone as cold as the air around us.

I stepped forward into the room, moving toward its center. It was just as sparse and unwelcoming as the others I had seen—bare walls, a thin mat of straw, and a bucket in the corner. The air was cool and damp.

Turning back toward the doorway, I opened my mouth to ask something—to say anything—but the knight was already walking away. He didn’t even spare me a glance as he disappeared down the corridor, the clang of his boots fading with each step. I stood there, alone in the dim, featureless cell, the cool air pressing against my skin.