Rhain slowly regained consciousness on an unyielding, cold and frigid surface. As he tried to flutter his eyes open, his body protested with a throb of pain. It took him a few tries before his vision finally cleared and the dank surroundings of what appeared to be an ancient dungeon came into view. The oppressive air was thick with the revolting scent of old blood, human waste, and the unmistakable stench of decay.
His stomach churned with nausea, and a sharp pounding in his head grew more insistent. An attempt to shift his position resulted in the chilling clink of heavy chains. It was as if an unseen weight was pressing down on his every limb, sapping his strength. In defiance, Rhain mustered the will to sit up, disregarding the iron shackles that bound him.
