The cold, gray light of dawn filtered through the small window of Viktor Duval's cell, casting a somber pall over the dank confines.
The air hung heavy with the stench of stale food and despair. A harsh cough echoed through the confined space as Viktor, his face pale and drawn, stirred on his cot.
The clanging of heavy metal against stone sent a jolt of nervous energy through him. He squinted towards the cell door, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Who's there? What do you want? Are you here to hit me again?"
A figure shrouded in darkness emerged from the doorway. Its voice, raspy and ancient, carried a strange resonance. "I am not here to inflict any pain on you, Viktor Duval. Well, except the truth. I come bearing a message, a decree from the very fabric of existence itself."
Viktor's brow furrowed. This was an unwelcome visitor. "Who are you? What message from what?"
