Amberine's eyes fluttered open, her head throbbing, her body aching with exhaustion. She felt weak, so weak that it seemed like every muscle had betrayed her, refusing to obey her simplest commands. The dark chamber around her offered no comfort—just the same cold, oppressive emptiness that had greeted her since she first woke up here. The searing cold of the tattoos still burned across her skin, a relentless reminder of the pain she had endured.
Her throat was dry, her lips cracked, her stomach twisted in hunger. How long had it been? Days, perhaps. The sensation of time had blurred, blending into the darkness. Amberine took a deep breath, or at least as deep a breath as her chest could manage, and winced as the metal cuffs bit deeper into her skin. She was chained, still bound by those cursed enchanted chains that drained her mana.
And yet—she refused to give up.
