Henry sat slumped in the damp, shadowy corner of the prison cell, his body battered and bruised. Heavy chains bound his wrists, making every movement a painful effort. Yet, his eyes remained sharp, filled with unyielding resolve despite the torture he had endured. He knew what was at stake—the kingdom of Drawken and the honor of its king.
The sound of heavy boots echoed down the corridor, followed by the creak of an iron door swinging open. Grevold entered, a smug smile plastered across his face, his official robes radiating the authority of his position as one of the kingdom's key technocrats. Behind him stood two guards, axes in hand, their presence amplifying the atmosphere of menace.
"Well, Henry," Grevold began, his voice dripping with mockery. "The king's loyal lapdog. A traitor now reduced to nothing more than a pathetic prisoner."
