The iron scent of blood lingered in the cold, damp air as I descended into the dungeon. My footsteps echoed against the stone walls, each one punctuated by the faint whispers of madness that seemed to cling to this place like a shroud. The torches lining the narrow corridor flickered, casting long, shifting shadows. I pulled my cloak tighter around me, but it did little to banish the chill.
Alaric and Beta Hakon stood by the cell, their faces grim and their postures tense. My brother carried himself with his usual commanding presence, though there was a tightness around his jaw that betrayed his frustration. Hakon stood at his side, his arms crossed and his expression dark. The two of them loomed over the prisoners, their figures framed by the weak torchlight spilling into the cell.
