Mark's POV
The sharp, metallic tang of blood filled my nostrils as my eyes fluttered open. A low hum resonated in my skull, like a distant bell ringing endlessly. My head throbbed as I surveyed the dimly lit space. Stone walls loomed close, cloaked in shadows, and the faint drip of water punctuated the silence. The air was damp, thick with mildew, and carried the faint scent of iron. My hands strained against the ropes binding them to the chair, their bite into my wrists a cruel confirmation of my captivity.
Opposite me sat a man, his face bathed in the faint amber glow of a single lantern.
Corvinus.
He leaned back leisurely, knife in hand, slicing into a handful of dark berries he balanced on his palm. He didn't bother looking up as he spoke, his voice smooth and unhurried.
"Ah, the knight awakens. I was beginning to think you'd miss the performance."
