Days passed in a blur.
Candlelight flickered; in the dim dungeon, Olivia held her breath, covering her mouth and nose, standing still behind Mamor with a long sword in hand.
The war captive knight, shackled in heavy iron chains, could only lie on the ground to write; only his hands were freed at the moment.
Using the candlelight Lokhak held and the light cast from the dungeon's entrance, the haggard and filthy Mamor picked up a quill and personally recounted the plight of his capture and defeat in a letter to his family.
Soon, three identical letters had been penned.
Azeryan, pinching his nose, picked them up one by one for careful inspection.
After repeatedly verifying, the letters did not only simply inform his family of his safety and urge the gathering of ransom but indeed honestly clarified the ransom's delivery time, location, and method as required.
