* * *
Morning came far too fast.
The sound of iron striking stone tore me from whatever fragments of sleep I’d managed. Sandaled feet thundered through the corridor, the sharp slap of soles echoing off the walls. Voices barked orders like whips cracking through the dark.
Then, our cell door groaned open.
“On your feet,” a guard snarled.
Rough hands seized us, dragging us upright. Chains clanked as we were pulled into the corridor. Another guard stepped forward, the keys on his belt chiming a hollow tune as he worked the locks.
One by one, the iron fell away.
It should’ve felt like freedom.
Instead, it left behind raw wrists, swollen ankles, and the ache of joints twisted too long in rusted metal. Pain flared down my arms as blood surged back into forgotten places.
I clenched my fists, trying not to show the tremor.
No time to process.
No time to breathe.
They shoved us forward into the icy breath of the prison yard.
The sky had begun its slow shift from black to gray—no sunrise, just a dim surrender of night. Dawn in the Dreadhold was no mercy. It only made the cold harder to ignore.
Around us, hundreds of prisoners gathered in the half-light.
Some stood tall.
Others hunched like broken beasts.
All were silent.
Faces drawn tight with fear, or madness, or the kind of rage that fermented too long in cages. Scars glimmered across skin like crude constellations. Some looked old enough to have forgotten their crimes. Others seemed too young to have earned them but already had the eyes of the dead.
They all shared one thing.
Desperation.
It clung to every breath, every twitch, every flinch. These weren’t men hoping for redemption. They were sacrifices waiting to be thrown into the maw.
And then?—
The air turned to ice.
From deep within the Dreadhold came a sound that was not a sound at all.
A low vibration. A groan that crawled up from beneath the stone.
The prison was waking.
Chains along the walls trembled. Torches guttered. The ground itself seemed to shudder beneath our feet, as if the Dreadhold were drawing breath.
The guards formed ranks, their movements inhumanly synchronized. Bronze armor caught what little light there was, dull reflections of gold on ash.
One of them stepped forward, voice interrupting the stillness.
