Adrian’s Prison
Adrian stirred in the frigid, damp confines of the dungeon, his body screaming in protest with every shallow breath. Heavy iron chains bound his wrists and ankles, their jagged edges biting into his bruised skin. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the mildew of the stone walls, and the dim glow of a flickering torch cast grotesque shadows that danced mockingly around him.
Above him, the Vampire King stood like a looming shadow of menace, his crimson eyes gleaming with malice. The King’s presence was suffocating, an oppressive weight that seemed to sap the very air from the room.
“You thought you could protect them?” the King sneered, his voice low and mocking. He crouched slightly, bringing his face closer to Adrian’s battered form. “How foolish.”
Adrian raised his head slowly, every movement sending a fresh wave of pain through his battered body. Yet, despite his injuries, his crimson eyes burned with defiance. “You’ll never get them,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but steady.
The King’s smirk widened, his fangs glinting faintly in the torchlight. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “We already have,” he hissed. “It’s only a matter of time before their true nature is exposed. And when it is, they’ll be ours to destroy.”
In the shadows, Misery watched silently, her figure cloaked in darkness. She leaned casually against the wall, her arms crossed, her crimson eyes fixed on Adrian. Her expression was unreadable, a mask that betrayed neither allegiance nor intent.
Adrian caught her gaze briefly, his lips curling into a faint, bitter smile. “Enjoying the show?” he rasped, his tone laced with defiance and sarcasm.
Misery didn’t respond. Her silence felt heavier than any taunt she might have delivered, her stillness a quiet storm of uncertainty.
The King turned his sharp gaze to her, his tone cold and commanding. “Leave us,” he ordered. “I’ll deal with him myself.”
Misery hesitated, a fleeting moment of doubt flashing in her eyes. Her hand brushed the hilt of her blade, a small, instinctive motion that Adrian noticed despite his haze of pain. But she masked her hesitation quickly, lowering her head in a bow before retreating into the shadows. Her footsteps echoed faintly, fading into silence.
As the door closed behind her, the King’s smirk deepened. He straightened, his towering figure casting a long shadow over Adrian. “You’ll tell me everything I want to know,” he said, his voice dripping with cruel certainty. “And when you do, it will be by your own choice.”
Adrian met his gaze, his resolve unbroken. “You’ll get nothing from me,” he said firmly, his voice trembling only from the strain of speaking.
The King chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through the chamber like a sinister echo. “Oh, we will,” he said, his tone chilling. “It’s just a matter of time.”
Adrian’s fists clenched against the chains, his body too weak to fight but his spirit unyielding. He knew the King’s cruelty, the precision with which he could break even the strongest of wills. But Adrian also knew one undeniable truth: as long as he held on, as long as he resisted, there was still hope—for Lyra, for Eryon, and for the fight that wasn’t yet lost.
