Darkness.
The sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance, each drop echoing off wet stone. The air was cold and damp, carrying the smell of mildew and decay.
Nero lay flat on his back on the straw-covered ground, staring up at nothing. The ceiling of the cell was invisible in the dark, swallowed by shadows that pressed down on him like a physical weight.
His mind was empty.
Or so he told himself.
He could not close his eyes.
Every time he tried, visions came.
A field of corpses stretching endlessly toward the walls of Liedenstorm, the bodies piled on top of one another, limbs twisted and broken.
The crimson glint of Templars on their black steeds, their blades falling in steady rhythm.
And if course, Obed's head rolling across the blood-soaked earth, that sad smile still on his face even as his eyes closed for the last time.
Geor. Lucy and Aisha...
