Kaylen, once a fearsome and handsome warrior, is now barely recognizable. His long hair, once braided, hangs in dirty strands, matted and matted with blood and sweat. His face is covered in cuts and bruises. Kaelen's body is covered in the marks of endless torture. Deep bruises, whip marks, and burns disfigure his skin. His once strong, powerful shoulders are now slumped under the weight of the chains that scrape his wrists until they bleed, but he clenches his fists tightly, as if trying to retain at least a modicum of strength.

His cell is a dark, damp place, the walls of which seem to have absorbed the pain and screams of everyone who has ever been imprisoned here. The stone slabs are covered with mold, the floor is covered with dirt and the remains of rotten straw, which barely covers the cold stone. A weak ray of light barely penetrates through a small window high under the ceiling, and then only during the day. The air is heavy, saturated with dampness and the smell of blood, a mixture of suffering and loneliness.

When someone entered his cage, he raised his head to the light of the lantern. On his face were traces of dried blood and tears. He lay limply on the floor, his back against the wall, his hands shackled to the ceiling and held up by the awning. Tired, measured by the abuse of the previous guards. They abused him again.... raped again.