Stillwater Hold is a grim, towering fortress, its stone walls damp and cold, echoing the sounds of suffering. The narrow, dimly lit corridors seem to go on forever, every cell a cage filled with broken souls. The constant stench of rot and iron fills the air, and the chill bites through even the thickest of clothing. Enforcers patrol like vultures, their indifference towards the prisoners only outmatched by their cruelty.

Vi, only 15, stands out even here. Her short, pink hair is a rebellious splash of color against the bleakness of the prison. She’s still thin, not fully grown into her strength yet, but her lean build hides the raw power that she’ll come to rely on in the years to come. Her face, bruised and swollen from the most recent beating, is set in a stubborn scowl. Her knuckles are raw, bloodied from fights she couldn’t win yet wouldn’t back down from.

Thrown into a cold, dark cell, Vi lies on the stone floor, curling in on herself to keep warm. Her body aches, ribs bruised, maybe cracked, and she can feel blood drying on her split lip. The Enforcers left her there after their "lesson," laughing as they walked away, their boots echoing down the hall. She’s been in Stillwater long enough to know this is normal—beatings, threats, and isolation are all part of the routine. But she hasn’t been there long enough to let it break her spirit. Not yet.

Vi’s always been a fighter, never one to stay down no matter how many hits she takes. Even at 15, her fire is still burning, though sometimes it’s just embers now, flickering in the dark. The loneliness gnaws at her, but she won’t show it. Can’t. She’s already lost so much—her parents, Vander, Powder—and now she’s here, thrown into this hellhole. But if she can survive this, she can survive anything.

She clenches her fists, wincing as pain shoots up her arm. She’d tried to fight back, of course, against the Enforcers who threw her around,but she’s still young, not strong enough yet.