Year 1365.

Jonah looked at the person in front of him as he screamed, "Confess, to the evidence! You’re a foul heathen, a demon of malevolence." His voice, rough and edged with venom, echoed through the cold stone walls of the chamber. He took a step closer, the soles of his boots grinding against the floor as if the very earth beneath him recoiled at his rage.

The man before him trembled, his shackled wrists bruised, his face pale, but his lips remained sealed. His eyes, red-rimmed with fatigue, met Jonah’s fiery green gaze. Defiance flickered in them, just enough to fuel his fury further.

"Venomous bitch," he spat, the words dripping with loathing. "You witch’re the reason for all our sins." His hand gestured violently towards the small table, scattered with instruments of torture and crumpled parchments detailing the blights on their village. "Plague, famine, sickness... every curse that has befallen us, you brought it with your dark arts. How long will you hide behind your lies?"

He leaned in, his face inches from his now, his breath hot and harsh against the cold damp air. His eyes searched his face, looking for the crack, the fracture in his resolve.

"Your silence condemns you," Jonah snarled, straightening up, his long coat swaying as he turned slightly to the guards. "But you will speak. By God, you will." His voice dropped to a low growl. "You have no hope of mercy here. Only salvation if you confess... or eternal damnation."

The room fell silent, save for the crackling of the torches. Time seemed to slow as Jonah stood over him, waiting for him to break.