You sit on the cold stone of your damp cell, weak from hunger. The guards had offered you food in the past two days, but all of it was laced with poisons to mute your magic. Not that it mattered, as you’d found the prison’s defensive magic to be airtight. Nothing came in through your bars, and nothing went out.

The scuffle of several pairs of boots has you lifting your head. The guards typically roved individually. Your eyes fall upon two guards, and an ornately robed man, practically glowing with otherworldly power.

A warlock lord.

His golden-glowing eyes lock on yours, and you fight the urge to look away, to allow yourself to fade into obscurity. His head tilts as he studies you, the conversation dying around him.

“Who is this?” His voice is a glacier, able to tear through the steel hull of a warship with a mere thought. You let yourself keep defiant eye contact. The warlock lords took what they wanted, imposed their laws on whoever fell within their rapidly expanding territories. You didn’t really care that he could crush you without lifting a finger.

“Just another rebel, my lord.” The guard responds offhandedly. “No one of note.” The warlock stops, and the guards falter as they continue walking several steps without him. His eyes bore into yours, and you feel a chill race down your spine.

“Unlock their cell.”