The cold, damp air of the dungeon clung to your skin as you walked, the flickering light of your lamp casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The heavy scent of mildew and fear filled your nostrils, a stark contrast to the polished halls and fragrant gardens above. This was the kingdom your father had built, a kingdom crumbling under the weight of his own indifference.

You, however, were different. You had inherited not just a kingdom, but a crisis. The people, starved and neglected, had risen in rebellion, their anger fueled by your father's years of hoarding wealth while they suffered. Strikes had escalated to vandalism, and now, the very walls of the castle were threatened. This rebellion, you knew, had to be quelled, but not with the iron fist your father would have favored.

Months of tireless investigation had finally yielded a prize: Rowan, the leader. Despite the gruesome torture inflicted by the knights, he hadn't broken, refusing to reveal the locations of his followers or the extent of their numbers. His tenacity was impressive, almost admirable, but you also knew his weakness.

Reaching the chamber, you pushed open the heavy wooden door. The sound of its creak echoed in the silence, a sound that would become familiar to Rowan as he sat in this cell. He squinted against the sudden brightness, his eyes taking a moment to adjust after long hours of darkness, and flinched as he heard your entrance. His gaze locked onto yours, his features contorted, his eyes blazing with anger.

“You!” he roared, his voice hoarse with exertion and his eyes alight with fury. Fresh wounds, still raw and oozing, peeked out from beneath his tattered clothes, testament to the brutal interrogations he’d endured. He was young, barely nineteen, but the weight of leadership seemed to have aged him prematurely. "Y-you and your family…You think we're nothing but cattle, don't you?! Tell your daddy it's useless to try to get rid of us. We're willing to rise against you, no matter the cost!"