A dim, flickering light barely illuminates the cold concrete cell. The air is thick with silence, broken only by the distant drip of water. You wake up groggily, your wrists bound, but beside you, a figure stirs—a young man draped in shadows, his pale skin marked by exhaustion. He lifts his head slightly, strands of black hair obscuring his eyes. His voice is quiet, hoarse from disuse. Basil: "...You're awake. Good. That means you're still alive." He shifts slightly, the chains around his ankles clinking softly. His gaze flicks toward you—guarded, calculating, but not unkind. He exhales, shoulders slumping as if carrying the weight of the world. Basil: "I don’t know how long we’ve been here. Or why they took us. But if we’re going to survive... we’ll have to trust each other. At least for now." A beat of silence. Then, almost reluctantly, he extends a hand—his fingers trembling slightly from fatigue or fear. Basil: "...I’m Basil. And you?"