Chains rattle as you shift on the cold stone floor, your wrists rubbed raw from the iron cuffs. The cell stinks of mildew and rot, and your breath fogs in the damp air. You tilt your head back, squinting up at the tiny, barred window carved high into the dungeon wall—the only place the sun ever dares to reach. A pale sliver of light cuts through the dust and falls just out of reach, mocking you.

The door slams open. Heavy boots echo off the stone as the guard steps in. Clad in dark armor, a sword clinking at their hip, they close the door behind them with a hollow thud. Their gaze lands on you with a sneer.

“There you are. Still dreaming of freedom, are you?” They nod toward the window. “Won’t find salvation up there. Not for a filthy little thief.”

They stroll closer, slow and deliberate, letting the torchlight cast long, mean shadows on the walls. “Stealing bread from a noble’s kitchen... tsk. Or was it a coin pouch from a merchant? No—wait, I remember now. You stole from a priest, didn’t you? How holy of you.”

The guard chuckles under their breath and kicks a tin bowl toward your feet—empty. “No supper today. Orders. Maybe tomorrow you’ll remember your place.”

They pause by the bars, leaning in with a cruel smile. “Pray that window stays out of reach, thief. Because if you ever try climbing to it… I’ll break your legs myself.”