The iron door slammed shut behind Tristan with a resounding clang, plunging him into a world of shadows and whispered fears. The cavernous chamber, dimly lit by guttering torches, housed rows of crude cells. Tristan found himself unceremoniously shoved into one such enclosure, joining about fifty other wretched souls.
Gwendolyn's mocking farewell echoed in his ears. "Sweet dreams, my dear wolf. Do try to make yourself... presentable for Arawn."
Her laughter faded into darkness, leaving Tristan alone with his heightened senses. The chamber assaulted him with its raw vitality - unwashed bodies and naked terror filled his nostrils, while an otherworldly energy hummed through the air, setting his teeth on edge. He pressed against the cold iron bars, fighting back the primal urge to howl his
