Maldric:
The stone walls of my cell wept in silence. Condensation gathered like tears, trickling down the veins of black rock carved by hands that once worshiped me. I sat in the center of the circle — etched sigils glowing faintly, their crimson hue pulsing with each heartbeat I no longer possessed. This prison had been built to outlast centuries, to outlast me. But it would not.
It was quiet in the lowest depths of the Academy. No laughter, no footsteps, no life. Only the deep groan of the old stones shifting above and the faint hum of the ancient gates — living things of iron and blood, tightened closed with each thought of escape. My talons, long since blunted by clawing at these walls, dragged lightly across the symbols burned into my flesh. Binding marks. Mortis Grimm’s voice whisp
