The descent into the lowest level of the Astraia palace dungeons felt like a slow immersion into a grave. Constantine moved down the spiral stone staircase, his hand ghosting over the damp, moss-covered walls. The air grew thicker with every step, losing the smoky scent of the barracks and replacing it with the heavy, cloying aroma of wet earth, saltpeter, and the sharp tang of human misery. A single torch carried by Seraphina threw long, distorted shadows against the masonry, making the narrow passage feel as though it were closing in on them.
"The air is quite thin down here, My Lord. Are you sure your lungs can withstand the dampness?" Seraphina asked, her voice hushed to a whisper that seemed to be swallowed by the dark.
Constantine did not slow his pace, though his breath was beginn
