The air in the dungeon was thick, damp, and rank with the stench of neglect. The faint flicker of torchlight along the stone walls cast long, trembling shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. Chains rattled somewhere in the distance, the echo carrying across the cold, uneven floor.
She sat on the edge of a narrow cot, her hands clasped tightly around her knees. Her Ocean blue eyes, usually so full of life and curiosity, were dulled with exhaustion and the weight of years spent in captivity. Every muscle in her body ached, not just from physical restraint, but from the slow erosion of hope that had seeped into her bones over countless years.
Yet, even in her weakened state, there was a spark in her—the kind of fire that refused to be extinguished. Her wolf, Seraph, slumbere
