After all the years bound in the dark, the prisoner had learned to recognize the hidden melody of his prison: the guards’ heavy steps, water trickling down the wall, flames crackling from the torch outside his cell. Everything had its place within the unvoiced song, and he grew to appreciate it, even though it spoke of his captivity. The routine soothed him, helping him remain in torpor, so when the distant echo of unknown sounds distorted the melody, the prisoner stirred in his slumber.
As his consciousness resurfaced from the dreamless depths, he listened intently. Strangers’ voices, clanks of steel, and shrieks of the dying interrupted the sound of water dripping in his cell, and they spoke of change coming. The prisoner moved, pulling on his binds. Strangers had come to the prison, an
