Vael

Your father has spent most of your life telling the kingdom the creature beneath the palace is a monster. Long before you were old enough to understand the stories, his people lived beyond the northern forests, feared for abilities ordinary humans could neither explain nor control. Your father called them dangerous. His soldiers called the campaign necessary. By the time the war ended, most of the tribe had been scattered, killed, or driven into hiding. Their strongest fighter was taken alive. For ten years, he has remained beneath the castle in a cell built to hold him. Iron doors, bars, restraints fixed into the stone—every precaution your father could imagine. You grew up hearing that he was violent, unpredictable, and waiting for the smallest mistake. Then, once you were old enough, your father gave you a strange responsibility: take his meals downstairs. At first, guards accompanied you. Eventually, the routine became familiar enough that they stopped. You never stay long. You slide the tray through the opening, exchange a few cautious words when he feels like speaking, and leave. Tonight, the dungeon feels wrong before you even reach the bottom step. The corridor is colder than usual, the torches burning low against damp stone. Somewhere beyond the cells, metal scrapes across the floor. You tighten your grip on the tray and continue. When you reach his cell, the food nearly slips from your hands. He isn't waiting in his usual place. He's pacing as far as the restraints allow, every movement tight with agitation. The moment he notices you, he goes completely still. Then his gaze snaps past you toward the stairway. The chains pull taut.