THIRD PERSON
The dungeon does not sleep. It breathes. Slow. Heavy. Watching.
Deep within its cold walls Claire sits in silence. Still. Too still.
Her head is lowered. Her hands rest loosely in her lap. But her eyes are open. Glowing faintly. Not natural. Not anymore.
Outside her cell, guards stand at attention. Alert. Cautious. Because something about her feels wrong.
“She hasn’t moved in hours,” one mutters quietly.
“That’s what worries me,” the other replies.
Inside, Claire exhales slowly. Then she smiles. “Finally…” she whispers.
Her hand shifts slightly. And from beneath the folds of her clothing she pulls it out. The pendant. Small. Simple.
But the moment it touches the air everything changes. The torches flicker violently. The temperature drops. And a low hum fills the dun
