The chamber smelled of old magic and rot.
Stale air clung to the rough-cut stone walls like mildew clinging to corpses. No windows, no light save for a lone enchanted orb suspended from the ceiling, casting a sickly blue glow across the prison.
Dust spiraled lazily in the still air, catching in the curve of Sky's broken wing. Beneath him, the stone floor was cold. Always cold. Cold enough to bite even through thick hide.
But he wasn't sure if the chill came from the floor… or from inside him.
Sky shifted slightly, pain radiating from where one wing was twisted at the joint, bruised purple-black between gleaming silver scales.
Another patch of scales near his ribs had been scraped raw—either stripped by rough handling or spells designed to bind dragons more effectively.
He didn't know. He didn't care.
Logic. Focus. Discipline. These had been rhinos his siblings had drilled into him, sharper than claws, harder than flame. But now? Now even those were fracturing.
