The chamber was dimly lit, its walls carved from dark stone that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light, creating an atmosphere that pressed heavily on the senses. At the center of it lay Justin, his body motionless against the cold ground, his breathing shallow and uneven as though he had already been dragged to the edge of death and left there.
His clothes were torn, stained with dried blood, and his once fiery presence had been reduced to something fragile and helpless. Standing before him were three figures whose mere presence warped the air with authority and danger. Zermon, Nero Void and Vermain, whose eyes gleamed with a dark, calculating interest as he stared down at Justin like a craftsman examining a tool he intended to claim.
