Night had fallen over the kingdom, a thick mist curling around the narrow alleys and forgotten streets. Varren, cloaked in a dark hood, moved silently through the shadows, keeping a careful distance from Prince Cedric's solitary figure. Cedric walked with purpose, his steps unhurried as he descended into the city's lower district — a place respectable nobles had long forsaken.
Varren narrowed his eyes as Cedric approached an old, decrepit stone dungeon, its gates rusted and half-buried in overgrowth. The prince glanced around, then slipped inside.
Varren didn't dare follow, knowing better than to walk into a trap. He waited, watching, every nerve on edge.
After what felt like an eternity, Cedric emerged — but something was wrong.
His eyes.
They weren't the striking blue everyone knew. They were pitch-black, soulless, and gleaming as if a shadow itself had taken residence behind them.
Varren's stomach clenched.
