[Imperial Palace—Interrogation Wing | Dungeon | Late Morning]
The palace dungeons were not designed for comfort.
Even the light didn't behave the same way down here. It flickered, uncertain and cold, pooling in damp corners like it was ashamed to stay.
And in the deepest chamber—far beneath polished marble and golden halls—sat High Priest Caldric.
Or rather, slumped.
His robes were gone, replaced with rough prisoner's garb. His hair, once powdered and oiled with ceremony, hung in limp, greasy strands. He smelled like a rotting sermon.
The silence was deafening.
Until—click.
He raised his head slowly. The heavy iron door creaked open, spilling sunlight that felt too pure for this space. He squinted.
Bootsteps.
And heels.
Click. Click. Click.
He blinked—eyes adjusting—only to see three terrifying silhouettes walk in like the holy trinity of vengeance.
Lucien. Seraphina. The Empress.
