Drip.
Drip.
The sound of water striking the floor echoed through the darkness.
A pale-faced, dark-skinned boy lay motionless on the cold stone floor, his clothes torn and stained. Heavy shackles bound his wrists and ankles, their metal biting into his skin.
His heartbeat was faint—barely there.
Each breath came shallow and uneven.
His fingernails were bloody and broken from desperately clawing at the shackles, as though sheer desperation could somehow break the iron.
"Why... why?" he murmured weakly.
He tried to shift his body, but the movement sent a sharp pain through him. He winced, barely able to lift his head from the cold, unforgiving floor.
A quiet sniffle escaped him.
Tears rolled slowly down his pale cheeks.
Then, without warning, a memory flashed through his mind.