Sonder opened the heavy door.
At first, only a narrow gap opened, and rancid air wafted over her.
She didn't recoil, but it did give her a moment's pause.
Her hand remained on the door as she listened.
Something about the darkness beyond the door felt strange and familiar.
She pushed it wider, but the darkness gave nothing back.
She narrowed her eyes, though it made no difference. She couldn't see.
On her journey, there had usually been some light, however faint.
The sun, the moon, the stars, or one of her own making, a suggestion of hope, but not here; it was total absence.
She considered for a brief moment to create light, just a small one, but she didn't, not yet.
Light would reveal her.
And she didn't yet know what she would be revealing herself to.
So instead, she pushed on and stepped inside.
The air was stuffy, and there was the smell of rot, not recent but old. Embedded into the stone itself.
Wretched.
She took a few steps in the darkness, and her hand moved slightly at her side, but she didn't reach for anything, not yet.
Even though she had tried to open the door quietly, its weight made silence impossible.
If anything was inside, it must have heard.
Still, she didn't feel in danger.
Then she heard something.
A shift of metal, not like the door.
It was somewhere in the dark, and she stopped completely.
Her senses, which she had been holding back until now, remained contained fearing that if she reached out, she would be felt.
The sound did not come again, but that didn't mean it hadn't been real.
Reluctantly, she let her senses slip outward, only a fraction, no more than a breath against the dark. It spread slowly, carefully, brushing against the space ahead. Shapes answered. Not one, not a few, but many.
Close together.
Still. They did not move toward her, did not recoil, did not even seem to notice. But they were there, faint impressions of presence, hollow and dim.
Slowly, carefully, Sonder's hand moved.
Toward her sword.
Her fingers closed around the hilt.
It would bring attention to her, but maybe she'd already been caught.
But being unprepared wouldn't help.
The decision didn't take long.
She drew it.
Light followed.
The glow of the blade pushed outward and pushed back the darkness.
And what it revealed, Sonder did not expect.
Her grip tightened around the sword, not out of fear but surprise.
There were no claws or teeth or any movement rushing toward her to extinguish the light.
But there were shapes, many of them. Pale forms gathered, pressed together in the dark, unmoving.
Her eyes had to adjust, and she could see metal, solid bars.
Rows of them stretched further into the darkness where her light couldn't reach, arranged to hold them.
People.
They were inside the cells.
Overflowing and naked.
Their skin was pale in the light, almost gray, stretched thin over bone, their forms reduced to something fragile.
They didn't move. They didn't seem to understand.
They looked to Sonder; some shrank back, instinctively recoiling from the glow as if it would burn them.
They were fearful.
One of them moved, stepping toward the bars and reaching out a hand.
Not drawn to her, but to the light.
More edged closer, hesitant at first, as if expecting pain, their movements weak, uncertain, their bodies not used to motion.
Their eyes reflected the faint glow.
Sunken.
Hungry. For more than just food.