The silence was absolute.
Noah sat slumped against the wall, the chains still biting into his wrists, the cold bands a reminder of how utterly powerless he had become.
In that endless darkness, the only sound was his own heartbeat.
It was slow, heavy, as if it too were being dragged into the void that clawed at him from within.
Each thump reverberated in his skull, mocking him, reminding him that life still clung stubbornly to his body even as he felt it slipping away, thread by fragile thread.
He was weak, so weak it felt as if even drawing breath was a battle he was steadily losing.
Every day, he could feel the tether fraying thinner. Every day, Oblivion crept closer, whispering for him to surrender, to let go, to vanish into nothingness.
If things continued like this, he would die soon. He could feel it in his bones, in the slow withering of his soul.
But he couldn't let himself go. Not yet. Not while hatred still burned brightly in his chest.
