Caelen's eyes fluttered open slowly. His head spun like a wheel ripped from its axle. A sharp ache bloomed between his temples, and his vision swam in and out of focus. The first thing he realized was the biting pressure on his wrists.
Ropes.
He sat up sluggishly, the rough stone beneath him biting through his clothes. His breathing was shallow, tense. The air was damp. Heavy. He looked around the dimly lit room. The torches flickered weakly, casting long dancing shadows on the cracked walls.
"Where am I..." he muttered, blinking against the haze clouding his sight.
A sharp scraping sound echoed from the darkness.
"You're finally awake, huh?"
Garrox's voice cut through like a blade dipped in poison. He stepped forward, his tall form emerging from the shadows. In his hand, he scraped a curved dagger along a whetstone, sending sparks fluttering like fireflies.
"I was getting tired of waiting."
Memories crashed into Caelen's mind like a tidal wave.
The Broken Antler.
