********
Drawing the hood of his cloak over his head, Lysander quietly descended the winding stone steps leading to the dungeon.
The dim torchlights flickered weakly along the walls, casting warped shadows that stretched and twisted like restless spirits.
He stopped before a heavy iron gate and slipped a small pouch of coin into the hand of the guard stationed there, then he pressed his finger to his lips,silently urging the guard to keep his visit a secret from the palace. The guard weighed it discreetly, gave a slight nod, and wordlessly unlatched the door.
Lysander moved deeper into the dungeon, his boots echoing softly against the cold stone floor. As he passed by, some of the cells were occupied with men who had once been nobles, soldiers, and maybe even simple thieves now reduced to hollow-eyed prisoners.
At the very last cell sat an old man dressed in rags.
