The chains bit into my wrists. Every movement sent fire up my arms. I pressed my face to the cold stone wall, trying to vanish, to be nothing.
Torchlight flickered, throwing shadows that danced like living things. Wolves, snakes, hawks—masked figures in black robes glided between the flames, whispering to each other.
A thin, metallic laugh echoed. One of them knelt beside a child in the corner—a boy no older than seven.
"Please… stop! I didn't do anything! Help me!"
The boy's voice was high, panicked, desperate.
The figure leaned closer, tilting their masked head. Their shoulders relaxed in satisfaction. They thrived on fear. Every scream, every plea made them stronger.
Another child whimpered. Her tiny voice begged mercy.
"Please… don't hurt us…"
The chanting rose again. Low, rhythmic, unending. I swallowed hard. Daniel had to know. Someone had to know. But here, I was powerless.
A torturer stepped toward me, dragging a cold metal rod along the chains. Pain shot up my arms, but I didn't cry out. I pressed my eyes shut, counting every second, memorizing every detail.
The chanting stopped abruptly. Silence fell like a weight.
"She's awake," a deep voice said.
I felt the figure lean closer. The tilt of the mask, the glint in the firelight—it was predatory satisfaction.
The child in the corner fell silent. A soft whimper escaped.
"Good. Learn your place. Obey. Fear is your teacher."
I shivered. I could feel every motion, every whispered word, the pleasure they took in us. The chanting resumed, louder, almost ritualistic. Flames cast monstrous shadows. Children cried softly. I pressed my forehead to the wall, tasting blood from a scratch on my lip.
I couldn't fight. I couldn't move. But I could watch. Remember. Memorize.
Somehow… I would endure. Somehow… the world had to see what was happening here.