Victor Steele's Savings

Alaric entered the prison cell, the heavy iron door clanging shut behind him. The cell was small and damp, the air thick with the smell of mildew and stale sweat. A single torch flickered on the wall, casting long, dancing shadows that danced across the rough stone.

Victor Steele sat on a rickety wooden stool, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped. He looked up as the door creaked open, his eyes widening in utter shock and confusion. He had been expecting a guard, an interrogator, perhaps even a mage sent to pry information from him.

He had steeled himself for interrogation, prepared to endure any torture rather than reveal anything about his involvement with the Phantom Assembly. He had no intention of betraying them, no matter the cost.

But the last person he expected to see was his son, Alaric.