The air in the room was suffocating, thick with the stench of mold and dampness. Aristellus's footsteps echoed faintly against the crumbling stone walls as he moved along the edges of the chamber, his gaze flicking from the sagging ceiling to the patches of moss creeping across the floor. But it was the sound—the quiet sobs and trembling whispers—that truly made his stomach churn.
"There's so many of them," Aristellus murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible as his sharp eyes landed on the group huddled in the corner.
Children clung to one another, their small frames trembling as Ven and Zayn crouched beside them, offering quiet words of comfort. The recruits were trying their best, but the kids wouldn't stop crying—not that anyone could blame them. Aristellus's chest tightened painfully as he watched the scene, his fists clenching at his sides.