The Rise of Evil

The prison was silent, save for the slow, rhythmic drip of water leaking from the ceiling. The air was damp, stale. It stank of sweat, iron, and rot. The darkness was thick, pressing in from all sides, swallowing what little light the dying torch in the hallway provided.

Caspian lay slumped against the cold stone wall, his breathing shallow, his body too weak to move. His wrists and ankles bore the weight of rusted chains, the metal digging deep into his flesh, but he barely felt the pain anymore.

His eyelids drooped. Sleep was coming for him. He didn't want it. He fought against it. Because every time he closed his eyes—

The whispers came.

And this time, they came like a storm.

.....

A shadow curled at the edges of his mind, a deep, gnawing presence that slithered through his thoughts like oil through water.

Familiar.

"Caspian."