IT WAS 14 DAYS OF TORTURING REGASUS.
Regasus didn't respond. The darkness had been eating him alive for days, no, weeks, or perhaps longer.
Time had melted into a blur of cold stone and bitter silence. Shadows pressed down on him, suffocating, wrapping around his throat like a coiled serpent.
His limbs ached from the chains that tethered him to the walls of the cell, and his mind spiraled through the memories of a life he had once believed unbreakable.
Yet here he was, reduced to this, a prisoner of despair, a broken man clutching the fragile remnants of hope that refused to let him die.
He was nothing more than a mere shadow of himself now.
Ara was amused at such restraint, the man simply didn't break. It was remarkable such stamina in torture. What is the saying:
Desperate times call for desperate measures?