Chapter 11

The dungeon smelled of urine and dampness, a suffocating mix that clung to the skin. A narrow slit in the wall allowed a thin stream of light to seep through, barely enough to make out the shadowy shapes of the place. Rats scurried freely, their eyes gleaming like tiny mirrors in the dimness.

In one corner, a pile of dirty, damp straw lay heaped, likely used as a makeshift bed by the unfortunate souls who had occupied the cell before her. Droplets fell from the ceiling, hitting the floor with an irregular rhythm, breaking the sepulchral silence that reigned.

Lyra scanned the space, assessing her situation. There was nothing useful—not a makeshift weapon, not a hint of hope. She pressed her lips together, her mind already working on a way out, while Lugh remained silent—a painful reminder of how far she was from any semblance of control.

Lyra brought a trembling hand to her neck, where the small touch panel used to be her direct link to Lugh.

"Lugh... are you there?" she whispered, her voice barely a thread, fearful of being overheard by the guards. The answer she so desperately craved never came. Only the echo of her own voice filled the dungeon, throwing her solitude back at her.

She tried again, this time with greater urgency.

"Lugh, answer me! I need you. Come on, don't fail me now..."

Silence. Not even a flicker from the light indicator on her implant. The connection was dead, along with her immediate hopes of activating her body's advanced functions.

Without Lugh, there was no tactical vision, no enhanced strength. No access to her arsenal of abilities. Without him, she was just a girl trapped in a filthy dungeon, defenseless against whatever threat might walk through that door.

She leaned her back against the damp wall, the cold seeping into her bones. A whirlwind of thoughts swirled in her mind. What if she couldn't reconnect with Lugh? What if the AI—her only ally in this hostile world—was lost forever?

A lump of frustration rose in her throat, but she couldn't afford to succumb to panic. If there was one thing she'd learned as an explorer, it was that there was always a way to survive. She just had to find it before it was too late.

At that moment, one of the guards walked past her cell, dragging the edge of his sword against the metal bars. The sound reverberated through the dungeon, a sharp, unpleasant screech that made Lyra shudder.

"Well, princess, tired of your delusions of grandeur yet?" the man mocked, stopping in front of the cell and crossing his arms. His smile was cruel, dripping with satisfaction.

Lyra slowly lifted her head, trying to keep her expression neutral, though inside her rage and helplessness churned in a tempest that threatened to break free.

"I'm not what you think," she said, her voice steady despite everything.

The guard let out a dry laugh.

"We'll have some fun later, princess," he said, drawing out the words as his eyes roamed over her figure shamelessly.

Lyra felt a chill run down her spine, but she forced herself to maintain a cold expression. She knew showing fear would only give this scum more power.

"Hope you're comfortable," he added with a mocking tone, leaning slightly toward the bars. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you feel welcome."

She clenched her fists tightly, resisting the urge to say something that might worsen her situation. The guard chuckled unpleasantly before turning on his heel, leaving her alone once more in the dim cell.

When his footsteps faded into the distance, Lyra exhaled shakily. Despair mixed with anger—a dangerous combination simmering just below the surface. Without Lugh, without her enhancements active, she was more vulnerable than ever.

But now wasn't the time to give up. Not now, not with so much at stake. Her mind began searching for desperate options. Maybe she could use the panel on her neck to emit a short-range signal—anything that might reactivate Lugh, even temporarily. She needed her strength back.

And she needed it before that guard returned.

The silence of the night was broken only by the occasional squeaks of rats and the constant drip of water from some distant corner of the dungeon. Lyra stayed awake, her senses on high alert, trying unsuccessfully to reestablish contact with Lugh. Her frustration was palpable, but she refused to let despair consume her.

"You shouldn't make so much noise," a low, raspy voice whispered from the adjacent cell.

Lyra turned her head, startled. She barely made out a hunched figure behind the bars separating her from the neighboring prisoner. The faint light from the slit barely illuminated his face, leaving most of his features shrouded in shadow.

"Who are you?" Lyra asked softly, keeping her tone firm.

"Someone who's been here longer than you could bear," the figure replied. "I saw what happened with the guard. If you don't do something, he'll be back... and not just to talk."

Lyra clenched her fists. She'd sensed the implicit threat in the guard's words and gestures, but hearing it confirmed made her blood boil.

"And what do you suggest I do?" she shot back with a touch of sarcasm. "Magic? Or do you have the key to get out of here?"

The figure let out a dry, almost amused chuckle. Then he leaned forward, and a thin, grimy arm slid through the bars, dropping a small object wrapped in cloth onto the floor of Lyra's cell.

"Not a key, but something useful." The figure retreated calmly. "Use your wits. Strength alone won't keep you alive here; you need more than that."

Lyra cautiously picked up the object and unwrapped it. It was a small, sharp stone, enough to improvise a weapon or even cut through ropes if needed. She frowned, looking up at the prisoner.

"Why are you helping me?"

The man shrugged, his voice lowering even more.

"Because I know what could happen to you. It wouldn't be the first time that uniformed dog takes advantage of someone. And besides..." He paused, his tone turning enigmatic. "I suppose you don't know where you really are, outsider. Drakenhoff is not just a kingdom."

Still holding the sharp stone, Lyra stepped closer to the bars separating her from the man. Something in his tone unsettled her, but it also piqued her curiosity.

"Then tell me," she said, her voice low but insistent. "What is this place?"

A long sigh escaped the neighboring cell before the man continued.

"This fortress, outsider, is more than just a stone stronghold. It's the gateway to the true heart of the kingdom. Here, the shadows don't just blanket the ground; they're alive, inhabited by creatures and damned souls trapped in an endless cycle of suffering. Ancient sorceries bound them millennia ago, and now they wander without rest, lamenting in an eternity that will never know light."

Lyra swallowed hard, deciding to risk another question.

"Is magic common here?"

The prisoner let out a brief, bitter laugh, almost as if he couldn't believe how naïve the question sounded.

"Common?" he repeated, savoring the irony of the word. "Structures like this fortress are protected by powerful enchantments, as ancient as Lucian Drakenhoff himself. Those spells have kept them standing, unyielding, through centuries of invasions and sieges. Even time seems to shy away from them."

Lyra couldn't help but glance around her cell. Now, the walls didn't seem like just stone and moss; she felt something more, as if the darkness itself had a life of its own, as if it were watching her.

"Who casts these enchantments?" she pressed, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

"The magicians of Drakenhoff," the prisoner replied, his tone turning graver. "Loyal servants of Lucian, practitioners of dark arts. If you ever make it out of this cell, you'll see that the entire kingdom is steeped in their work. There's no place here untouched by their influence."

The prisoner's words echoed in Lyra's mind, and a sense of oppression settled over her. His murmurs faded into the air, but one thing was clear: Drakenhoff wasn't just a kingdom; it was a prison of power and darkness, and she was trapped in the center of its web.