126

Alpha King Ozar.

My boot echoes off the stone walls as I stride into the corridors of the prison. The guard leads me deeper into the fortress's bowels. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and aged iron, a proof of centuries of confinement. Yet, the prison has seen advancements with thicker iron bars, reinforced doors, and locking mechanisms.

The ceilings arch high, supported by columns. They are cavernous, devoid of any sanctity. As we descend further, the guard occasionally glances back at me. Finally, we reach a massive iron door, rusted with age yet formidable in its design. The guard pulls out a large key from his belt and inserts it into the lock. With a creaking groan, the door swings open, revealing the cell where Collins is being held. The room is sparse, its only furnishings are a narrow cot and single window, barred and set high on the wall—allowing a sliver of gray light.

Collins is at the edge of the narrow cot with his posture slouched. His face is gaunt from th