Oswald let out a bitter laugh, his breath heavy with resignation. He had once dreamed of gathering strength through war to overthrow his father, the emperor. Instead, he now sat in chains, his ambitions thwarted.
Lifting his gaze, Oswald's eyes landed on the cell opposite his. There, his loyal subordinate and mage, Carlton, lay groaning in pain. Even in the shadows, the mage's pale face and deep wounds were starkly visible. The claw marks left by the sphinx guarding the prison were severe. To stem the bleeding, Carlton had resorted to cauterizing the injuries with flame magic, but the wounds had deteriorated further. His labored, uneven breaths and twisted expression betrayed his agony.
