The reinforced door groaned as it opened—six inches of alloy steel layered with mana-dampening runes, each glowing faintly with a sickly blue hue. A mechanical hiss followed, signaling the release of the containment chamber's pressure locks.
Footsteps echoed in the sterile hallway beyond. Steady. Unhurried.
Then came the voice—low, dispassionate. "Open cell twenty-one."
A row of automated eyes blinked green in confirmation. The final rune cracked like a snapped bone, the containment field pulsing once before collapsing inward with a sound like shattered glass reversing.
Inside the cell, Leon sat on the bench. Unmoving. No restraints. No bindings.
Just stillness.
The light in the chamber was too white, too clean. It reflected off the walls like a surgical room, and it made his shadow sharp, unnatural—like he didn't belong here.
He didn't look up when the warden stepped in.
