Figures slumped against the walls or sprawled across the floor—some twitched faintly, others y too still. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, his gut twisted. These weren’t all human, not by any definition he knew. One shape glistened with cracked scales, its limbs coiled in a way that defied nature. Another quivered with too many arms, jerking like a puppet caught in a nightmare. And then there were the bodies—lifeless mounds that didn’t stir, their stillness a silent howl of death. His stomach lurched. This wasn’t a prison; it was a tomb for the damned.

  "Ugh, what the hell is this pce?" he groaned, arm still shielding his nose from the stench. A sharp stab fred in his leg, and he winced, scanning the cell for any sembnce of relief. I need to find somewhere to sit, he thought, desperation creeping in. Somewhere—anywhere—not caked in grime or cimed by one of those… things. He avoided their gazes, their alien forms prickling his nerves.

  Then his eyes caught on a corner that stood apart. It was less crowded, the floor there almost clean against the filth smothering the rest. Stranger still, none of the other prisoners lingered near it, their hunched forms turned away as if pushed by some unseen force. A lone figure sat there, shrouded in shadow. The dimness hid the details, but this one seemed different—human, perhaps, and breathing.

  A chill snaked up his spine, but he shoved it down. He needed a spot to rest, to dull the ache in his legs and arm, even for a moment. Sitting next to those creatures wasn’t an option, and that corner was the best he’d get. Bracing himself, he edged across the cell, boots squelching in the muck. He wove carefully around sprawling limbs, flinching at the low moans and rustles that cwed at his courage.

  As he drew closer, a faint humming reached his ears, and the figure sharpened into focus: a boy, younger than him, with dark skin and a wild afro that caught the torchlight’s faint gleam. Broken shackles dangled from his arms, iron ball locks weighed his legs, and a bloodied bandage wrapped his face, concealing his eyes. He hummed softly, as if the cell’s horrors were nothing to him. The sight pulled him forward.

  He stopped a few feet away, hesitating. Up close, the boy’s humanity stood out—tangled hair, a weathered face, no scales or extra limbs—but his calm stillness unnerved him. Still, he was the only one here who didn’t seem ripped from a nightmare. There was something about him, a familiar air, as if their shared race made him less of a stranger. He felt a flicker of companionship, fragile and fleeting, but it was there.

  "Hey," he said, his voice a fragile thread in the cell’s heavy silence.

  The small boy paused his humming, tilting his head slightly. "Yes? Can I help you?"

  "Yeah." He shifted, legs trembling as he fought to steady them. "You see, I just got thrown in."

  The small boy nodded, slow and deliberate, as if that said it all. "You shouldn’t be here."

  "None of us should," he shot back, defiance sparking in his chest.

  A faint smile ghosted across the boy’s lips. "So, what can I help you with, newbie?"