Bab 615: Chapter 612:Mind Behind The Rebel

In a dimly lit, dark cell, a weary prisoner sits hunched on a cold, unforgiving stone floor. The room is suffused with an oppressive sense of despair as if the very walls hold the weight of the prisoner's confinement.

The prisoner's clothing is tattered and stained, a reflection of the harsh conditions they endure. The face bears the marks of time and suffering, with hollowed cheeks and weary eyes that have seen too much. A thin, threadbare blanket provides meagre warmth, but it can't chase away the chill of isolation.

The only source of light filters in through a small, barred window high above, casting feeble rays that barely penetrate the gloom. The air is heavy with the scent of mustiness and decay, and the distant echoes of muffled voices and clinking chains serve as a constant reminder of the harsh reality of imprisonment.

The dead silence was broken by the loud clicking sound of footsteps accompanying a fierce aura permeating everywhere.