As Xin's eyes slowly fluttered open, the faint, flickering light of the torches that lined the cold, grey stone walls of his prison cell danced across his vision, casting eerie shadows on the ground. He was lying on a narrow, uncomfortable bed, its thin, worn mattress offering little comfort or support to his weary body. The hard, unyielding surface seemed to press against his very bones, making every movement a painful, laborious effort. As he struggled to sit up, a dull ache echoed through his head, a lingering reminder of the countless times he had been subjected to the witch's cruel experiments and torture. Xin's gaze wandered listlessly around the small, dingy cell, taking in the familiar sights of the rusty iron door, the small, barred window high up on one wall, and the crude, wooden table and chair that stood in the corner. It was a bleak, barren space, devoid of any comfort or warmth, a place where hope itself seemed to wither and die. And yet, despite the many hardship