It was hard to tell how many days had passed since The Culling. Time didn’t exist properly down here. There were no clocks, no sunrise, no voices anymore. Just the whispers of pipes, the clang of metal chains from cells far away, and sometimes, screams that didn’t last long enough.Kirin sat on the cold stone floor, back against the wall, fingers curled tightly around the hilt of the blade hidden beneath his prison-worn shirt. His hands were still stained faintly red. No matter how much he wiped them off on the stone, that blood had soaked into him.But the demons hadn’t returned. Not yet. And no one spoke about the dead.Nobody ever did.Kirin's eyes wandered to the corner of his cell. The same spot where, days ago, he had carved “I AM STILL HERE.” The words stared back at him like an accusation. As if the stone was asking him to prove it.And so, he moved.He pressed his palm flat against the walls, trying to feel for any weakness, any inconsistency. Any sign that this tomb of a cel