Damian has never been to prison before, and he hadn't expected his first experience to be among wayward Founders whom society had rejected. Most of them stood tall, with veins trailing the sides of their long neck like tendrils of creeping plants. Their hands were pale and faces as dark as coal. The fairness of their skin was lost from the blistering heat of the sun, which left their skins in scales as a testimony of the sun's harshness. The wall of the prison stood in the far distance. Its edges were smooth and almost touching the cloud. It made Damian wonder if he was going to die here. There was no getting out. Nothing could save him and his friends. This was their doom and end. Unless Molhin and the council changed their mind, and he doubt that would happen anytime soon.

"Nobody mentioned prison would be this boring," Ygon said. She was the only one who is finding being locked up, funny.