A single iron chain ran from the wall to the restraint at Marcus's wrist, just long enough to let him sit against the opposite wall . He looked at it for a moment.
Then at the cell around him.
Then at the old man still meditating in the corner with the serene expression of someone who had transcended the concept of inconvenient circumstances entirely.
Marcus leaned his head back against the stone wall.
[HP: 34 / 100]
Thirty four percent. He looked at the number. Beaten, chained to a prison floor, and Corvan might not even be in the city anymore.
The young man on the floor made a sound in his sleep that wasn't quite a word and rolled onto his side.
The old man breathed in.
Breathed out.
Marcus closed his eyes soliloquising .
