I wake with a start, my heart racing, chest heaving, eyes blinking open into the suffocating blackness. The walls of my cell press in on me, cold and unyielding like the weight of my own thoughts. The damp stone chills me to my bones. The air, thick with mildew and rot, is almost too foul to breathe. It stinks of death, and I breathe it in, a sour taste of defeat.

The chains rattle as I shift, the iron biting into my skin, my wrists raw from their constant grasp. I try to move, but the weight of my own mind feels heavier than the shackles that bind me.

But the room is empty.

A cold shiver crawls down my spine as I listen to the distant echoes—footsteps, shouts, and clanging metal. The guards outside my cell patrol the labyrinth of my captivity. The sound of swords ringing against stone reverberates through the hollow halls. They shout commands, their voices sharp and cruel.

But the room is empty.

And in this cage, I am alone.

Captivity does not get easier, the thought flickers through my mind. At least not for those who refuse to accept it.

Stripped of power, cast into this place by those who craved what I once held—rivals with thirst too deep to quench, enemies without mercy. They did not grant me a swift end. No, they wanted to see me break. They wanted to see my mind crumble before my body had the chance.

I lean back against the cold stone. The sharp memories of my coronation, of the throne, of the cheers and adoration, fade like smoke. The crown I once wore has vanished, its weight becoming an unbearable heaviness in my chest.

But the room is empty.

I lift my eyes to the bars before me, feeling the chilling cold of the iron of this cage that binds me. The food they slide under the door offers no sustenance to my soul, and the water, plentiful enough, fails to slake my thirst. And when I close my eyes, exhausted and worn, sleep doesn’t find me.

“I am more than this,” I speak the words aloud, though they are only whispers in the dark. They are a lie I have yet to believe.

"I don’t belong here," I hear myself quietly say to myself without so much as a thought.

"Neither do I!" comes a chorus from the other cells. The voices echo—deserters, traitors, thieves, murderers, liars. They shout in frustration, in resignation, in desperation.

But the room is empty.

They are the voices of my mind, with no source but their own bitterness. The same thoughts that have imprisoned me, the same doubts that I cannot seem to silence.

They tell me I’ll never get out.

I am not their prisoner. I don’t care what words they speak. I’d rather stand defiantly alone than be one of them. I’d rather be an outcast.

So long I’ve been locked away.

Time drags, and the world outside my cell grows ever colder and darker. I trace the iron bars with my eyes, searching for a crack, a weakness. But there is nothing. Nothing except the silence and the weight of my own failure. I don’t know how I ended up here.

But that is not the whole truth.

It’s my fault for ending up in this hell.

I’ve been imprisoned by my own mistakes, my own arrogance, my own cowardice. It is my mind that has held me captive far longer than my shackles ever could.

But the room is empty.

And I’ve almost given up hope of getting out...

Almost.

A sharp pain snaps me from my thoughts. A violent and sudden blow to the head. Warm blood trickles down my brow.

But I am still here. Still breathing. Still alive.

I stare at the blood dripping into my hands, and then let it drip away. My own fault for ending up in this hell…and my responsibility to find a way out.

But the room is empty.

And yet, in the deepest pit of my prison, there is a spark—a defiance that flickers and grows in the dark recesses of my heart. I may be in chains, but my mind can break free of this cage. My mind is my ally to command. And suddenly, visions flash to my mind: A bridled warhorse. A chained beast. A caged animal.

But this one thing remains: Hope. So long as I have the will to reach for it.

“Mark my words,” I say looking up at the guard, a fire in my eyes that has been extinguished for far too long and a savage grin. “I will get out.”

But the room is empty.

Through the darkness, I swear to myself, my voice barely a whisper in the silence, " My destiny is my own. I will escape. And when I do, my kingdom will rise again."

The keys lie before me, and I pick them up, feeling the weight of them in my hands. And I stare at the lock.

But the room is empty.

And I’m the one holding the keys.

I was forged in the fire.