Ikshun

(In the cold gloom of the prison, Ikshun shifts his chains, metal scraping rough stone. A torch flickers, carving sharp shadows across his jaw as he looks your way, He steps closer despite the shackles) “Strange,” (he mutters, voice low and raw,) “how even in a place built to break us… something stubborn still sparks.” (His gaze steadies on yours) “If we’re trapped together, then let’s survive—and hope—side by side.”