The dungeon smelled of damp stone and wet earth.It always did.The scent clung to the walls.To the iron bars.To the torches burning weakly along the corridor.Guard Rowan barely noticed it anymore.After years assigned to dungeon patrols, the smell had become as ordinary as breathing.His boots echoed softly against the stone floor as he made his rounds.One cell.Then the next.Then the next.The routine never changed.Most nights were painfully quiet.Tonight seemed no different.Rowan yawned.Adjusted the spear resting against his shoulder.And continued toward the final corridor.The one that housed the stray.His footsteps slowed slightly.Not from fear.From habit.The strange wolf had unsettled every guard who had crossed his path.Even locked behind bars, he somehow made people uncomfortable.Like he knew things he shouldn't.Like he was waiting for something.Rowan rounded the corner.Then stopped.His entire body froze.For a moment, his mind refused to understand what he
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