My Free Will System: Transmigrating Into My Favorite Immersion Game

The interior of the cells was a gloomy sight, the air was stale with the smell of blood, sweat, and occasional whiff of urine. The sounds of chains clanging, and prisoners lamenting echoed through the passageway, some voices begged to be released, some begged to be killed, while others threatened to do unspeakable things to the people who held them there.

Lord Varric escorted Elias past rows and rows of cells, the cells were small, barely large enough to fit a person lying down. Elias tried to peek in, but Lord Varric quickly advised him against it,

"If you like your face, don't do that again," He said.

Most of the people in the cells, at least the ones he could see judging by their collars, were Flares, and it made Elias wonder if Loria would be in a collar too.

"This place wasn't built for them, in fact, if we were to free all the Flares here today, we should only have twelve people in this place," Lord Varric explained," Lord Varric said, "Here, this prisoner fits the description you gave me," He added as they stopped in front of a cell

The inside of the cell was a stark, oppressive space, designed to crush the spirit of even the hardiest inmates. It measured no more than six feet by eight feet, its rough stone walls cold to the touch and slick with moisture from the constant dampness that pervaded the prison.

A narrow slit high in the wall served as the only window, allowing a sliver of gray light to filter in and casting long shadows that twisted with the flicker of the distant torches outside.

The floor was uneven and worn, covered in a thin layer of straw that did little to soften the hardness beneath. In one corner, a simple wooden plank served as a bed, its surface hard and unyielding, barely wide enough to lie upon. A threadbare blanket, with more holes than fabric, was the sole concession to comfort.

Against one wall, a rusted iron ring was embedded into the stone, a length of heavy chain attached to it. The chain ended in a set of manacles, their iron surfaces worn smooth by countless hands before. Nearby, a small, battered bucket sat in the corner, the only provision for sanitation.

The air inside the cell was thick and stale, filled with the acrid stench of sweat, unwashed bodies, and the faint but persistent odor of rot. Silence reigned, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the ceiling and the distant, muffled sounds of other prisoners.

Every inch of the cell spoke of neglect and despair, a place designed not just to imprison but to break the will of its occupants. It was a realm of perpetual twilight, where time lost its meaning and the outside world became a distant, unreachable dream.

Elias walked up to the cell, hoping to see a fuming mad Loria, who would get further enraged at the sight of him, but fate has a way of being cruel, as most of the time what we expect is never what we meet.

As Elias brought the torch closer to the cell, his heart dropped as he saw the state Loria was in. She sat in the dim cell, her back was pressed against the cold stone wall. Her once-lustrous hair, braided and coiled at the back of her head, had become unkempt, strands escaping to fall limply around her face.

Her clear, deep blue eyes stared vacantly ahead, unseeing and devoid of the spark they once held. They looked vacant as if not a thought lay behind them, and even if they did, she could not voice them because of the collar that bound her neck

Her dress was now frayed at the edges and stained from the unyielding grime of the prison. The modest shade of brown had darkened with dirt, and her leather belt now hung loosely. Her once-gentle flare of hips, giving her an elegant silhouette, was barely noticeable as she slumped against the wall.

Loria's hands lay motionless in her lap, fingers curled slightly as if holding onto a memory long gone. Her breath was slow and shallow, each rise and fall of her chest almost imperceptible. She seemed more a statue than a living being, her expression blank, eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the distance.

The cell's dim light cast shadows that played across her features, deepening the hollows beneath her eyes and highlighting the pallor of her skin. She did not react to the distant clanging of chains or the muffled cries from other prisoners. Her mind was far away, lost in a catatonic state that shielded her from the harsh reality of her confinement.

Elias' jaw clenched tightly, the muscles twitching with the effort to hold back the torrent of emotions. Elias' hands balled up into fists at his sides, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip.

"Is this King Alaric's doing? Even in such a restricted prison, he still denies them the freedom of thought," He asked, his voice low and steadfast

Sensing Elias' fast-growing rage, Lord Varric took a step back, "Yes it is, everything happens at the orders of the king," He replied

Elias etched the sight of Loria in his mind, "I came here to talk to her, but what good is it talking to someone that can't listen? I need her to be able to listen as I tell her…tell her that I killed her brother, I need her to react, I need her to be angry! To curse me!!" Elias forced his words out of his mouth through clenched jaws

Lord Varric looked upon him with a sympathetic expression, he raised his hands to place on Elias' shoulder, to comfort him. He immediately kept his hands to himself as he saw the seething rage etched on Elias' face.

"King Alaric…something has to be done," Elias declared

Lord Varric furrowed his brows, "I urge you not to be reckless and impulsive Elias Ashdown," He said

Elias ignored him and began walking to the exit, "Let's go, I'm done here,"