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Telling the truth

Five and a half hours had passed since Orion had been confined to this small, dimly lit chamber. The room was devoid of luxury or comfort, its purpose singular and absolute. The only furnishings were a sturdy wooden chair and a narrow, well-worn table, its surface marred by deep grooves and scratches—remnants of countless past interrogations. The walls, constructed of unyielding stone, stood cold and oppressive, their silence amplifying the isolation.

A single torch flickered from a rusted iron sconce near the ceiling, casting elongated shadows that danced across the uneven walls. The air was stale, carrying the lingering scent of iron and dampness, as if the very stones had absorbed the unspoken confessions of those who had once sat where Orion now did.

Yet, despite the foreboding atmosphere, Orion remained unshaken.