Three years slipped by in the confines of the dungeon, each day feeling both endless and fleeting. For Derek, the passage of time was marked not by the changing of seasons or the sun's movement across the sky, but by the gradual growth of his own power. Locked away from the world above, he had found a way to turn the villagers' negative intentions into a source of strength. Every spiteful thought, every ounce of animosity, fed his death magic, nurturing it with the energy of their disdain.
In the dim, damp surroundings of his cell, Derek's focus was unwavering. He harnessed the negativity that seeped through the cracks, channeling it into his own power. Slowly but surely, he felt himself growing stronger. He could sense the energy coursing through him, each surge of dark power filling him with a sense of purpose.