In a distant place, deep beneath the earth, there was a cavern shrouded in darkness.
The cave was vast and ancient, its jagged stone walls illuminated only by the flickering glow of torch flames mounted along the sides. Shadows danced endlessly across the surface, giving the place an eerie and almost living atmosphere.
At the center of the cavern stood a throne carved entirely from black stone.
Upon it sat Helena.
She was alone.
There was not a single subordinate standing before her, not a single voice echoing in the hall. The silence was heavy, pressing down on her senses like an invisible weight. Normally, this place would be filled with whispers, reports, or the presence of servants awaiting orders—but today, there was nothing.
Helena rested her chin against her hand, her posture elegant yet relaxed, as if the throne itself belonged to her by absolute right.
She was bored.
Terribly bored.
Especially after Flinch had been eliminated.
