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It was no question to her which path she must take. The path that would take everything—she sneered. There was nothing left of her to give, save for this vile hound's flesh. She moved through the third door without looking back.

She was beneath a mountain. It must be a cavern, deep beneath the earth—but the rumbling, the strange magic that coursed through it—no, this place was no ordinary realm. The being connected to it, too, was no ordinary wolf.

He raged and snarled. Through his anger, Velyre stayed silent and still. Watching, listening. From what she had been able to surmise, yes, he had been left behind. She paused, watching, as others arrived. Some leapt for the mad prisoner's throat. Some sought to free him. She eyed the chains that bound him. Would breaking them break his connection to this construct, too? Or would it only make him that much more difficult to end? Did it matter? Did any of them have any hope of putting such a being to death? After what he had endured, perhaps he deserved this last act of revenge. Perhaps he was a monster. Or perhaps, once freed, he would choose not to be one.

Velyre turned to the nearest chain and clamped down with all her (admittedly not awe-inspiring) might, straining with all the force her small body could muster to break it.