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Summary
There is purpose in pain. There is meaning in suffering. That is what Aymeric has always so sincerely believed. He believes that even here, somewhere in the recesses of the Vault, locked far away from even the eyes of the gods above.
Aymeric is fixed in genuflection. His hands are put together in prayer and chained to the low table. Several figures surround him, but he doesn't look up to meet them. Instead, he keeps his head down, his eyes shut, and braces himself for another blow.
"Protect me, O Mighty Fury..."
Nothing answers his silent prayer but another crack of the lash.
