In the dense darkness of the ancient underground cells of Fresnes, Mordred now felt every pulse, every heartbeat, every subtle whisper emanating from the bodies infused with his blood. It was still bearable, a slight constant tension, but he already sensed that this sensory web would soon become an overwhelming mental burden. He would have to find another solution. Perhaps delegate part of the control, create alert thresholds... A less crude, more refined strategy.
But as he contemplated these possibilities in the almost total silence of the gallery, a particular pulsation reached him. Instantly, his attention sharpened. He closed his eyes and concentrated intensely on this precise signal.
Adrien.
A sudden acceleration of the heartbeat, a gentle warmth spreading through his limbs: Adrien was moving. And most importantly, he was moving toward the surface. Toward the outer camp, toward Alaryon.
