The dim, echoing halls of the subterranean prison complex beneath Metamoor were oppressive, filled with the hum of dark magic and cold stone. Prince Phobos stood before the massive row of sealed iron cells, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the spirit pool beside him. "What? You want to release more prisoners?" Phobos turned toward the voice, his regal expression tight. "Narissa's stronger than ever. The next time the witch attacks, we'll need help safeguarding Prince Phobos." He quieted, pacing along the edge of the iron gates, speaking in a low murmur as if reflecting on his past decisions. "Perhaps my punishment for their failures was too severe..."