**Chapter 3: Arrival in the Southern Isles**

The French dignitary's ship docked at the bustling port of the Southern Isles, its hull creaking as it came to rest against the worn stone quay. The sound of seagulls filled the air, their raucous cries mingling with the murmur of the crowd that had gathered to watch the ship's arrival. Hans, still imprisoned in the brig, felt a jolt of anxiety as the ship's engines died down and the crew began to stir. As the sailors' footsteps echoed outside his cell, Hans's heart quickened with a mix of fear and anticipation. The brig's door creaked open, and a burly sailor with a thick beard and a scar above his left eyebrow peered in. "Time to get off, Your Highness," he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. Hans's wrists and ankles were shackled to the iron bars, and he had to be hauled out of the brig by two burly sailors. They dragged him down the gangway, his feet scraping against the wooden planks as he stumbled onto the dock. The bright sunlight was blinding after the dimness of the brig, and Hans squinted, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling port. The sailors led him through the crowded streets, passing by rows of dilapidated buildings and makeshift stalls selling everything from fresh produce to second-hand goods. The air was thick with the smells of cooking oil, fish, and sweat, and Hans's stomach churned with a growing sense of unease. As they walked, Hans caught glimpses of the city's inhabitants - gaunt-faced men and women with sunken eyes, their skin sallow and worn. They seemed to shuffle along, their heads down, as if afraid to look up. Hans's thoughts turned to the rumors he had heard about the Southern Isles - a place of suffering and oppression, where the ruler, King Westergard, taxed his people harshly and brutally put down any defiance. The sailors eventually stopped at a large, imposing building with stone walls and iron gates. Hans was dragged inside, his shackles clanking against the stone floor as he stumbled through the entrance. A guard, resplendent in a uniform with the Westergard crest emblazoned on his chest, eyed him warily before nodding to the sailors. The sailors handed Hans over to the guard, who led him to a small, dingy cell deep in the building's bowels. Hans collapsed onto the narrow bed, his mind reeling with exhaustion and despair. As he looked around, he caught glimpses of the other prisoners, their faces gaunt and haunted. Days passed, and Hans's mental state continued to deteriorate. He became convinced that the guards were plotting against him, that they were trying to drive him mad with their constant whispering and their mocking glances. His mind racing with thoughts of escape, of revenge, and of the injustices that had been done to him, Hans's world began to shrink to the confines of his cell. It was during one of these episodes that Lars, the King's third son, visited the cellblock. He was a tall, lean man with a sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes, and he regarded Hans with a mixture of curiosity and concern. As he watched Hans's antics, Lars's expression darkened, and he turned to the guard. "What's going on here?" he asked, his voice low and even. The guard shrugged. "He's been like that since he arrived, Your Highness. Won't eat, won't sleep. Just stares into space." Lars's eyes narrowed. "I think we need to take him to a place where he can get the help he needs. My estate has a suitable facility. We can try to... calm him down." The guard nodded, and Hans was dragged out of the cell, his shackles clanking against the stone floor as he stumbled after Lars. As they walked, Hans's thoughts grew more disordered, his perceptions warped by his growing paranoia. He was trapped in a living nightmare, with no escape in sight. Lars, however, seemed to be taking him somewhere, anywhere, but back to the darkness that had consumed him. Hans's eyes flickered towards Lars, and for a moment, he saw a glimmer of hope. But it was quickly extinguished, replaced by the crushing despair that had become his reality. As they left the cellblock behind, Hans caught a glimpse of the city outside - a place of suffering and oppression, where the ruler, King Westergard, taxed his people harshly and brutally put down any defiance. Hans's thoughts turned to his own fate, and he wondered what lay ahead, and whether he would ever find a way to escape the darkness that had consumed him.