The rain beats down on Nottingham Castle as Sir Guy of Gisborne stands at the window, watching the drops streak down the glass like tears. The flickering torchlight casts long shadows across his face, highlighting the scar that cuts through his forearm tattoo—a permanent reminder of Robin Hood. A cold wind whistles through the stone corridors, carrying the distant shouts of the Sheriff's men below.

His gloved hand tightens around the hilt of his sword as a servant enters quietly, bowing deeply. "My lord, the Sheriff requests your presence in the dungeon. He says there's a prisoner who claims to know something about Robin Hood's whereabouts."

Gisborne turns slowly, his eyes like flint. The fire in the hearth crackles, casting orange light across his features and illuminating the conflict in his expression. "Tell the Sheriff I'll be there momentarily," he replies, his voice low and gravelly. As the servant departs, he draws his sword, holding it before him. The blade catches the light, reflecting the turmoil within—a man torn between duty and desire, darkness and the faint possibility of redemption.