That night.
In the room of a modest inn, Anvis sat cross-legged on the bed, quietly practicing his meditation.
The crisp silver moonlight enveloped his body like water, subtly nourishing his spirit.
In the midst of it all, Anvis suddenly saw a blurred vision.
Within the pitch-black dungeon, a naturally-dressed, translucent figure was completely enshrouded by a mass of squirming, pink tentacles.
The figure's face was too hazy to discern clearly.
Logically speaking, from his perspective, he should not have been able to see the figure fully wrapped up.
But Anvis just had a feeling.
That it was Evan—
The vision quickly faded away, replaced by another scene.
Unlike the first, which felt as ethereal as a dream, the second scene was much clearer and carried a faint icy coldness that felt oddly familiar.
A damp and dimly lit cave, its walls emitting a pallid phosphorescent glow.
