In just one night, the village had become entirely a memory—so devastated there wasn't even a place to set foot. The scene was unimaginably hopeless. Yet, no one wept over this sight, not a single villager entered Silvanus's line of vision.
Silvanus walked quickly, his brows tightly furrowed.
He tried to recall what had happened the previous night, but everything in his mind was hazy and chaotic—more chaotic than a ridiculous dream. It felt like countless scenes were swirling and merging into each other, making it impossible to distinguish reality from illusion.
All he could remember was a lot of fire fireworks… yet everything felt so cold. And then, Silas pulled him up onto the shore.
The shore?
Silvanus's steps slowed instinctively, and by now, he had already approached the lake.
The lake's surface had turned completely pitch-black. Rather than looking like a body of water, it resembled a filthy, stinking black swamp. Silvanus even wondered if it was sticky to the touch.
