In the haze and darkness, Michel opened his eyes atop the altar.
"Has it begun?" he asked.
"Yes."
Below the altar, Elder Pan Delong nodded, silently awaiting commands from the master of ceremonies.
In the quiet, only the faint sounds from beyond the thick steel and stone walls carried on endlessly, ticking and tocking as if they stretched to the end of time itself.
A damp wind blew from afar.
"It's raining, huh..." Michel murmured as if in a daze.
"Yes."
"Just a nap, and it's already come to this?"
From the bonds of the altar, Michel lifted his cloudy eyes.
Countless sharp thorns and roots burst from his husk, wrapped around the throne representing the seat of God, and ultimately sunk one by one into the ground and stone beneath, connecting him with the vast Miracle Imprint as one.
Thus, from the depths of darkness came a heavy pulse and heartbeat, like the tide.
