Shiayar extended his hand, picked up the revolver, and then, with his slender fingers, fiddled with the revolving bullet cylinder.
TING.
The cylinder, loaded with five blanks and one live round, began to spin rapidly. Shiayar's wrist flicked slightly, and the spinning cylinder emitted a crisp sound as it clicked into place within the body of the revolver.
Shiayar could clearly sense that the moment the cylinder clicked into the gun's frame, the internal details of the gun vanished from his spiritual perception.
It was as if a thin mist had settled over the gun, obscuring all information and details of its interior—be it the weight of the gun or the slight vibration from the spinning cylinder. It was as if a mosaic had been applied, preventing any further scrutiny.
