Dark clouds filled the sky, the sun imprisoned behind them.
The low growl of thunder shook the wooden buildings, as the sharp light from the thunder illuminated the town in almost rhythmic intervals.
Two days had passed since Gabriel had collapsed.
His room remained untouched by the storm outside.
The wind rattled against the building, rain hammered the roof, but nothing breached the silence around him.
The air was heavy and unmoving, almost afraid to disturb him from his state.
He lay where he had fallen, body half-turned on the narrow bed.
He was reliving the visions from the book, trapped in them, dreaming them, looping through them without rest.
War. Burning villages. Eight silhouettes standing beneath a blinding holy light.
And the man on the throne, motionless, watching him.
Knock… Knock… Knock.
The vision cracked.
The knocking struck again, shattering it further, splintering the loop that held him.
