Roland didn't respond to Yemiga's curiosity. He just furrowed his brow, staring intently at his own fingertip.
When his fingertip was just an inch away from the phantom of the silver-white "thread," and the pale gold and dark red halos were about to touch that cold line...
His finger froze.
He wasn't bound by any tangible force, nor did he feel any pain or numbness.
It was the purest, most fundamental state of "unable to execute."
His consciousness clearly issued the command to "touch," and his nerve endings seemed to have received the signal.
But the muscles and joints of his finger, and even the faint glow enveloping it, completely solidified in that final inch of their path, as if they had become a stone statue carved as one with the surrounding space.
Even stranger, Roland could still clearly "sense" his own finger.
Its existence, its position, and even the subtle sensation on its skin from the air currents remained completely undiminished.
