In the realm of phantom presences, lightning manifests intensely compressed light. In its potency, it surpasses all other natural phantom presences within the Material Dimension. Its density of light fragments outshines daylight, fire, and anything created by the commonplace lightgiver artefact. Wherever Yves could not discern lightning through first sight, all other phantom presences of light would remain elusive, including the subtle, ever-moving nuances birthed by the sun. He was blind to anything past two kilometres.

It could be even less. It was too difficult to tell at night.

When did this happen? Since when was he this short-sighted? Since his return to the crater? Did it manifest abruptly, a consequence of the shift, or had it evolved gradually over the past three weeks? Was this diminishing a one-time occurrence – a result of the Vicha’s devouring, a change triggered by his mirror world transformation, or the repercussion of his harrowing return to the dual reality – or would his first sight continue to decrease at this relentless rate?

                                          𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿ 𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿

                                          𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿

The world around him had been severed at its edges.

Everything was disappearing.

Everything was displaced by darkness.

𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿

𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿

𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿

𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖎⃦̳̿𝖘⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿𝖓⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿

Yves hated darkness. He hated darkness even more when he knew that it was not even there, it was not even real. There were radiant stars, and the moon with her child, and, quite possibly, distorted yet beautiful fragments of light embedded everywhere throughout the expanse — they existed, tangible energies beyond his perception.

Yves had spent days entrenched underground, endured weeks in oppressive dungeons and caves, even delved into the recesses of the Albweiss Mountains. Yet, those experiences differed, for the darkness in those confines belonged to the places themselves. When Yves departed, the darkness remained there. This darkness, now, existed solely for him, a night that felt as if Teharun refused to set.

And like Teharun, who took all shifting energies from the world, this abhorrent night left Yves with nothing. Only his personal darkness remained. The expansive sight and energies from the sky realms, once teeming with winged beasts and dragons, were now beyond his reach, transformed into an obsidian ceiling overnight. Its pillars manifested as the ominous sensation of his world contracting, the last vestiges of light fading. It felt as though he again stood at the centre of his dome, as though he never escaped, besieged by encroaching darkness — a horrendous nothing closing in with every blink of the frantic-fearful eye, this Vicha born from an elf curse. It was a nothing that took nothing yet left nothing, consuming without taking from the world, devouring from within, impossible to outrun.

A Recommendation to Handle Grey Noise

The Glass Wizard_Webseries, Webnovel_Author_The Duckman_Coffee_Thank you, dear reader

Dear travellers,

This is another one of those pages.
If you read this page on your tablet, you might find sequences of the text overlapping in such a way that they become unreadable. Unfortunately, I cannot adjust such pages for all individual tablet screen sizes.

Kindly note that pages featuring grey noise are best displayed in full-screen desktop view, though I did my best to alter the formatting for mobile phone use. I apologise for the inconvenience and hope you can enjoy the story regardless.

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