The rustle of branches moving in the wind, the chirping of birds, a sweet smell of freshness. It was not his house, nor the monastery. Nyx knew this full well. It was so quiet he felt like he was in the middle of the forest. Slowly coming to himself, the flaming god had to open and close his eyes several times before they got used to the light. It was definitely not a place he knew. This high white ceiling was completely unknown to him and so were its wooden beams. Painfully, the god of night and death pressed his hands to the mattress and tried to stand up, but his arms could not support it. His head fell back against the pillow, leaving him helpless in the face of his own weakness. He was weak. His arms couldn't even support his weight.
"Okay. Another technique," he sighed before pulling the covers back.
