"Paul! Paul!"
The Lord of Flames heard. He opened his eyes slightly, founding himself in the same white space as ever.
'No matter how many years pass, I will have the same dreams, huh? I think that, after so long having nightmares and living in constant suffering, I learned how to maintain my mind empty. Thus my dreams are always a monotone white, so I get rid of the pain, the suffering, and the traumas. I think I got too good at dealing with torture, huh?'
He turned around, looking at that pure white surrounding him.
'I feel like I don't know where I am looking at anymore. I lose my sense of direction when I am here. I fear to look down and up and forget which direction I am looking. It really confuses my mind.'
"Paul!" someone shouted his name, but he ignored it for a while, still focusing on that strange experience that he had every time he slept.
"Paul," another voice came, waking him up to "reality" again.
