Just like the whirlpool of memories had dragged him to Illium, Nyx's portal had thrown him back into Mazia.
Ishit didn't open his eyes, nor did he move his body. He continued to lay awake like a dead person. Cling to the memories he had brought with him from Illium. The touch of the spirit, its whispers, and Hope, his blade. He kept telling himself he was still in Illium and still a wielder. He just had to think, and the spirit would rush towards him.
He didn't want to awake and face his fate, mocking at him for trying to escape its iron grip.
Moreover, he didn't want to see the disappointment in his father's eyes and pity in his mother's.
He still wondered how he had survived the soul-crushing pain. Why hadn't the accident killed him?
Now he had to live a crippled life, watching his friends soaring in the sky, feasting with Aslan in the sky castle, and wedding the beauties of their dreams.
