Meanwhile...
Somewhere on this very night, the rays from the slanting moon crawled through a castles window and illuminated a lone figure on a king-size bed, the figure tossed and turned ceaselessly, seeming to be having a bad dream.
After hours of writhing and murmuring incoherent sounds, Torak jolted up from his sleep, his figure covered in numerous beads of cold sweats, fear and relief demonstrated on his face at the same time. Stripped of his arrogance and complacency, he at this moment looked no less than a normal beings just having a bad night.
Bad night? What exactly was a bad night to someone like him?... Was it a night when he would return to being nobody? Was a night his dreams became the direct opposite of what he wanted them to be? Was it a night he was too helpless to help himself?... Well we never would know for certain, but one thing such a night was, was a night he despises so much yet could only drown in the helplessness of it's reoccurrence.
