The silence in the watcher's hut settled, an odd stillness that seemed to congeal in the air—the old watcher even had some sort of illusion, feeling as if even the altar set up on the desk, the candlelight, the incense smoke, and the faint spiritual power diffused in the air had momentarily stagnated.
An illusion?
The old man lifted his head in confusion, seeing the flame on the candlestick dancing, but it was as if it had only started dancing the moment he looked up.
He stared at that pale flame for a long time before he slowly shook his head, turning his attention back to the letter in front of him, reading the words with an odd feeling he had never had in his life.
But he only read a few lines before he could no longer care about the discomfort and awkwardness in his heart—the content of this letter began to make him realize the severity of the situation.
