What awakened him was the resonant morning bell from the high tower, its solemn sound rippling through dreams like waves, bathing every awoken soul in tranquility. Lyle opened his eyes. There was no need for oil lamps or candles in the inn's room since they were unnecessary.
"How marvelous," Lyle mused, looking at the perpetually shining Holy Cross atop the cathedral outside the window, which made Lokarot devoid of night. But its light was different from any he had known in his previous life, lacking the intensity of the sun and the dimness of moonlight, as if it were a seamless light source tailored for every human being. Even amidst such light, Lyle's sleep remained undisturbed. The light, just like the air, had merged into the life of Lokarot.
Meals in Lokarot were very simple. Displayed on Lyle's plate was nothing but a pure white and undecorated piece of unleavened bread, accompanied by a clay jar of milk. The smiling waitress caught the look of surprise on Lyle's face.
