With a clang, Dante Wayne's silver fork dropped onto the plate.
The sound of the falling fork was a bit shrill in the somewhat cavernous dining room, startling the maid who was standing by. She quickly came forward to ask, "Mr. Dante?"
Dante didn't respond to the maid's inquiry. The City-State Governor remained sitting there, stunned, as if his soul had temporarily left his body. After a good while, he suddenly blinked, his consciousness seemingly snapping back to the surface from the brink of drowning – the sounds of the real world boomed in his ears—he took a sharp breath, hearing the maid's voice again, "Mr. Dante, are you alright?"
Dante Wayne stared blankly at the fork that had fallen onto the plate, slowly reached out to pick up the fork, and noticed his hand was shaking violently. Countless intertwining, chaotic memories shuttled and overlapped in his head; he felt a burning pain near his eye sockets, as if his Ruby prosthetic eye was burning hot.