The doors of the Governor's Office stretched on both sides, meticulously carved from old maple wood felled three hundred years ago. The doorframe was inlaid with delicate silver ornaments, dignified and replete with historical sediment.
The office was eerily quiet, even Anello's previous screaming had ceased, no longer echoing in the expansive three-story mansion.
"Loren…!!"
Anello, whose whole body was bound by the Anti-Magic Ice Spikes, started to feel intermittent stabbing pain from being moved. But compared to the terror in his mind, the physical pain was negligible.
Seeing Loren again, Anello's breaths became rapid. Every inhale was accompanied by a faint choking sound, as if the air solidified in his throat.
The surrounding noises gradually blurred, and Anello's ears fell into an empty silence, echoing only with his own heartbeat—a rapid, chaotic rhythm. He couldn't move his hands or feet, and the distance between him and Loren became an insurmountable abyss.