An hour earlier.
Inside a large dimly lit room, a man lay atop the extravagant sofa comfortably. His body moved to the side, his hands cleaning his eyes as he opened them, staring at the ceiling.
He was bald and looked around his middle thirties. A small smile rested on his lips, his eyes looking around the ceiling.
This place…
It was nothing he had seen before, never in his life. Perhaps he was dreaming. He decided to turn. Maybe if this was a dream, it would be better if he did enjoy it a little.
This place could not be his farm.
But before he could turn himself to the side to see more, something chilling hit him, making his body shiver. He immediately sat up, his eyes widening almost as if they were about to bulge out of their sockets.
At the other white sofa, Zalthor sat haughtily, legs crossed, lips wide, yet the dangerous air that cloaked around the room spoke otherwise.
