Marcus entered his quarters, the door sliding shut with a muted hiss behind him.
The stillness of the room pressed in, a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere of the room before which they used to meditate.
He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees and staring at the floor without really seeing it.
His thoughts drifted back to the vision from earlier.
It had been vague at first, almost like the fading outline of a dream. But now, as the silence settled around him, the details sharpened with unsettling clarity.
That damn tower again. The black and jagged tower against a sky which stained deep red.
The ground was cracked and brittle. It was a lifeless wasteland littered with bones. Their pale shapes stark against the scorched earth.
The air in that place seemed thick and oppressive, as if it carried the weight of countless forgotten screams. After this stage, Marcus feels like his vision about that place becoming more clear.
