Then Michael willed it.
Enter.
In an instant, his figure vanished—like smoke folding into smoke.
The palm-sized coffin slipped from the air and landed softly on the wooden floor of the study with a muffled thunk.
Inside…
Michael opened his eyes to an entirely different world.
He was standing in the coffin's realm.
Just as before, the sky above him was layered in unmoving grey clouds. There was no sun, yet everything was bathed in a cold, even light—like the memory of dawn without the warmth. The air was still, thick, and silent.
Michael inhaled.
Air.
It was real. It smelled faintly of ash, with the barest tinge of ozone.
He looked around.
An acre of cracked, dark soil spread out in all directions.
A coffin… that's also a world. Worthy of an epic grade item.
Michael crouched and brushed his fingers over the soil.
It crumbled like packed ash but felt cold and dense.
