Zanthor remained prostrated, waiting. He did not lift his head, his breathing steady yet filled with tension. He knew that in this world, no help came without reason. But for some unknown reason, in front of Lein, he felt no need to doubt.
Before him, Lein stood with an indifferent posture. His eyes were not fixed on Zanthor but had shifted toward the transparent dome that enclosed the manifestation zone. His gaze was empty, unwavering, as if he did not care about Zanthor's persistence in waiting for a response.
Meanwhile, far away on Pentua Island, deep within the dense forest, the real Lein sat calmly atop a large rock. His body was relaxed, yet his mind remained active.
On the ground before him, Dragnar lay sprawled, his face etched with exhaustion and suffering. His breath was ragged, his body trembling as if he had just escaped an endless nightmare. His eyes were empty, unfocused—like a man who had lost his grip on reality.
