The Warden gracefully extended his hand to retrieve the book floating in front of Remirg.
Remirg didn't resist, letting the book slide through the air, him being totally bamboozled by the last image that had materialized on the surface of the seamless page.
He could not comprehend what he had just seen.
The Warden's slow, melodious voice broke his chain of thoughts.
"Shall we begin, my dear old friend?"
Nodding in reply, Remirg straightened his face, bringing himself back from the deep pensive mood he had drowned into. A shallow pool of thoughts that stretched out to a deep ocean, transitioning from cyan to deep blue, with him standing at the very cyan region.
Mark was fiddling nervously, his astral figure tense, looking out for any other "plausibility bursts," as he liked to call it, the moments when he was not in control of himself and acted purely on the commands of the strange being.
