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Western District Great Cemetery, night.
Under the shroud of faint mist, tombstones stood at different heights. Withered trees stretched into different shapes as they lay hiding in the mist, only their silhouettes barely visible from the outside. Occasionally, a cold gust would sweep over, pushing the rolling mist apart and revealing the deep and faint traces on the tombstones. Branches rustled like a fiend’s claws, like the whispers of a conversation between spirits.
There was no sun or moon in the inner world. Both sunlight and moonlight came from the mirror in the sky. Following the day-night cycle of the surface world, the inner world transitioned through the day. Never could the inner world escape the surface world’s shadow. Even the precious light it received was leftover.
Their resentment and jealousy were understandable.
The Great Cemetery was quiet tonight, just as usual. Wayne the Death Knight, with a tattered grey cape, looked up at the surface world through the mirror. His eyes were crimson and flickered with a bone-deep coldness. There was a scar from his left eye socket to his upper lip. The slash had cut into his skull and almost split his face in half.
The scar left...
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