A hatch at the bottom of the door to the small, cold vault like cell opened and in slid bowl with a tight lid – yet another meal.
Zax, weak as non cultivator, feeling and looking older than his parents were at their death, trudged the short distance from the dimly lit round corner for the bowl at the other side.
It had been twelve hours since the last meal and his body was hungry.
Through the single window the world outside still showcased the same marvelous scenery, but to the eyes of a prisoner it grew dreary quite early.
To Zax it was about the fifth day of his lockdown in the incarceration vault, when he got tired from the tricks his mind played on him and the heavenly bodies that took the shape of his dead loved ones.
He finished the warm soup under ten minutes. There was no cutl
