The entire world seemed exceedingly quiet. The sound of his own breathing was all he could hear. In the small room, which had faded into a world of black, white, and gray, Modir gripped his staff and protective short sword, warily sensing everything within range like an alert wolf beneath the night.
Only then did he gradually begin to sense more "information." Outside the room came the faint sound of wind stirring dust and sand, as well as the subtle scent of rocks or soil that ordinary people would never notice. Changes in the light came through the window cracks. Everything slowly emerged from nothingness, changing from stiff and monotonous to vivid and alive.
It was as though there had originally been nothing but pure void outside the cabin, yet with Modir's awakening, a "temporarily created world" was gradually being outlined.
The old mage did not lower his guard in the slightest. Instead, he tightened his grip on his weapons and crouched as he slowly approached the window. At the same time, his gaze swept across every furnishing in the room again, overlooking neither the small pile of dust in the corner nor the orientation of the two nails on the opposite wall.
This was a habit he had cultivated over many years. Before sleeping, he would imprint every environmental detail around him into his mind. With the aid of magic, the images could be precise down to every scratch on the doors and windows. Each time he opened his eyes, he would quickly compare his surroundings with the "snapshot projection" imprinted in his mind. Any inconsistency could be used to determine whether his hiding place had been invaded.
Beneath the careless, unconcerned exterior he showed in daily life lay the survival skills an adventurer had accumulated over centuries. Though