The prophet's lips moved faintly,
intoning the prayer he had silently repeated countless times in his heart:
"Boundless heat, eternal and noble dawn, please grant me the location of the 'Child of the Swarm.'"
His voice echoed through the empty room,
carrying a trace of desperate resolve.
Yet, the very next second after the prayer left his lips, the light in the room seemed to be violently seized by an invisible giant hand, suddenly dimming.
The once dazzling yet strangely twisted golden radiance instantly became like a candle guttering in the wind, flickering on the verge of extinction.
The man's body suddenly stiffened,
and then, a horrifying scene unfolded:
Blood slowly began to flow from his eyes, which had long since been gouged out.
The blood glinted with an eerie hue in the faint light, winding down his cheeks and dripping onto the stone table, blooming into glaring crimson flowers.
The priest assisting the man wore magnificent yet icy ceremonial robes, his face concealed beneath the shadow of his hood, making his expression impossible to discern.
Witnessing the prophet's miserable state, he showed not the slightest hint of concern, as though what stood before him was merely an insignificant, ordinary sight.
After a long while, the priest finally moved his lips slightly and asked coldly, his voice seeming to carry a chill of frost:
"The prophecy ritual failed?"
The man raised a hand to wipe the blood from his face. Drawing a deep breath, he spoke with exhaustion and unease in his voice:
"It failed.
Although the success rate of divine revelations has always been extremely low, this time, I sensed that the existence of that Child of the Swarm, who had long since broken free of its cocoon, was particularly indistinct."
After he spoke,
the room fell into dead