Even in the clear-minded state, Zhang Xiao still felt utterly bewildered.
He looked around. This was a small island with little land to speak of.
Not far away stood sheer cliffs, as though hewn by blades and axes. The sea was nothing like the azure waters he had seen in films.
Instead, it looked almost black. Cold, damp sea winds howled, whipping moisture against his body.
That clammy, slippery chill seemed to seep straight into him.
Waves crashed against the reefs, throwing up masses of foam. It seemed sunlight never reached this place.
If he had to choose one word to describe it, it would be desolation.
In the distance, an abandoned castle loomed indistinctly through the mist.
Dark shapes drifted above it, adding another layer of spine-chilling eeriness and terror.
Yes, this really was Azkaban...
But why had he ended up in Azkaban?
The Dementor before him, a palm print still on its face, continued to stare blankly at him.
The power surging through Zhang Xiao's body slowly subsided. Azkaban wasn't particularly dangerous. Apart from a few kind, friendly Dementors, there was nothing else here.
Full of questions but unsure how to voice them, he tentatively raised his hand.
The Dementor opposite him instinctively shuddered, let out a miserable wail, and turned to flee.
Then it heard Zhang Xiao's tentative question:
"Excuse me, is this Slytherin's residence? I followed some clues here to meet him."
Those words seemed to awaken some hidden emotion in the Dementor.
It immediately froze. Although he couldn't see its face, Zhang Xiao could sense that some strange change was taking place within it.
It was as though something he had said had triggered a keyword.
After a while, the Dementor slowly turned around, extended a withered hand, and beckoned to him.
*Was it... telling