When Zheng Qing stepped into the entrance of the Institute of Applied Magic, the sky had completely darkened.
The darkness behind him was like the world inside Leviathan's wide-open mouth; ahead lay a vast, silent hall, untouched by a single shadow. The reception parrots that greeted Zheng Qing during his last visit to this building were missing, leaving only a few emerald feathers on the empty bird stand, which made Zheng Qing feel quite disappointed.
He put the prepared bird feed back into his pocket, stroked the furry little head of Poseidon in his arms, and continued into the building.
The Little Fox had completely given up struggling, gazing lifelessly at this detestable world, with its two moist, big eyes reflecting a trace of desolation.
"Can you hear it?"
