Fang Hong had a peculiar dream.
In the dream, he saw Dolifen again. The city was ablaze, roaring flames engulfing it, cries soaring into the sky. He dreamt of himself turning into a dragon, some faces floated in and out of his sight, some fading away gradually.
Dolifen, in a trance, transformed into another place. That place, too, turned into a wasteland amidst a sea of flames. He only remembered the reddish-brown spires of a Holy Sanctuary, collapsing in the fire.
He saw a silver desert—
But sometimes it was a cold forest, icy winds sweeping through the barren branches, leaving only a patch of black permafrost. An ancient Undead Hunter watched him from afar through a long horn.
Then it was a shimmering silver port again, countless white sails moving in and out. Fang Hong only remembered the dazzling light, rings of halos descending from the sky.
In the light, it seemed there was a man talking to him.
