A certain floor of Noah Building, inside a lounge.
The room was tightly shielded by heavy velvet curtains, letting not a sliver of light seep through from the outside.
There were no lights turned on inside; the only illumination came from a circular pattern on the floor formed by dozens of white candles.
The candle flames burned quietly, casting flickering shadows on the walls and ceiling, moving like living creatures.
The air was filled with a mix of sandalwood and wax scents, creating a calm yet oppressive atmosphere.
A new CD player lay on the floor, looping a segment of white noise.
Whoosh—whoosh—rumble
It was the sound of harsh winds before a storm, sweeping through forests and valleys, mingled with distant thunder.
This sound did not bring a sense of chaos; instead, it seemed to erect an invisible barrier, thoroughly isolating the room from the outside world, constructing an absolutely secretive domain.
