Chapter Twenty-Five

The rest of the night passed painfully slowly. On many occasions, it felt like time was ticking backwards, and only the sight of the melting ice proved to Demetrius that it wasn't.

Pan's gratuitous displays of glut and crude humour didn't cease, and try as one might, it was impossible to ignore. The satyr could do nothing quietly, whether eating and drinking or something more explicit.

Perhaps such things were fine in the forests or moonlit nights in the shadows of sacred stones, but they seemed out of place here.

But none would say anything, and all did well to keep out of his way.

Red rays poured from above as the night danced with the first of the daylight. No one besides the Gods knew how those warm rays managed to penetrate the abyss, but it was welcome for those who had once lived in the sun's glory. It was the only sensation of peace many found in their torments.