The following day dawned with a muted glow, after Nyxander's intense black market trip, he remained locked in his room, secluded from the waking world. Nyxander barely noticed.
The hours slipped by in silence as he remained seated cross-legged on his bed, lost in a world of swirling energy and fragmented memories. His room, once neat, was now a chaotic mess, parchments scattered like fallen leaves, fragments of failed attempts littering the floor, and diagrams hastily drawn across the walls.
Essentia energy pulsed faintly around him, like a heartbeat struggling for rhythm. He sat there, battling the invisible currents, recalling theories and ideas from novels and comics of a life he no longer lived, but none seemed to yield the breakthrough he sought.