Shiayar walked along the pitch-dark hallway, the dim yellow light on the walls beside him flickering on and off.
At the end of the corridor was a spacious room. The guide stopped in front of the wooden door, his expression solemn and devout as he recited a long string of prayers. The content of the prayer was lengthy.
It was about "the Creator of all," "the omniscient and omnipotent God," "the Origin of all that is great," "the Beginning and the End," "the One and the Many," "loftier than the starry sky, more eternal than eternity"—such descriptions were heaped on as if they cost nothing.
After finishing all this, he then gestured to Shiayar and quietly withdrew.
Shiayar pushed open the door to find a lavishly dressed man lounging on a sofa.
A dish of spices lay before him on a table, light purple smoke rising and filling the room. The man's aged face showed an indescribable sense of intoxication amidst the swirling smoke.
