Arthur woke up to the sounds of dim voices, not clear enough for him to hear what they were saying but loud enough to rouse him from his troubled slumber. His eyes fluttered open, vision hazy with the remnants of sleep as he stared at the ceiling above. For a moment, he simply lay there, taking a deep breath as his mind still fluttered with images of his nightmare that were slowly fading away like morning mist, leaving behind only a vague sense of unease and loss.
The morning air—if one could even call it "morning" in this timeless place—filled his lungs as he closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering shadows of his dreams. With considerable effort, he lifted himself up from the heavenly softness of the mattress, letting out a deep yawn that seemed to echo in the spacious chamber. He stretched his stiff arms above his head, feeling the satisfying pop of his joints as his muscles relaxed.
