Dawn had yet to arrive. Outside, the sky remained a deep, impenetrable ink.
Dayat lay in bed, his eyes wide open. Beside him, Dola was also awake. Her blue eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. Neither had spoken for a long while. There was only a heavy, suffocating silence—a weight that pressed down on their chests.
Dayat let out a long sigh, followed by another.
"Dola… what exactly is Morbis?"
Dola didn't answer immediately. She blinked a few times, then shifted to face the ceiling.
"Morbis isn't a typical demon. He is a manifestation of a plague given consciousness."
Dayat furrowed his brow. "A plague… given consciousness?"
"Yes. As long as there is disease in the air, as long as there is decay in the soil, he can manifest. That is why he floats. That is why he is translucent. His body doesn't truly exist in the physical sense. He is… a coalesced mass of sickness given form."
"That sounds like he'd be hard to kill."
