He felt weak, useless and drunk. Its muscles didn`t responded to him.<> A few seconds later and he was back into the void.They say that death is the brother of sleep, never before in his life, he felt those two things so close and inseparable. He passed a small death, leaving the material world for a few seconds.When he woke up he saw a man in police clothing near its bed.<> he muttered still confused.The investigator looked up from the clipboard that he was reading <>Pxan recovered from his confusion<><><><> he paused <><><><><> <><><>A few seconds passedThe man shrugged <><><>Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author`s consent. Report any sightings.Pxan following days were of a rare monotony, without Sully keeping him company and guards constantly watching anyone who came near its bed, he didn`t have anyone to talk to. He had to do only a few hours of exercises before returning to his room, it`s near-empty room, there was a desk, a mirror, a pot with a flower brought by colleagues back at the department and nothing more.No strange leather book with a questionable translation.

　　He knew why that pot had arrived now and not before. For the first time, he seriously thought about what his life would look like after the hospital.He had run from the battlefield, he was a deserter and this didn`t put him under good light, maybe the assassination attempt actually improved his condition. Now he was a poor injured policeman hunted by crazy cultist seeking revenge. State books became boring very quickly. You read a few books and you have read them all in those days. Before Carlaria the press had more freedom. Now if you wanted to publish a book you needed to be a citizien, have a fully clean record, pass several tests and the manuscript needed to follow certain very precise criterias to even having a chance to be published with the mark of the council.

　　There were older and more interesting books, those with the sigil of the librarians, but those were harder to find. And even if such a text ended in its lap he would need a reason to hold such a text, and more often than not the only acceptable reason was: <>He remembered when a boy was caught reading one of those texts, it had a strange name, The Enricon? Encricion? Enchiridion? It talked about men judgments about things. The boy wasn`t sent to jail because of the mercy of the judge. What a great man. It`s family had to pay a heavy fine and were put under watch for years to come, the boy had to pass long hours of interrogatory before being sent home. It was one of its first interrogatories as a policeman actually.

　　...

　　There was another sigil, that of the inquisition. All books talking about Esoteric, religion or occultism fell into this category. During one of its investigation, he was granted the right to study two of those texts and some passages still popped up in his mind. "The sage convince people by putting himself lower than them. So renouncing his self he is following the way" or something like it. Horrible books to forgot.

　　 "What should I do with all this free time?" he wondered.