"Yes, yes, my lord." The farmer bowed repeatedly, backing out of the room and gently closing the door behind him.
Finally, the only ones left in the room were Murphy, Aurora, and the dying old man on the bed.
Murphy gazed at the old man for a moment, then slowly spoke, his voice low and clear, breaking the silence. "Allen, do you remember me?"
His voice seemed to carry a peculiar cadence, piercing through the heavy fog of the old man's consciousness.
The moment his words fell, the nearly withered body on the bed trembled ever so slightly.
Old Allen's tightly shut eyelids fluttered. He struggled and slowly pried them open a sliver, revealing cloudy pupils that still held a faint glimmer of consciousness.
At the same time, the outline of Murphy's figure, standing by the bed, seemed to blur for an instant.
He still wore the same dark blue clothes, but in his place now stood a young man with dark skin and rough features.
