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... iver, a ferry, a purple lamp, and the ferryman seated atop it.

It had been a long time. Waking in a dream, or the world of impressions itself, was a rare occurrence.

Naturally, Enkrid's gaze fell on the ferryman.

This time, the figure wasn't as blurry as before; the ferryman's visage was relatively clear.

Beneath the hooded robe was skin cracked and parched like a drought-stricken earth. His eyes, clouded with a milky haze, gazed directly at Enkrid.

"Did y ...

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