Tom was dumbfounded, watching as the wand that had accompanied him for more than a decade shattered into pieces, turning into wood chips and a pile of fine fragments that slipped through his fingers, forming a small heap on the ground like a mound of true garbage. It felt like he was trapped in an absurd nightmare.
The mental link, which seemed as inseparable as flesh and blood, was severed.
Whether it was that lofty pride, the lurking malice, or the ever-present whisper enticing him to fall into the abyss and become a living dead, all disappeared.
The relationship between the wand and Tom Leicester was far from as simple as the latter imagined.
He thought it was merely his tool, his weapon, his servant. But when it completely turned into fragments, disappearing in his trembling palm, he felt a sharp pain as if his heart had been stabbed.
