Zaber hid the sword under the bed.
He did so without haste—as if the sword was accustomed to being concealed from any prying eyes. The shadows beneath the bed were thick, mingled with the scent of dust and the sharp aroma of old wood.
Rising from his position,
He picked up the beehive that stood on the table.
The hive felt light in his hand—as though it were empty inside. His fingers began to glow black, channeling mana. Dark light threaded across the surface of the hive, seeping along the cracks. The flow of mana lasted exactly three seconds. Zaber counted precisely. He stopped just before the fourth second began.
Standing by the bed, he looked at the viscous substance and moved his lips.
"I have other plans for you," he said in a low voice.
Then, without looking back, he left the room.
