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While all sides were busy preparing for the final battle, time passed swiftly. In the blink of an eye, three days had gone by. As the blue sun dipped below the horizon, darkness descended upon the entire mythical world. Only the silver moon rising slowly from the eastern edge brought a faint glimmer of light.
In the mythical world, a single day-cycle lasted forty days. Daytime was marked by the passage of three suns—golden, red, and blue—arching across the sky, while night had only one silver moon hanging high above. The sight of twin moons gracing the sky was an uncommon event. Yet every appearance of the Blood Moon heralded something ominous.
High above the seventeenth plane, more than a hundred thousand meters up, a golden rift split open across the sky. From within emerged Bordea, bearing three pairs of golden light wings.
Gazing at Kordes, the mythical-level guardian of this plane, Bordea’s brow furrowed slightly. Kordes had sent an emergency transmission. "Kordes, did another traitor appear here?"
"No… not a traitor."
Kordes...
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