One figure after another leapt from the ship.
Beneath the glow of the Order Clock, they sprinted down the Bridge of Sighs wrapped in pale golden light.
The Order Clock shone so brightly that from afar the players appeared as little more than dark silhouettes.
Like prisoners escaping beneath moonlight, running toward somewhere far away.
Rita's warning that "everything seen and heard on the Bridge of Sighs is an illusion" had not been meaningless.
This bridge was built from countless World Sighs, supported by the surviving worlds left behind after every epoch.
It carried immense sorrow and regret.
Anger and unwillingness.
Were sighs truly all that remained of these worlds?
No.
There was hatred too.
Why did we have to die?
Why did this happen to us?
Survivors of shattered worlds.
Great rulers who abandoned their homelands.
After leaving your worlds behind, did you ever think of your people again?
Mistblade had been running at full speed.
