The world below is a silent sphere of land, shattered by the veins of black, muddy mana.
From up here, it looks peaceful.
It's a lie of geography, though. One wounded continent, one exhausted ocean, a thin veil of atmosphere like the last breath of a dying patient. You'd never guess the centuries of stagnation, the buried wars, the rot beneath the temples.
You'd never guess that the goddess floating twenty meters in front of us has been slowly strangling this place with rituals disguised as salvation.
And you'd never guess that I, of all people, am about to fight her head-on.
The bubble around me hums with the familiar buzz of mana-charged air. Mom sustains it like it's nothing, preventing the air from flowing out in the vacuum of space, which would kill us if it happened
A second bubble floats at a distance, glowing faintly with draconic enchantment. Inside it, the angels and two mortal heroes watch from behind Nurtawalladi's protection.
