“Gong…Gong…Gong…” The Sacred Shrine of the Lionheart’s bell chimed, the monks swarmed out, with their barefoot on white marble they came to the top of the Iron Heart Square. Layers of dark clouds gathered over the sky of this city.
The Great Demonic Wave was just as Brando had expected, from the Lion City to the Shining Sea, from the Mechanic Realm of the Hazaiers to the Drooping Cloud Mountains in the far east, the surge of the Demonic Wave alarmed everyone.
Everyone stopped their business at hand and looked up in amazement, and an obscure, indistinct blue was crossing the darkened sky, shining as if it were morning light, or piercing through the clouds like a curved arc, halfway across the sky and stabbing at the canopy overhead.
The Astrologers throughout Vaunte were on tenterhooks at this moment, the Sea of Magic was roaring furiously, and every saint who hid in the prayer room prayed devoutly to their God was having trouble calming the turmoil within.
Dark clouds obscured the light of the moon and stars, and darkness hovered over the mountains and plains, the shining lakes and rolling forests, from west to east, the Pillars of Order lit up in each of the cathedrals on the vast expanse of Vaunte.
Marsha’s Tiamat Law had warned all, heralding the coming age of chaos.
Above the Iron Heart Square, bishops of lofty status looked up at the dramatic change in the sky with an indescribable expression on their faces. Some were whispering, but more had begun to turn back.
“Go to the Sublime Hall, light the Crystal of Order, and make an announcement to the other cathedrals-”
The loud voice spread across the square, the first wisps of rain drifted down from the sky, and in the blink of an eye, the temperature had plummeted. Everyone looked back, and behind them, the city bells were ringing loudly.
Across the sea, the Bugas and dozens of cities in the sky were flying slowly above the clouds in the sky. In the pitch blackness, lightning would occasionally reflect the silver spires of those towers.
In Onais, Astrologers stepped out of their white towers in turn, while the great mages, dressed in white robes and carrying scrolls, could still feel the change in the world order even though they could not see.
Tiamat’s great Magic Array was changing course.
The entire world was rumbling.
Far away in the heavens, deep in the sea of clouds, lightning occasionally draped down like a sinuous flame, lighting up the dark sea. The stark white of the lightning passed through the lofty windows with their otherworldly style, reflecting the shadows of craft patterns on the long thin face of William, holding the mage’s chess piece as if in meditation, his face pale.
He sat atop the throne of the Twelve, the throne behind him like an elongated shadow, the spiked backrest symbolizing supreme knowledge extending infinitely toward the vault in such a setting, full of myste
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