In a pocket dimension forged by the trinity of Tertius goddesses, emptiness reigned.
The abyss of black was torn asunder by three solitary lights.
The most ominous among them was the crimson glow of Vorta; it painted the void in shades of malevolence.
Next was Verta, a sanctified white light that held its ground as if to purify the tainted atmosphere.
Finally, a mysterious dark green shadow lurked, almost swallowed by the darkness yet distinct, a smudge on a pitch-black canvas.
"Do you see what you've done, Vorta?! These clans existed long before we were even a thought! Against one, maybe we stand a chance. But united? We'd be obliterated!"
Verta's voice held a note of finality, a white-gloved hand slapping against the non-existent ground of the dimension in exasperation.
"HMPH! They won't lift a finger against us. Mother made sure of that!"
