An endless forest surged like the ocean's tide.
In the heat of midsummer, the ancient trees of the primeval forest reached towards the sky, their dense foliage alive with the constant calls of cicadas and the cries of beasts, while the occasional trembling of the earth caused by the movement of giant animals faintly reached the ears.
Amidst this tranquility belonging to nature, two silhouettes flitted from one treetop to another.
A man and a woman, moving swiftly yet silently.
By the time the withered branches and fallen leaves belatedly drifted downwards, the figures had already appeared a hundred meters away.
Time's duration was unknown,
As the man gazed around at the identical dense branches of the vast forest, his eyes had become somewhat numb.
He and the Washboard Saintess had entered the Illusionary Realm seven springs and autumns ago.
And what they had been doing for these seven years was simple,
Running.
Constantly running.
Eternally running.
