[These thirty thousand years of past and future, all belong to you.]
The azure holy sword fell to the ground, clinking crisply on the desolate plain; the dawn's light renewed the dim world into shades of orange and white, every object reflecting its own color in this radiance, the broken arm and remnants of the holy hall shimmered with brilliant gold, the tumbleweeds at the edge fading to yellow, and the golden kite flowers bloomed even more beautifully,
That same light also flickered on the holy sword, refracting a clear azure luminance from the edge of the blade, the color of eyes.
The nineteen-year-old Miss Azure could create countless living spirits, but she could never create herself; nonetheless, that once-existent, endlessly reborn illusion finally found eternal rest, and the glow of this sword was the true trace of its existence.
Not just a fantasy.
