In the tumultuous space between sea and sky, a white dove looked around, lost, beating its wings. Then, after circling the massive column of light, it seemed to finally remember its home and flew away. So swift, and so abrupt. No one could see where it came from, nor where it vanished. Quick as lightning.
Quicker than lightning was a line of iron light that roared in its wake, a Miracle Imprint condensing to its limit, circling once around the gravitational tether of Nowhere and disappearing.
After that, the column of light was severed mid-way. It was as smoothly bisected as a glass column cut by a high-pressure water knife—clear and mirror-like—where the very nature of light, whether wave or particle, was undoubtedly split in two. The gravity and bindings applied within it collapsed as well.
Once again, a rainbow light descended from the sky. An old man in a long robe stepped out, opened the sealed box in his hand, and held it aloft.
