The first to arrive at the battlefield was a middle-aged man exuding nobility.
He wore an indigo robe adorned with stars and moons, with ten halos rotating behind his head like a sundial, each line of light marking an era devoured. Soft glows flowed through his pale golden beard and hair, akin to burning flames. His left eye reflected the first dewdrop of dawn, while his right eye held the last embers of dusk. In his hand, he held a sheepskin scroll inscribed with Persian.
Based on his attire, his identity was evident.
——The Great Ming Venerable, Zarvan.
And closely following him was a young man filled with hostility.
