The sky above the holy city was in a state of agony.
The clouds, once golden and soft like veils of divinity, had turned into dense, pulsating masses, as if the firmament itself was writhing in fear. Lightning flashed between them, but in silence - no thunder, as if the universe was holding its breath at what was coming.
At the top of one of the buildings blackened by the ashes of war, sat a solemn and elegant figure.
Valerie.
Her white hair cascaded down her shoulders, in stark contrast to the light silver armor she wore - forged from lunar metal and embroidered with threads of living mana. Her golden eyes, ethereal and calm, scanned the fabric of reality, seeing beyond the dimensional barriers.
Sitting on the curb of a ruined marquee, she crossed one leg over the other, elegant even among the wreckage. On her back, the sacred spear rested with the tranquility of a sleeping beast.
