A bullet to the heart, life hangs by a thread.
Three minutes later, the capital was under martial law. Within an hour, the Security Bureau scoured a thousand miles. Finally, three hours later, they pinpointed the crime scene—just outside a small town on the Empire's edge, atop the highest Snow Mountain in existence.
Six thousand one hundred and six kilometers from the palace.
Amidst the overwhelming wind, snow, and frost, the attacker was long gone, leaving behind an old hunting rifle and a bullet casing on the velvet cloth laid across the rocks.
And a feather of a White Owl, swaying in the wind.
Nirvana!
One wave after another, another wave arises, and then yet another.
Time suddenly seemed unfamiliar. Everyone stared at the news, dumbfounded, exchanging confused glances.
Looking up in a daze, gazing toward the sky.
Is this still the world I once knew?
Amidst the confusion and hesitation, one couldn't help but start to ponder.
