The crumbling Lost Island, at the very center of the shattered Royal Court.
The immense roar of the collapsing sky still echoes at the end of the Abyss, resonating through the mountains and the sea.
However, atop that desolate Throne.
The human youth, pierced by the Sacred Spear of Silver, has already lost his vitality.
His head drooped powerlessly, with his eyes tightly closed beneath his dark fragmented hair.
If not for the faint glow wrapped around his entire body, slowly ebbing and flowing over a long cycle beside that silver-white Sacred Spear.
Anyone coming here would mistake him for a statue.
Like Jesus in distress, pierced on the cross by the spear of destiny named Gungnir.
This is an inevitable phenomenon.
When Shiayar fell into the Abyss, he devoted all his heart and spirit entirely into his Spiritual World, contending against that lofty will.
This is a long gamble; its duration is unknown.
