Thousands of mountains are always pits

Lorne's body kept falling.

The howling wind passed by the ear, pulling up a long and thin red scar, and the blood mist scattered in the air, turning into flowers.

Hitz knelt down in the temple, folded his hands, and prayed devoutly to the God of War in the main hall:

"May my love, the sword will always cry."

The sword in Lorne's hand shattered into three petals, which were torn into shining scales by the wind, flying like snowflakes.

"May what I serve be forever victorious."

Lorne's chest was torn into a crack, the heat was draining rapidly, and his eyes were empty.

"May what I hate be hidden in the abyss."

The light in Lorne's pupils dissipated little by little, and there was a helpless smile on the corner of his mouth.

"...I am willing to worship the Tao with this body, until I die."

Catherine woke up from her sleep, and heard the church bell ringing in her ears.

The morning light fell from the side of the window to the fingertips, she was a little dazed, dreaming again.

But, people in the dream, why are you crying?