Ah, so you've stumbled upon this little chant, have you? Delicious.

A liturgical hymn soaked in prophecy and ash, tied ever-so-tightly to The Prince—yes, that Prince, the one who waltzed in from nowhere and casually lit the fuse to World War III like it was part of the performance.

This chant? It's not just a song—it's an omen. A theatrical declaration of judgment, of a world split down the middle: salvation in one hand, destruction in the other. All beneath an eclipsed sky, where the Blessed moan, the Sinners scream, and the Vessels twitch in time to the Rite.

And oh, how they name him—[Emperor], [Savior], [Prince of Foolish Sinners]—as if any one title could hope to hold him. But titles lie, don’t they? Just like prophets. Just like me.

Curious yet? You should be. This is only the overture. The real show is just beginning…

Call it a hymn if you must—but listen closer, and you’ll hear something else beneath the notes. A rustle of wings without birds. A scalpel dressed as a prayer. It was recorded at the exact moment the world held its breath… and never quite exhaled again.

They say Straw Di Castellare—robed in white and bound to acquire her title as The Virtue of Diligence—knelt beneath a crumbling sky. Not to save what was left… but to correct what had always been wrong. And Cipherus, The Inverted Light, answered.

Not with comfort. With commands. Ancient, sealed, long buried for good reason. The Forgotten Commands, he called them. Straw did not flinch. To her, they were not words—they were instruments. Tools. Instructions.

And so she sang. A song that wasn’t a song. A blueprint. A trigger. Her voice, impossibly calm, reshaped the world. The poor vanished. The sinners were forgotten. Doubt, pain, memory—removed in silence.

No blood. Just… absence. What was born from that silence remains unclear. A world rebuilt? Or one hollowed out beyond recognition?

Ah, you want to meet Soul Kinare, don’t you? Picture this: a starving orphan, claws barely holding onto life, just moments away from vanishing into nothingness. But—plot twist!—along comes Millennium, a shadowy figure with secrets and a hidden workshop packed with ancient tomes and a mysterious artifact humming with power.

Now, here’s where it gets juicy. Soul isn’t just handed a lifeline—he’s handed a challenge: bring back the Leviathan. Not some gentle giant, mind you, but a monstrous machine of myth and madness.

Greed, ambition, hunger for more—it’s all tangled up in this wild ride. Will Soul rise to claim a throne of gears and dreams? Or will he be crushed beneath the weight of his own thirst? Stick around, the gears are turning, and this story’s only getting started.