About This Novel
The bird of the magic box, the raven, looked around on the branches of the withered tree, transfixed. It screamed several times, its eyes were empty and confused, and it was at a loss. Under the withered tree, an unkempt and unshaven man was holding the hilt of the giant sword and sobbing. The teardrops soaked in his long hair and stained the hilt. They flowed along the hilt, past the dirty, dim sword body, and into the cracked earth. Looking from a short distance, corpses litter the field, black smoke billows, houses collapse, and everything withers. The man, the withered tree and crows beside him are located in the center of the painting. The sky is above, it is colored by sunlight and ink. The whole world was filled with sorrow and joy - sparks drifted away, the flames burned the human corpses with thunderous sounds, and the stench hit the nose. "Pandora, you bitch!" The man shouted. The raven flapped its wings in fright and flew away from the withered tree. The world gradually fell into a white moon. It all started seven hundred years ago.
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