The smell of scorched earth fills all directions,
The power of the sacred song could no longer suppress the red light rising into the sky.
The flying feathers are burning,
Wails replaced joyful singing,
Cracking and shattering bring the end,
Grief and anger bury everything.
The song of reincarnation for thousands of years,
From there the slow chanting begins.
In useless ashes,
A new king was born.
——"Poetry of Reincarnation·Kings" Chapter of Flame·Prelude
The author lost his mind