Fuxi’s fingertips traced the cracks in the tortoise shell as a star map revolved in his pupils. “Little sister, look. The seventh celestial track has shifted.” His voice was low, like a jade chime polished for a thousand years. “Three thousand years from now, this world will face a great calamity. Our bloodline will end, and the spark will go out.”
Nuwa was fitting the final five-colored stone into the crack in the sky. The remaining energy from repairing the heavens gathered in her hair as strands of rainbow light. “Calamity is both fate and change...”
