The world is a huge altar, and all living beings are lambs to be slaughtered.
Wars, sacrifices, prophecies, humans, demons, everything, are involved in the whirlpool called "destiny".
As a result, seven fragmented souls met at the bottom of the whirlpool and became each other's only support.
When protection becomes a prelude to destruction, when redemption becomes an abyss of despair.
In this doomed chess game, what they have to do is not to pray for God's forgiveness, but to overturn the damn chess board.
"If this is fate, then it's up to us - to bite it with our own lips."
This is not a fairy tale about a saint saving people.
This is a poem of brokenness and repair, a golden repair.
