This is an age when sail and steam coexist.
Ironclads plow through the gray sea, while factory smoke blots out the sky.
Knights' armor is rusting, and noble bloodlines are growing diluted.
The Abyss stirs, and the Old Gods open their eyes.
I transmigrated into a crack in this age.
An orphan with no surname, a sleeper agent abandoned by everyone.
But I have a pair of eyes that should not belong to me.
They let me see through everything:
Flaws, disguises, the threads of fate, the true nature of the world.
I stole a face and took on a new identity,
climbing all the way from the gray sea to the foot of the divine throne.
I thought that was the end.
Until I saw them:
The beings called “gods”
were searching for a door inside my eyes.
What lies beyond that door? The return of the Old Gods?
Or the birth of new gods?
