The sky of Limijunla Continent has never been complete.
The sky in the Eastern magician's territory is clear and blue filtered by the magic barrier. The sunlight passes through the layers of runes and scatters fine golden light spots, like the jewelry left by the gods. There is always a faint purple-gray mist in the sky of the Western Wizarding Territory, and the moon and stars are also faintly visible in the daytime. This is the trajectory of the flow of witchcraft and the whisper of ancient power deep in the earth.
At the junction of these two kinds of sky, there is an invisible crack - not a high wall, not a deep river, but an abyss of hatred condensed from the three hundred years of the Ukraf War. Any creature that tries to cross this gap will feel the needle-like burning pain on the skin. It is proof that the two forces are mutually exclusive and is the deepest curse on this continent.
Magicians say that witchcraft is dirty and an evil way that sells souls to darkness.
Wizards say that magic is arrogance, a disguise to steal the power of nature.
No one remembers who was the first person to raise the staff.
No one remembers why the first drop of blood was shed.
People only remember that the other party is an existence that must be eliminated.
And in such a world, there are two girls, standing under their own sky, waiting for the first intersection of fate.
One has long hair as silver as moonlight, and his eyes are the deepest green of the emerald forest.
One has hair as light as cherry blossoms, and eyes like amethyst washed by dew.
They are thousands of miles apart and have never met.
But the red thread of fate has already been quietly entangled in a corner that no one knows about.
Mission: Peace is everything
