I Write Myths in the Last Days

Three years after the nuclear explosion, I was coughing up blood and waiting to die, but my sister saw the bronze sacred tree blooming in my dream. The one-eyed old Chen said that this was the Eye of Guixu, and that the black bird pattern on my chest was the "sword-holder" mark left by the previous civilization. The military is busy building arks to escape, while the demon clan is trading ancient relics in the ruins. And every mouthful of blood I spit out is rewriting the forgotten myth. Until I discovered that myths are not legends, but deleted truths.