"O little dove, child of the moon," "Though dust may stain your fair white feathers," "Though you lie down not in a warm embrace," "May the moon be with you in your slumber." A shattered husk falls toward the misty land that never became a moon, their blessings scattered into clear waters and mossy plains. In a prison beyond the reach of both Time and Wind, the one who traverses backward beholds the eternal slumber of three sisters. In the eternal and fleeting, unbound by start or cease, the imprisoned Moon Maiden drifts through the night, Her consciousness gently caressing the hazy, ethereal memories woven in the tapestry of yesteryears… The silvery vessel patrolled between mountains and seas at the moment when day and night intertwined. In the age when the pulse of earthen bones had not yet yielded to the heavens, the vessel guided the souls of the untainted, Ferrying them across the corrupted mortal realm and the frigid atmosphere to rest in peace on the dark side of the moon, hidden from view. Yet, it could not draw the gaze of the three mistresses of the golden hall to meet the eyes of the children of humankind. The Lord of the Seven Calamities would not tolerate the gods showing mercy for the petty sufferings of the mortal world, Before the primordial laws, only complete submission and humble reverence could be considered true care for humanity. Even the three sisters, high in their jade-coloured chambers, spinning the silver threads of fate for all living beings... When it came to ancient people and mortals struck down by fate, they were bound in a silence threefold. Pity, compassion, admiration and longing were always separated by a gossamer veil of moonlight, spanning hundreds of thousands of miles. Whether compelled to turn against their dark, corrupted master of old, in defense of the living beings on Earth, Or being constrained to turn blind eyes each to the other, amidst internal strife, so that the ember of defiance might be kept alight, Or being driven to stain their own hearts with darkness and corruption to seek vengeance against a tyrannical usurper... Like her, they walked the mortal world; like her, they were three moons that illuminated countless cold nights. In the end, it was their own path they could not light. At the end of all three ways lay the Night of Oblivion. That was the future once lamented by the vanished moons, in the era when three were still three. But, in the dark night, were there truly only three paths that they saw? In the memories that belonged to her alone, a golden star not of this world Was reflected in the cold, lonely courtyard under the silver moon — that strand of starlight always lingered in her heart... Linger it did, even across millions of years, even across countless worlds long extinguished. That star, once captured in her gaze, would surely illuminate her journey home... In the next timeless instant of such unwavering belief, begins the era when three are no longer three. At the edge of darkness, the Lord of the Crossroads looked back at the fourth path beyond the three-way fork, Amid honeyed veils of dreamy hues, she tarried silently, waiting for the appointed meeting with her companions beneath the stars. "O little dove, child of the moon," "Let not sorrow for hardship or parting weigh upon your heart," "The flowers will bloom once more by your window," "And the moon will be with you in your slumber by night or day."