A mist of darkness looms over the land. A scourge; eyes whose unmoved irises radiate the abhorrent and temible aura of tartarus itself, engulfing the soil through its tread in pestilence, scorch and servitude.
The Crystal Heart's brilliance was no more, smothered by the dreadful King himself as with its children's hopes. Facing the disarray, the maidens of the heavens set forth. Banners of Sun and Moon arose, letting their shadowy imprint prevail against the rays of light from above, cooling off the horde of blue and gold.
As the farewells are bid and tears run dry, the ranks thicken in flesh and spirit. Nevertheless, for most the juncture of combat is but a foreign trial of glory, all given on behalf of their lieges. Alas, their faith and endurance shall be tested, and for some, even broken.
As the preparations reached their end, Crestileus perused his group with determination, whilst smoldering in apprehension in the inside. A daunting feeling crawled from within, picturing a hazy fate that, while indefinable yet, promised to be a draconian endeavour.

Woe, allegiance, regret. A dot amidst the swarm, striving for a reckoning most witness as contumacy. Experienced shall be the perfidy, fraternity and the inexorable turns that fate silently bodes upon its subjects.

And so, they marched.