Britain—on this land where spiritrons had run dry and mystery had spiraled out of control—could no longer sustain a normal ecosystem.
The land had degraded, and crops had failed;
Water sources had dried up, and forests had withered;
Storms ran rampant, and all life had vanished.
The sandstorms stirred up by raging ether currents exposed heaps of bleached bones. As far as the eye could see, the dim yellow sky and cracked earth formed a horrifying scene of apocalypse.
This was a world that was dying, an isolated island of civilization destined to have no future.
And yet, if one was fortunate enough to break through that gray-white backdrop, one would discover a magnificent city of white chalk standing proudly upon the horizon. Transparent walls of invisible wind and cascading Golden Stardust kept thunderstorms and sandstorms at bay, preserving this perfect realm in immaculate purity.
The houses and buildings beneath the radiance stood in neat rows, exquisite and ethereal, grand and resplendent.
The layered, undulating city walls resembled a colossal beast crouching in the wilderness, sharpening its claws, awe-inspiring and menacing.
On the small patch of land sheltered by the outer city, plump, crystalline food crops grew in abundance.
The vegetation along the streets and alleys of the inner city was lush and verdant.
The fountains in the squares, bearing the lavish style of Rome, scattered glittering droplets. Even every marble paving stone was smooth as a mirror, seemingly the product of painstaking craftsmanship possible only for inhuman artisans.
Stepping into this magnificent fortress felt as though one had entered the hall of the gods.
This was the ideal kingdom of a thousand years, this was a sacred domain of pure white.
Like the halls of the gods and the gates of heaven, opened to the mortal world.
Yet beyond