"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…

MTL starts here
A silver-glimmering vessel cruised between mountains and seas at the junction of day and night.
In an age when the pulse of the earth’s bones had yet to submit to the firmament, it guided the souls of the immaculate dead,
ferrying them beyond the tainted mortal realm and the chill upper air, to rest upon the unseen dark side of the moon.
Yet it could not draw the gazes of the three mistresses of the Golden House toward the eyes of mankind.
The sovereign of sevenfold calamity would not permit the gods to soften their hearts for the trifling suffering of the world.
Before the primordial laws once set in place, only submission and reverence could be called true love for humanity.
Even the three sisters who dwelt behind jade-hued veils, spinning silver threads of fate for all beings,
spoke of the ancient peoples and mortals ruined by destiny with nothing more than three layers of silence.
Pity or compassion, admiration or fondness—always separated by a gauze of moonlight stretching hundreds of thousands of miles.


Whether it was to preserve the lives of those on the earth and thus be forced to turn against a former master steeped in black corruption,
or to protect the rebellious spark and thus be forced, amid internal strife, to abandon both sides,
or to avenge themselves upon a tyrannical usurper and thus stain their hearts with deep, abyssal taint—
those who walked the world as she did, the three bright moons that once illuminated countless cold nights,
ultimately failed to light their own paths ahead. At the end of all three roads lay only a night of oblivion.
Such was the tomorrow once lamented by the vanished old moon, in the age when three were still three.

—But are the roads of the night truly limited to only those three they once beheld?
Within memories that belonged to her alone, that golden star not of this world
was reflected in the lonely courtyard of the silver moon. That starlight, ever lingering in her heart,
though separated by tens of millions of years, though divided by countless worlds long since extinguished,
still shines to illuminate the path home behind her—the star that once fell into her eyes…

In the next timeless instant born of such belief begins the moment when three are no longer three.
At the end of utter darkness, the master of the crossroads looks back toward a fourth road beyond the trident fork,
quietly awaiting a promised reunion with companions beneath the stars, amid dream-hued veils dripping like honey.
MTL ends here

"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, tomorrow."