On a wooden bridge in the old town of Deno, a boy with short purple hair stands quietly, and next to the boy is a middle-aged man wearing a dark black cap.

The low houses around are very neat, almost all of them are made of redstone bricks, but each one is very dilapidated, every place is covered with dust, and the roof and walls are barely intact.

The weeds around the house are yellow, the trees on both sides of the wooden bridge are almost all dead branches, and the only green thing that remains is the river under the wooden bridge.

The river emitted a foul smell and pustules, and occasionally a fish or two jumped up like monsters, with green fish eyes, countless plastic embedded in the scales, and even human-like arms.

The two men on the bridge didn't seem to feel the stench, maybe they didn't care at all.

A middle-aged man in a dark black cap sits on a square stool, with a picture album in front of him.

The colors of the album are very bright and varied, and the pattern is painted with a beautiful fairy tale.

The story takes place on a snowy day, a very big snowstorm, and there are many cute snowmen running with the crowd in the story, which seems to be a story full of fun.

"I was going to leave something for you..."

The man sighed softly and looked up at the purple-haired boy.

The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes wrinkled and lowered slightly, and the middle-aged man smiled and continued:

"Hornby, congratulations on finding your dream. ”

"Teacher, are you leaving?" asked the purple-haired boy Hornby softly.

"Everyone's story will come to an end..."

With a whisper, the middle-aged man gently rolled up his cuffs.

There was barely any flesh on his arm, just a dry layer of skin wrapped around a bone, like a twig on the side.

Pointing to his body, the middle-aged man continued:

"I'm too old... Without immortality, it will eventually be conquered by time..."

"You know, I don't really like waiting for fate... In this life, I have created one dream after another for many people, but the 'dreamer' himself has no dream..."

At this time, a flock of white gulls swept through the sky, their white bodies flying in the gray mist, and every inch of the mist had countless fine particles, which was almost an environment that normal creatures could not live in.

The white gulls seem to have long been accustomed to it, and they sing in flocks, as if to sing the praises of some greatness.

Accompanying the white gull's song sounded the voice of the purple-haired boy Hornby, his voice was more beautiful than the white gull, and slowly, all the white gulls danced to the melody he sang.

It seems that he let this group of white gulls fly here, and he also made this group of white gulls sing loudly.

"Life is great..."

Before the purple-haired boy Hornby could finish speaking, the white gulls dancing in the sky fell one after another, flying in the granular air, a short time enough to bring them to their deaths.

"Hornby, those who sing the praises of fate must end in tragedy, which is doomed, because poetry is always tragedy, and only in this way will fate be remembered by history..."

"This may be my last piece of advice to you..."

The middle-aged man sighed a few times, and as soon as the paintbrush in his hand danced, black clouds appeared on the scroll in front of him, each cloud began to roar with their mouths, and their eyes turned blood-red.

Then, the whole picture scroll is intertwined with dense black lines, and in just a dozen breaths, the originally joyful fairy tale world becomes a post-apocalyptic scene.

As the last stroke fell, a breeze suddenly blew around the wooden bridge.

Then, when the purple-haired boy Hornby looked up again, all he saw was a dark black cap and a picture scroll.

Gently pick up the cap, look up at the particulate pollutants that fill the air, watch the sky in the distance be cut by some force, watch all the air pollutants can't fly out...

At this moment, there was only pity in Hornby's eyes, and he looked at everything with a sad gaze, and then put the teacher's cap on top of his head.

Suddenly, a force spread from the cap to Hornby's body.

Hornby's eyes became even more sad, and he hummed softly in a pathetic, poetic tone.

The voice seems to speak of a poor man, a poor man who has been searching for a dream all his life...

As the sad tune sounded, the originally dead white gulls suddenly rushed to the sky, and they frantically rushed to the world outside this world.

When they flew to the cut sky, all the white gulls were stained red with their own blood, and every feather on their bodies turned red...

When you look at it, it's like a group of red ghosts hovering in the sky.

The white gulls' blood-colored feathers began to spill, and their flesh began to disappear, but the white gulls did not stop, they still waved their wings vigorously, and still tried their last life to fly into the distance.

As the last blood-colored feather fell, there was no Hornby on the wooden bridge, and all that remained was a picture scroll facing the breeze and a few soft sighs.

"Teacher, the 'dreamer' has no dreams, and in the same way, the 'Destiny Singer' never sings for himself. ”

...

In the ice and snow world, when the middle-aged man painted the last graffiti in the old town of Deno, pieces of black clouds really appeared in the ice and snow world.

The clouds began to blow wildly and hurricanes, each one visible, and when Yorkham Jones looked up, the whole world was filled with black lines that began to harvest everything and begin to destroy everything.

Seeing the countless houses neatly cut through the black lines piece by piece, Yorkham Jones turned his head to look at the crowd.

Everyone understood what Yorkham Jones's eyes meant, and they wanted to say 'don't abandon me', but no one spoke, and even the red-haired girl who was pulled by Yorkham Jones took the initiative to let go of her hand.

"Sir, you said that you would abandon us if there was an unavoidable danger. We didn't object at the time, so you can leave at any time. ”

"Uncle... If you stay, I will stay with you. ”

The girl on Yorkham Jones's back listened to the freckled girl's voice, and she wanted to open her mouth to let Yorkham Jones stay, but she was afraid that Yorkham Jones would be hurt, so she had to change her words.

As Yorkham Jones chosen, a soft sound suddenly sounded in the world filled with black lines.

"Light!"

As the voice fell, the ultimate light shone out of the darkness.

As far as the eye could see, a young girl was raising her magic staff and flying towards the black clouds in the sky.

The girl's body had been torn by the black lines and had countless scars, but her eyes were still extremely determined, as if she was ready to sacrifice at any time.

"Lux..."

With a whisper, the power of light in Yorkham Jones's body suddenly surged, and it began to echo with the magic wand in Lux's hand.

At the same time, the dozen or so transcendents who had followed Lux also began to glow in bursts of light.

"Bloom!"

Then, Lux raised the maiden's magic wand in her hand and roared, and holy flowers bloomed in the darkness.

The flowers turned into countless thumb-sized angels, and they began to fly towards the crowd, into everyone's body.