The candle flames flicker.
Under the boundless starry sky, ivory-white buildings and fragmented sculptures stand horizontally, filled with shadowy decaying structures.
Five figures with an amber texture, condensed on five pillars.
First Thrones, Second Thrones, Seventh Thrones, Eighth Thrones, Eleventh Thrones.
Most of their forms were shrouded in darkness, not revealing their appearances.
"(Why are there only five, where are the other seven?)" A voice came from the Eighth Thrones, a strange and halting signal collision, transmitted through the network of minds.
"(The Inorganic God ran away, the others are busy, did not come to the meeting.)" Seventh Thrones said.
"(Cosmic Adventurer, why have you come again, we don't have a seat for you here.)" Eighth Thrones looked at the Second Thrones—a young man with blond hair and blue eyes standing on the pillar, the blue gleaming light of the starry sea transforming into his robe.
