"This year's saplings are very promising," said an old man with a deep, aged voice, sitting in a magnificent hall above the clouds. The figures sitting across from each other in lavish chairs seemed to be in deep conversation.
"I didn't expect such a generation, so many geniuses… Could the prophecy really come true?" he continued, his voice seeming to echo from the end of time and space.
The faces of the figures, including the old man, were shrouded in mist, and nothing could be seen clearly. Even their aura and presence were overwhelming and incomprehensible.
When his words resonated, the hall fell silent for a moment as if everyone had gone deep into thought.
"We all know about the prophecy, but according to it, the hero will return. Yet, there's still no sign of her" another voice replied, just as aged and filled with the highs and lows of time.
