["Oliver Lionheart...It's been decades since I've begun walking this world. At this point, I can hardly recall what my own world looked like–no, there's still faint images in my mind. The brisk winters in that lodge, wrapped in blankets as my nose turned red, keeping warm by the fireplace.
While the fantasy of Gaia hasn't dulled on me, I start to think back…Earth is feeling equally enigmatic to me now, no, it's in fact more of a mystery. I hardly got to see it outside of my grandfather's farm.
If I got the chance, which world would I choose to live in? Gaia or Earth? I'm not sure."]
The youthful man of shaggy, white hair sat there on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the mystical valley. Wondrous trees of old, reaching to the clouds, overshadowing the land with branches that bridged the sky.
A land untouched by mankind; dragons of verdant and oaken scales nested in the colossal trees, like birds.
