From that holy land blessed by the tripartite prophecy, the messenger split into a thousand forms, embarking on a long journey.
Tribios, Holy Maiden of Janusopolis, the Chrysos Heir who stole Passage's Coreflame, toiled for the masses and brought the news of deliverance to all domains.
—Seek the children of humanity with golden blood in their veins, shatter the dimmest dark in this world, and walk toward the tomorrow where the stars gleam.

“Date: ■■■/■■
It's been ten years since we fled Janusopolis.
In those ten years, we measured the earth with our steps, unknowingly covering every corner of Amphoreus.

The spread of the black tide has been far worse than expected. From west to east, from south to north, even cities high in the sky have not been spared… We watched as tiny nations were consumed overnight by the growing black tide, turning all life into its fuel, surging forward with even greater force… The once-glorious past of Amphoreus is gone, replaced by overwhelming decay, raging Titans, fallen heroes, and displaced people.

But those consumed by the Strife fail to see.

The black tide has drawn near the inland cities. These cities are rich and well-connected, thriving on trade, but some dismissed our prophecy as nonsense and saw us as mere priests of bad omens, with no one listening, no one caring… If it takes shedding blood to unite the people, why not let it start with us?

Tri■■■■, I know you went to the front lines to send word of the black tide's advance, only to be struck down by the arrows of Black Tide Creatures.
Tri■■■■, I know you helped the refugees escape, only to be despised by the nobility and left to die by an assassin's dagger.
Tri■■■■, I know you escorted lost children, so close to safety. Your bright braids are now soaked in blood, and we can no longer braid or care for them.

With the fall of one city after another, the people are beginning to look beyond their endless conflicts and see the world on the brink of collapse.

The blood of the innocent will not be shed in vain. We've walked the first steps through thorns, hoping those who follow use will go farther than we ever could…”

—An ancient diary entry
The paper as thin as a cicada's wings, left in the arms of a doll by Trianne