This world may contain thousands of ills,
But the number of sufferers is countless like ocean-going sails.

The father and daughter who inherited the sky,
Wander this land's paths,
And throughout the cities, they heal the unwell.

“Heirs of the Sky who once reveled din martial might,
Why do you now soothe the world's blistering blight?”
The doctor responds with a smile,
As he cures the injury's agony.

“Father, why did our ancestors revel in war-like might?”
“Because they only have a sorrowful past of lamenting wails.”

“Then why are we here, soothing the blight?”
“Because we have a future that needs protection still.”

The priest who parts dusk from dawn,
Collapsed the sky and sealed her wings,
And dwells in a place where time itself mends,
Bearing the promise to return to the zenith supreme…

“— This is the Twilight Courtyard's story.”

And the father tells his daughter the tale of their line,
Next to the bonfire lit in the wilderness where winds pine.

Though he had told this story many times before,
A light in the girl's eyes still shines.

“Maybe I will return to the sky one day!”

“Or maybe that is not to be your fate.”

The blessings of the Sky
Were passed down through generations of their heirs.

The brawn of the Titan who molded stars,
Granted a boon fitting and fair.

Perhaps the girl with heroic blood in her veins,
Will be accompanied by thunderbolts and the sun's merciless glare?

Childishly, she recited the words —
“O Sky, heed my wishes…”

And thunder and heat did not descend.
She only saw a sliver of gentle warm flare,
Wiping away mortal exhaustion and others' tired airs.