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Subject, Cristiano Ronaldo, classification, Apex. Height, six foot two, identifiers, sculpted, arrogant, and the number seven forged into his skin. Movement pattern, explosive, notable tendencies, a relentless hunger for total dominance and aerial execution. Containment, impossible, risk level, planetary. Final advisory, do not look him in the eyes.

I watched him through the window, my heart shattering into pieces. He didn't know I was dying from the curse, that each day without his love drained my life force. When he finally discovered the truth, it was already too late. My spirit had already faded away.

I sometimes find myself humming that old melody when the world feels too loud. It reminds me of the quiet strength my brother always carried for both of us. Even as I find my own way, his unwavering support remains the foundation of who I am today.

I noticed the shadows weren't moving anymore. The birds hung suspended in mid-air, and a child's ball stayed perfectly still halfway down the street. Even the dust particles stopped floating. I checked my watch, but the seconds hand wasn't ticking either.

Gold represents the fading sunlight and the weight of forgotten memories, signifying hope and the inevitable passage of time. I observe these fragments, recording how the stars shift above us. Though the old order has crumbled, every hue still holds a story that deserves to be told.

Sometimes I wonder if anyone sees through these paper-thin walls I've built. Like autumn leaves in the wind, I dance and pretend I'm free. But beneath this delicate performance, there's a strength even I don't understand.

Di sana lah, kisah Swarna Hutama Loka bermula.

Behold the wandering soul, cast upon shores unknown. Perseus, child of golden rain, seeks the serpent-crowned one. Through mists of time and fate's own hand, the hero walks. Gods whisper secrets, mortals tremble, destiny unfolds its ancient scroll.