Rain slashes sideways over the Floating Islands of the Longan Palace, thunder drumming across the sky. On a narrow bridge of stone between two islets, Longan Lancer Cookie stood motionless, golden spear planted into the ground.

After a brief ripple in the air, Longan Shaman Cookie materializes atop a prayer wheel, staff in hand. "Movement. Near the Gates."

The Lancer nods once. Without a word, sprint toward the submerged throne. The water churns, someone’s trying to cross the pond.

"No outsider touches these sacred lands."