A suit of armor, impossibly sleek and crafted from woven strands of moonlight, stands at the edge of a canyon where waterfalls flow upward into the sky. The armor’s breastplate bears a single, circular indentation, as if awaiting something to complete it. The wind here does not move naturally, carrying with it echoes of battle cries from warriors who never existed, their voices rising in anticipation of the one who will don the celestial plate once more. , aidmamjv7, aidmaHyperrealism, aidmaimageupgrader