The people of Shengdao do not look at the sky as something distant or abstract. The sky is part of daily life, watched, greeted, and quietly respected. Their world, Shengdao, carries the same name as the continent beneath their feet, because to most Shiji Long, land and planet were never separate ideas. 

Above it hangs the moon, steady and familiar. It marks the passage of time, guides planting and travel, and is woven into countless traditions. Many clans consider the moon a deity which is respected and admired at the same time. Festivals are timed to its cycles, especially in rural and spiritual regions, where the moon is believed to reflect the dreams of sleeping elders beneath the land.

More striking in the evening sun is Shengdao’s sister planet, a constant reminder that Shengdao is not alone. Its surface glows softly in shifting hues, sometimes pale and calm, sometimes darkened by shadows that scholars and storytellers alike argue over endlessly. Children grow up tracing its shape in the sky, and sailors use it as a fixed point for navigation. Many clans believe the sister planet mirrors Shengdao in some way, either physically or spiritually.

Both the moon and the sister planet are considered holy, though not in the same way. The moon is intimate, tied to family, ancestry, and personal cycles. The sister planet is distant and solemn, associated with destiny, loss, and forgotten eras. Shrines dedicated to them are rarely grand. More often they are simple stone platforms, rooftop altars, or markings carved into cliff faces where the sky feels close.

Ancient records claim that in distant ages, the elders could open portals between Shengdao and its sister planet. These crossings were rare and dangerous, requiring immense power and perfect alignment. What lay on the other side is only hinted at in fragmented texts: altered lands, unfamiliar Shiji, and elder presences unlike those known on Shengdao. After the Elder War, these portals were sealed. Whether the elders lost the ability, chose to abandon it, or sealed it away to protect Shengdao is still a mystery.

In the present age, Shiji Long have no means of reaching the sister planet. Ships cannot sail the void, and magic falls short of the distance. The planet remains a silent companion in the sky — close enough to see, far enough to remain unreachable. Festivals still honor it, songs still mention it, and elders are still said to glance toward it during moments of deep thought.

To the people of Shengdao, the sister planet is not a promise of conquest or exploration. It is a reminder. Of what once was possible. Of what may have been lost. And of the quiet truth that the world is larger, older, and more complicated than any one continent will ever fully understand.