In the depths of the ruins of the Gaia palace, amidst shadows and the scent of old, un-dried blood, Queen Iris lay weakly upon the stone throne. The sounds of war above had long faded, replaced by the rumble of distant spells and the wails of the guardians who were holding on with their last strength. In the suffocating silence, each heartbeat of Iris felt like the tolling of a death bell, vibrating defiantly against a fate that was not in her favor.
Klara and Erisa—the last two guardians—took turns watching the secret door. But tonight, the cold air felt different: there were no sounds of enemy footsteps, nor signs of life above ground. They exchanged anxious glances, as if communicating without words, feeling the same heavy burden. Only the breath of illusion magic crept like mist—magic belonging to Mitsuyori Aketsu, a slender man with pink hair whose eyes always gazed at the world like a riddle without an answer. Each sigh of mist enveloped them, as if signaling that the last hope now depended on the sincerity of one soul.
Mitsuyori stood in the corner of the room, perfecting the circle of illusion in the air with her delicate fingers. Her face was flat, but her gaze was sharp, spreading both threat and forgiveness. As her eyes passed over Queen Iris's body, a moment of empathy shook her heart—was this action right, or merely a thread of hope that would be broken at the end of the night?
"Today, the world will believe Queen Iris is no more," she whispered. "And Earth… will be lulled by a false victory."
Iris nodded with her remaining strength, blood staining her lips. In that dimness, her mind was filled with beautiful memories, the laughter of her children, and the soft sound of the wind among the trees in a once-peaceful land. She prayed that this illusionary power would be enough to protect her legacy. In the midst of uncertainty, that hope served as her last safety net.
"If this is the only way for my child to survive, do it, Mitsuyori. I do not want history to record a meaningless death."
With her last spell, Mitsuyori lowered the pink light curtain, covering Iris's body. In an instant, to the eyes of anyone watching—be it Earth soldiers, the people of Gaia, or even angel spies—Queen Iris seemed to breathe her last on her throne. Her body appeared to turn to stone, her spirit vanished into the embrace of darkness, and a single red rose petal fell beside her crown. Among the crowd, a young soldier closed his eyes, praying as if hope was etched in every heartbeat, and within his prayer lay disbelief at what they witnessed.
Earth
At the Earth headquarters, the sound of victory trumpets echoed louder than the prayers of the night. General Talgar received the news of Iris's death with cheers and military honors. However, in the corner of his eye, there was more than just joy; there was a shadow of doubt. He recalled the tales of challenges and bravery told by the soldiers around him, how Queen Iris had always been a symbol of hope. For a moment, he felt that this celebration might sound more like irony, ensnaring their souls in suppressed sorrow.
"The world has lost its curse. The last womb of Gaia is dead!"
Earth's forces throughout the major cities held parades, waving victory banners and planting spears in the ruins of the temple. Yet amidst the cheers, there was a question: why did victory feel so hollow? The oldest soldier gazed at the sky, feeling a strange emptiness, as if a new sin had just settled upon their chests. Deep within, he longed for the feminine figure who had once inspired them to fight, as if Queen Iris could still hear their calls from the darkness.
Gaia & Oda
The people of Gaia who heard the news of their queen's death wept bitterly, mourning in the ash-filled streets. Some elderly women sprinkled flowers in the water, while others cut their fingers, staining the city gates with blood as a form of grief and a vow to never forget Iris's name. Tears flowed, flooding the corners of the streets, each drop telling tales of memories and hopes that had been snatched away. Whispers of trauma spread: "Now only angels can save us…" Meanwhile, in Oda, Nobuzan—who was still hiding with Akiko—remained silent for a long time upon hearing this illusionary news. Her heart refused to believe, yet the deepest part of her soul understood:
"In war, the truth is easier to manipulate than death."
Joanna & The Angels
In the ruins of the Spiral Court, Joanna felt the leyline tremble as Iris's name seemed to truly vanish from the world's system. The angels collectively bowed in mourning, some began to blame Joanna for failing to protect the last bloodline of Gaia. The rumble of longing echoed, as if nature trembled in response to an indescribable loss.
Zadkiel spoke with a bitter voice, "If even Iris's name can be erased by human illusion, what does it mean for the immortality of angels? We are merely shadows at the end of a history that is fading…"
Joanna closed her eyes. In her chest, Core Michael trembled, demanding more decisive action, but she knew—today, it was not just a queen who died, but the hope of a world. In the silence that accompanied, the wind whispered as if offering clues, yet became increasingly distorted by the uncertainty that enveloped their darkness.
In the basement, Klara and Erisa wiped their tears, knowing they could not mourn in front of the world. The sound of clanging metal from outside seemed to be the death knell, reminding them of the inevitable pain if they did not act quickly. Mitsuyori took a deep breath, her body nearly collapsing under the weight of the illusion magic. The awareness of the responsibility she bore felt like shackles; every passing second became a heavier burden.
"Hold on until the truly right moment. If Earth catches a whiff of this lie, everything will be worse than death…"
In the tense silence, the clanking sounds from outside further embedded unease in their hearts. Erisa knelt beside Iris, who was now breathing slowly, nurturing a thin hope that perhaps once again, birth could triumph over destruction. She grasped the cold fingers of the queen as if trying to channel strength into Iris, duplicating the warmth that was now only a memory. Klara, with a blood-stained spear in hand, stood at the door, ready to sacrifice anything if Mitsuyori failed to maintain their illusion. A bad premonition crept over her skin; cold sweat dripped from her temples—were they strong enough to withstand the coming storm? And more terrifyingly, was there hope behind that illusion, or were they merely postponing the void?
The death of Iris changed the political architecture. Earth began to ease its siege, redirecting forces to Oda and the northern territories, considering Gaia finished.
A chilling silence enveloped, creeping into the souls of every inhabitant. All eyes were on the wilted buds of hope, where the former queen should have stood majestically. Longing for her figure extended in every whisper of the wind that blew sadness.
The faction "Guardians of the Name" among the people of Gaia began to rewrite history, creating poems and prayers to commemorate the queen who "had fallen." Meanwhile, the dark faction "Sons of Oblivion" spread new flyers: "Names and blood are nothing more than illusions. The world is only worthy of those who are not afraid of emptiness."
Among the angels, one or two began to quietly disappear from Joanna's ranks, seeking new meaning beyond the limits of the sky. As if, in this darkness, they were striving to reclaim the light that had faded, even though they were no longer sure if it still existed.
In every corner of the city, the sound of unspoken cries whispered longing, slowly etching wounds that would never heal. The poets, who should have immortalized heroic tales, now found themselves trapped in the noise of sorrow, trying to find the right words to remember someone who should have been eternal.
That night, the whole world mourned in a strange silence—not merely the loss of a queen, but the loss of the ability to believe in anything seen or heard. Iris, under Mitsuyori's illusion, prayed in silence that her child would never become a victim of the battle for meaning that increasingly strayed from life. In the midst of silence, shadows of the past flickered in her mind, displaying the faces that once filled her days, now obscured by a fog of doubt that dipped everything in shades of gray.
Joanna stood in the ruins, her hands raised to the dark sky: above the shattered pieces of hope, she felt the night wind whisper softly, carrying bursts of feelings and memories that had been buried. Faint voices from those who had gone echoed in her mind, as if reminding her that the presence of those lost still enveloped the world with an indelible presence.
"If death is merely an illusion, then who will rewrite the hopes of the world?"
And Earth, amidst the cheers of victory, remained unaware that tonight was merely the beginning of the next chaos—because a perfect illusion is crueler than real death. In that moment, it was as if painting a horrific picture: the faces of those lost etched in memory, demanding justice in a world trapped in pretense.