The night fell silently over the ruins of Sanctuary Plum Blossom. The Earth forces, confident that victory was in their hands after the announcement of Queen Iris's "death," began to shift their attention. However, the Earth mages—led by Valen the Exorcist—sensed an unusual vibration in the leyline of the underground altar. Tension hung in the air, like dark clouds threatening to strike the ground. A sense of unease began to fill their minds, overshadowing every step they took.
Their detection glyph suddenly revealed a layer of dual magic, as if another life still pulsed behind the stone walls. The once-burning spirit was now shaken, preparing to face the unseen darkness. Valen gazed into the scrying mirror, his lips thinning.
"Illusion magic... Someone is playing with the laws of death here."
A new command was issued: "Burn the entire underground path of the sanctuary! Seek and destroy anyone hiding!" The commanding voice echoed, instilling deep tension in the hearts of every soldier, as if it were the final call before the storm struck. They quickly moved, their footsteps echoing among the ruins, creating a rhythm that resonated with the soul.
Puffs of smoke, glyph explosions, and the cries of ancient stones filled the night. In the chaos, fear and fighting spirit merged into one. One by one, the secret rooms that once served as sanctuaries for mothers and protectors transformed into a sea of fire and rubble. Each collapsing wall seemed to emit a scream, mourning the lost, a terrifying sound from history erased in an instant.
Inside the illusion room, Erisa trembled as she held Iris, whose breath was growing heavier. The sounds of destruction outside grew louder—the ground trembled, dust danced in the air. Fear crept into their minds like a dark shadow, creating an almost unbearable sense of despair. Klara, with a bloodied face, stood with her back to the door, spear drawn, ready to fight without hope of victory.
Mitsuyori, drained of energy, her body pale, summoned the last of her magic to strengthen the illusion veil—but the spell was growing weaker. She knew that soon this deception would collapse along with the sanctuary. Memories of beautiful moments flashed in her heart, when the world still shone under the morning sun, unimaginable that it would end in this darkness.
"If I fall, don't wait for a miracle... take Iris away through the old river path. That's the only way," Mitsuyori whispered.
But that path was also beginning to be threatened. Earth had deployed magic-dismantling automatons that moved like metal insects, destroying the protective glyphs along the underground river. Fear surged within Erisa, as if every heartbeat rang out in a deep note of mourning.
Erisa shed tears, feeling the weight of the loss that might soon come to her, "Please... the world has lost enough. Don't take away this one hope..."
In Erisa's words, there was more than just a plea; it was a soul's cry trapped in a labyrinth of suffering. She looked at Iris, her face filled with fading hope, wishing that their love and friendship would not be destroyed in the flames of destruction.
Above the surface, Joanna stood among the ruins of the altar, feeling the fabric of the world's magic fraying. The heavenly host angels stood behind her—some looked at Joanna with doubt, while others began to whisper accusations:
"How long must we trust the daughter of Fitran? Hasn't the blood of the Void poisoned everything?"
Still fresh in her mind was the gentle voice that once guided her; a figure now lost in the dark. No more light to guide her, only whispers of the wind resembling the cries of oppressed souls echoed among the ruins. Zadkiel, the most loyal, knelt,
"Joanna, the sanctuary has fallen. Even Mitsuyori may not be able to save Iris..."
Joanna clenched her fists, the Core Michael on her chest burning. She knew: if the sanctuary truly fell and Iris was killed—or worse, captured by Earth—the world would lose all "lines of forgiveness." Her heart raced, as if the universe reminded her that hope does not always lead to salvation. The emotional renewal flowed within her, adding weight to her already fragile shoulders. Yet the power she bore now could not save everyone. Joanna looked at the faces of the angels: half ready to sacrifice everything for one last hope; the other half beginning to question leadership and the ultimate purpose of the heavens. Anxiety and hope battled in silence, forming an invisible current that united and divided them, like a storm rolling across the night sky.
The Earth forces, led by the Five Pillars, began to celebrate the destruction of the sanctuary. However, Valen and Lira (the Sorceress) reported to King Ardaius that something was amiss:
"There is energy that has not yet extinguished. The Oda and Gaia sanctuaries are not truly dead. If we fail to close the 'hole' created by Mitsuyori and Joanna, a new spiral could rise from the ruins."
A whisper of wind rustled through the ruins, as if warning every soul there that darkness still lurked, waiting to devour those who were careless.
Kestral, the tactician, deployed automatons to scour the ruins. Bronn demanded brutal execution:
"Show no mercy. If any protectors remain, destroy them. Burn the altar until no name is left."
And as Bronn's voice echoed, it was as if shadows from the past emerged, dancing among the debris, reminding them of the horrors they might face if they were not vigilant.
Earth was now divided between those who wanted to end everything with cruelty and those who were growing weary—unwilling to add more blood to the ground already filled with corpses.
Erisa and Klara held their ground until the Earth automatons broke through the main door. In a brutal assault, Klara fought until her last breath, protecting Iris and Erisa. Amidst the darkness, the sound of iron crashing echoed as if the world was collapsing around them, instilling a fear that enveloped them. That fear united with courage, giving birth to an unexpected struggle. Mitsuyori, on the verge of losing her life, released one last spell—an illusion of thick fog that enveloped the hiding space. The fog seemed to become a protective cloak, wrapping them in a faint hope amidst the encroaching death.
Erisa managed to drag Iris to the old river corridor, tears mingling with blood. In that exhausting journey, it felt as if they were walking on thorns, each step reminding them of what was at stake. They knew they were only delaying death, not defeating it.
Klara, her body full of wounds, screamed before collapsing, her pain tearing at the remaining soul, as if each wound told a sorrowful story of an unending history.
"For the name... for... hope..."
Mitsuyori, witnessing all efforts in vain, smiled bitterly before fainting: in that smile lay a thousand memories and shattered dreams, as if all her struggles in life vanished in an instant.
The sanctuary was finally devoured—swallowed by fire, spells, and time. No longer was there an altar where the people placed their hopes; no longer was there an underground space where mothers birthed new hopes. In the city, the surviving people knelt in the ashes, mourning the burned altar and the names lost in the ruins.
From the flow of falling tears, they gathered the remnants of prayers that now meant nothing, as if each drop was a spirit fading away. There was no other sound but the whisper of the wind stealing hope, replacing it with a chilling silence.
In the sky, Joanna looked down, her eyes wet. She knew the world had crossed a point of no return. Now, all that remained was despair—and the anger growing in the hearts of those who had lost everything. Within her soul, she felt the somber vibrations of all that was buried; the unheard cries demanding justice in the void.
That night, the entire world seemed silent. The angels knelt in defeat. Joanna bowed her head, clutching the ash-covered ground, vowing:
"If the sanctuary has perished, then I will be the last refuge of the world. No more names will be erased... as long as I still stand."
As those words were spoken, the emptiness of the night seemed to tremble, transforming into a new hope amidst the sorrow. She felt a new strength coursing through her, as if ancient teachings had merged with her spirit that had never returned.
Underground, Erisa held Iris's hand, which was nearly lifeless. "Hold on... At least, we have fought."
In that whisper lay unspoken hope; two souls encouraging each other in the darkness. The world was now truly without a sanctuary—and all factions knew: this destruction was merely a prologue to greater disaster and vengeance. From the ruins, a truth was born: from the ashes of shattered hope, a new era would soon rise, though shrouded in dark clouds.