City of Gaia and the ruins of Sanctuary Plum Blossom are now engulfed in an eerie silence. The Earth forces, after witnessing the glyph broadcast announcing the "death" of Queen Iris, roar in victory, shouting slogans that pierce the hearts of every remaining resident. Only Mitsuyori, Erisa, Nobuzan, and Iris know: the death is a ruse, a high-level illusion magic capable of deceiving even the angels' sight. In the darkness that envelops them, despair burns in their hearts. Mitsuyori feels the weight of the world on her shoulders, while Erisa clutches Nobuzan's hand, trembling, as the desire to fight battles against the fear that envelops their souls.
However, the effects of the illusion run deeper than Mitsuyori anticipated. The guardians of Gaia, hiding in the underground corridors, weep in despair; some commit suicide, while others surrender, opening the doors of protection and allowing the Earth forces to seize what remains. The sound of sobs filled with sorrow and regret echoes in the darkness, as if haunting every corner of the corridor. Among them, a young man with hopeful eyes utters a final prayer for his ancestors before stepping into the darkness, seeking peace amid the panic.
Above the ruins, the main protective glyph—remnants of Sheena and the ancestors of Gaia—begins to crack and blacken, losing their light and power. As one by one the glyphs collapse, the world's voice seems to grow heavy: young mages lose contact with their energy source, and healing spells now leave only pain and emptiness. The daily life that was once filled with light has turned into a nightmare, the painful silence permeating every soul. Deep disappointment settles in, awakening them to the realization that hope is often just an illusion, suspended on the uncertainty that looms with the bitter shadows of defeat.
In the sky of Thirtos, seven angels stand frozen above the thin clouds, witnessing the destruction they can no longer stop. Joanna stands among them, her body faintly glowing from the core of Michael now residing in her chest—but her face reveals a deep inner wound she has never shown before. In her heart, she feels an infinite burden, as if all the pain of the world is poured into her, and each heartbeat feels like a reminder of their monumental failure.
Remiel, the blue-winged angel, kneels before Joanna, his eyes wet: "This is all wrong... We have failed, Joanna. We have failed to keep the heavenly promise. The world rejects grace, and grace rejects the world."
In a voice barely audible, Remiel continues, "I remember when we used to soar high, bringing light to every corner of darkness. Now, there are only remnants of shadows lurking around us." His words echo among them, stirring beautiful memories now tainted by bitter reality.
Uriel, usually steadfast, now sits among the fallen glyph fragments on the ground, his wings bloodied from the shards, his voice trembling: "Even Shekinah has gone. The death of Iris... the death of hope... What can we do but wait for destruction?"
He bows his head, feeling as if the weight of the world is crushing him. How sad it is to see a world once filled with light now trapped in shadows, as if abandoned by life itself. Uriel wonders, "Are we always destined to destroy what we create?"
Joanna gazes at the ground, her voice cold yet burdened: "You still have me. As long as Michael's core burns, there will be no end until I write it myself. But I cannot force you to believe in a world that has rejected the light. The choice is yours—whether to stay with me or return to the silent heavens."
Joanna feels her eyes warm, trying to hold back the tears that want to flow. This decision is not just for her, but for all who have lost everything. In her despair, she clings to hope, however thin, hoping to encourage the other angels to see a glimmer of light that still exists. The angels fall silent, each haunted by doubt and despair.
Below ground and in the dark corridors, the people of Gaia and Oda live in the shadows. Whispers of Iris's death spread quickly: "There is no more hope." "The queen is dead." "All that remains is destruction."
Some guardians—with weary faces and empty eyes—burn their family emblems, hoping to erase the curse that clings to their names. In another corner, children left by their mothers mourn their fate, while elderly men and women pray to gods who no longer answer. Amid the uncertainty and sorrow that envelops them, bitter rumors arise about a hero who might rise from the ruins. Yet that voice is drowned out by the collective grief, as if hope itself is reluctant to emerge.
But in one underground room, two mothers still endure.
Iris and Nobuzan sit side by side, listening to the rumble of the Earth forces drawing closer to the labyrinth of protection. Beside them, Mitsuyori and Erisa stand guard, ready with new illusion magic if needed.
Nobuzan—though her body is weak—clutches Iris's hand. "We are not defeated yet. The world may crumble, the glyphs may shatter, but as long as one of us is alive, they will not achieve complete victory."
In the tense silence, Iris can feel the emotional vibrations in Nobuzan's hand; strength and helplessness intertwine. She knows that behind every anxiety etched on her companion's face lies a hope that refuses to extinguish. Taking a deep breath, she tries to find the words that can reignite the flame of spirit, as if wanting to share the courage that resides in her heart.
Iris looks at Nobuzan, her tears dried, leaving only a thin line on her cheek: "I believe in you, Nobuzan. Perhaps now the world only has two mothers left... but these two mothers are enough to curse the entire fate if they force us."
Erisa, the loyal new guardian, adds: "The Earth forces believe you are dead. We have time, just a little, to prepare an escape route. Mitsuyori, is the route ready?"
Mitsuyori nods, her face serious: "I have prepared three layers of illusions. Even if they breach the labyrinth, all they will find are shadows. We will move tonight."
Nobuzan grips her family sword, her voice soft yet firm: "Not just to survive. We will take revenge."
In their hearts, a fire ignites. Every second feels like a century, and the burden of hope and fear wraps around them like thick night fog. In that silence, they all know how vulnerable their position is, but their determination does not waver. They have looked back into the darkness—and now, with burning courage, they prepare to face the threatening fate.
In the sky, Joanna closes her eyes, feeling the pulse of Michael's power in her heart. She hears whispers from the underworld—prayers, curses, the voices of a people who have lost hope. She knows that if she does not act, her angels will scatter, her people will perish, and the world will become an eternal grave.
Remiel rises, though his body is wounded: "If you move forward, I will follow, Joanna. Not as an angel, but as your friend."
Uriel wipes the blood from his cheek, nodding: "We have come too far to turn back. This world does not deserve to be handed over to those who only know how to kill."
In the tension that creeps ever more thrilling, Joanna feels the weight of responsibility pressing on every breath she takes. She bites her lip, trying to hold back the tightness in her chest. Once again, the images of the faces of her loved ones flash through her mind, etched like strokes of a painting that cannot be erased. Yet, behind that fear, there is a flicker of hope—however small, they must step forward. There is no turning back.
Joanna nods. Her voice now thunders, no longer a woman's voice, but the echo of Michael reborn: "If the world cannot be saved, then I will become the fire that scorches anyone who still clings to hatred. We begin tonight. Not for hope, but for the anger they cannot comprehend."
In Joanna's heart, that anger blazes, a small flame as she remembers the faces she has loved but lost to cruelty. Each memory is like a sharp dagger, cutting through the remaining layers of calm. "They will feel it," she thinks, with a burning determination, "I will not let their sacrifices be in vain."
Night falls slowly. Throughout the land, the sounds of wailing and the rumble of war still echo. Yet in two hidden places—in the underground room where two mothers hold hands, and in the sky where new angels raise the banner of resistance—history is writing a new chapter.
Joanna's neck tightens, as if sensing the vibrations of every scream echoing outside. As she gazes at the dark sky, the shadow of Michael flying dances in her mind, and with every heartbeat, she feels the weight of responsibility grow heavier. Is she truly ready for this step? Out there, hope remains nothing but an illusion.
The protective glyphs have shattered. Angels have fallen. But behind it all, the indomitable will of humanity—or motherhood—has taken over the world. And tomorrow, the blood that spills will no longer be the blood of victims, but the blood of vengeance.