Thin mist hangs between the pillars of the ancient altar, now bathed in blue and red light. The wind carries the scent of earth, blood, and dust that have witnessed the fall of city after city. The square, once filled with the cries of war, is now filled with whispers of doubt—prayers too weak to rise to the sky, yet too loud to be silenced by the world. The ground beneath their feet feels alive, as if touched by the spirits of warriors trapped in despair. Every passing second feels like rediscovering the traces of life and death, as dark tales are etched in their minds.
Joanna stands in the center of the altar, her body marked with old and new wounds. In her right hand, Michael's fire still burns—bright blue, flowing with Fitran's blood that vibrates through her entire being. She knows tonight is the last night: there will be no more sacrifices after this, no more names that can be erased without an equal price. In her heart, she feels the weight of the past, stories yet to be carved into her soul, echoing in every crevice of her mind. "Will this sacrifice atone for our sins?" she silently asks, hoping the wind can answer her question hanging in the air.
At the side of the altar, Iris and Nobuzan—still weak but alive thanks to Mitsuyori's illusion magic—watch with tearful eyes, aware that the future of their children will be determined by a single ceremony that consumes both history and hope. Amidst doubt and hope, Iris feels Nobuzan's gentle touch, as if channeling a strength that can bind the prophecy in their hearts. "If we endure, perhaps there is a way out," she whispers, her voice barely audible yet filled with a flickering hope despite its dimness. They gaze at each other, momentarily sharing an unspoken strength, as the world around them hisses with sorrow.
Gabriel stands at the edge of the altar, his golden wings folded, his face devoid of anger, only filled with sadness. Behind his majestic appearance lies a deep pain—as if every second ensnares him in memories that cannot be erased. Behind him, other angels kneel one by one, wearing battle robes now stained with blood and tears. They know that some of them will not return to the sky—losing their right as witnesses because they are bound by the blood of a world that never wants to let go of its sins. Each one is a mirror for the wounded soul, trapped in the dilemma between loyalty and the desire to save. With unwavering gazes, they are grateful yet mournful for the choices that must be made.
Gabriel speaks softly, "Joanna, tonight the world demands redemption, not just victory. Many of us have rejected you, but the blood you shed writes a new history—with a price that no one has ever paid." His gentle voice echoes in the silence, carrying both hope and fear. Amidst the tumultuous heartbeats, a faint hope emerges—like morning dew resisting the sunlight.
Joanna bows her head, allowing the blue fire in her hand to consume a strand of golden hair that falls to the altar floor. "Gabriel, I never wanted this world. I am just a child of two names that were rejected, two bloodlines that were scorned. Yet, in my humility, I feel a calling to sacrifice, as if an unseen voice asks me to be a bridge between the world and hope. But if my sacrifice can give one more day to those who are not ready to die, I accept." In her voice lies a courage that transcends her fear, showing that behind helplessness, there is an unexpected strength ready to illuminate the darkness.
One by one, the angels who were once the Seven Heavenly Angels step forward to the altar. They do not come as victors, but as victims, as confessors. Behind their graceful faces, sorrow and courage shine through, as if every feathered wing contains tales of love and sacrifice. Lysiel, who once rejected Joanna, now kneels before the blue fire, making a vow: "With my last blood, I surrender my wings and my name for a new world. May you, Joanna, bear all that we could not finish." In her hope and despair, she prays that this decision is not only for personal redemption but also as a bridge to awaken souls trapped in emptiness.
Gabriel caresses Lysiel's head, then plants a heavenly trumpet in the center of the altar. From there, golden blood flows, mingling with Joanna's blue blood, creating a glyph of sacrifice that spins and glows red under the dim moonlight. Watching the flow, pain creeps over Gabriel, reminding him of all the souls that have been lost, faces that should have shone in success but are now swept away in darkness.
One by one, other angels surrender: Remiel, Uriel, Zadkiel, and the rest, allowing their blood to fuel the purification ritual. In every drop, the past is erased, sins are lifted, and old names begin to fade from the world. They know that each of these sacrifices is a step toward the light, even in darkness, where hope flickers. Meanwhile, the silence grows thicker, as if the universe holds its breath to feel the grandeur of this moment.
Beneath the altar, the surviving people of Gaia gather, holding the hands of their children and siblings. They watch the ceremony in silence, some offering prayers, others simply weeping. The soft whispers, as if the night wind carries messages from the souls that have departed, fill the quiet space. In every second, they feel the weight of the sacrifice, as if time holds its breath, honoring everyone who has given everything for a new hope.
Nobuzan grips Iris's hand, stifling the sobs that cannot be contained. The courage hidden in her eyes radiates light, piercing through the dark turmoil enveloping their hearts. "We have lost too much, Iris… but at least today, we are still alive—and this world may still have a new name."
Iris turns, tears wetting her cheeks, reflecting both pain and hope. Like morning dew, her tears signify that even though the sky seems gray, sunlight always leaves room to rise again. "Our names will only endure as long as there are those willing to bear the burden. After tonight, we may not be remembered, but our children will live with a cleaner legacy."
Joanna and Gabriel stand side by side, leading the glyph of sacrifice that now spins faster. The blue fire and golden blood form a vortex above the altar, burning away all that cannot endure in the new world. The wind rustles, carrying whispers from the souls that have departed, as if seeking acknowledgment, longing for relief. Joanna grips Gabriel's hand, feeling the vibrations of hope and fear that creep between them.
Joanna raises her voice, this time Michael's voice and hers merging into one will, "With the blood and names that have been paid tonight, I sever all sins that have clung to this land. Whoever still wishes to live, let them live with a new name. Whoever cannot bear the wounds, let them go into eternal sleep." In her heart, she feels the clamor of memories from the past, suffocating recollections, yet at the same time, there is a growing desire to embrace the new light that will illuminate an unimaginable path ahead.
The glyph's fire swells, enveloping the entire altar. One by one, the old names that once bound the world begin to fade—from spiral names, traitor names, to the names of fallen angels. Its light sparkles like stars slowly fading from memory, leaving only profound silence. A new world truly begins to form, free from the burdens of old sins, without voices that can curse Joanna again. In this surrender, there is hope for a better life, cleansed from the shackles of the past and daring to embrace the future.
As the blue fire and golden blood finally extinguish, the altar leaves behind a circle of red stone, hot and glowing. Gabriel stands without wings, becoming human for the first time. It feels as if losing his immortality has now become a light burden, as if his body is enveloped by a deep emptiness. The remaining angels bow their heads, pledging loyalty to the new world led by Joanna.
The people slowly ascend to the altar, bringing flowers and water, cleansing the remaining blood, planting new seeds in the ground that once served as a grave. Every step they take is a mantra full of hope, as if every flower placed is a symbol of a call for a better future, honoring the lost yet determined to endure.
Joanna gazes at the sky that is beginning to brighten, her heart full of wounds yet at peace. She feels as if thousands of voices whisper in this new creation, and they all sing a song of redemption together. She knows this sacrifice will write a new history—a world without old names, without judgments descending from the sky, only with one rule: anyone may live if they dare to bear the price of their own blood.
Gabriel turns, patting Joanna's shoulder, "After tonight, the sky and earth will never be the same. But at least, you have paid a price that even the gods would hesitate to bear." There is a glimmer of pride in his eyes, as if he is not just a witness but also feels every heartbeat of the newly born world.
Joanna bows her head, her blue eyes shimmering faintly in the remnants of Michael's fire. "May this fire be enough to ignite the hope that has never truly grown in this world." In her words lies a sincere wish—a hope that their love and sacrifice do not become in vain, but rather become the seeds of a new life.
As dawn arrives, a new world is born upon the red altar. The soft light touches the faces of everyone, as if giving life to hesitant steps. No more sounds of war, no more shadows of angels, only the first breaths of a world learning to bear its own blood burden.