Under the morning sky, still silvered by mist, Sanctuary Plum Blossom stood like an island amidst a sea of ash. The wind blowing from the north carried the rustling sounds of the remaining plum trees, bringing the scent of charcoal and damp earth—as if the entire world mourned the end of an era. The sound of the wind seemed to unite with the soft sigh of a broken heart, echoing in the silence that made every second feel as heavy as a year.
Every corner of the Sanctuary, once filled with prayers, magic, and promises of eternity, now stood as a silent witness to the limits of human power. The cracked altar stones, the fallen ancestral statues, and the remnants of plum blossoms blackened by fire all seemed to await the final ceremony before being forgotten by history. A sense of nostalgia filled the air, as if shadows of the past flickered, bringing smiles and tears from those who once prayed in this sacred place.
Nobuzan stood before the altar, her body wrapped in bandages and wounds, yet her head held high. Her eyes closed for a moment, recalling all that had been lost, inviting a flood of emotions that were hard to express. Iris stood beside her, guiding her steps calmly. She felt the unease in Nobuzan's heart, resonating with every heartbeat tied to memories. Around them gathered the people of Oda, the remaining protectors of Gaia, angels now dressed in simple clothing, and Joanna, who had shed all heavenly symbols, standing among humans, not above them. Each of their faces radiated tension, a mix of hope and despair evident in their gazes and touching gestures.
Gabriel, the oldest remaining angel, led the ceremony with a heavy voice: "This Sanctuary was built not only to withstand disasters but also to protect the love and sacrifices we believed would never fade. Today, we acknowledge: even such great love must know when to let go."
Gabriel's deep voice resonated and sank into the souls of all present, evoking both calm and sorrow. Every word spoken felt like a page of history being torn, inviting them to delve into the depths of feeling—love that had to be relinquished and memories that were eternal. For a moment, everyone fell silent, as if waiting for the right moment to release the tears that had been held back in their hearts.
A fire was lit in the center of the altar. One by one, the protectors and the people placed mementos: a piece of armor, dried plum blossoms, letters of blood oaths, a broken sword, and small dolls belonging to children who never returned. That moment felt like a heartbeat vibrating in sync with hope and sorrow. Nobuzan placed the last Oda banner into the fire, while Iris laid down Sheena's necklace—a symbol of hope that once united Gaia and Oda—as an offering to a world that had changed. The warmth from the fire seemed to lift the aroma of memories, blending wounds and hopes in every dew that rose into the sky.
Crying and soft singing merged into one. There were no victory speeches, no promises of revenge. Those voices soared, touching the souls present. Only silent embraces, tears, and prayers in their hearts. Each bowed their heads, feeling the weight of loss, but behind it lay beads of togetherness that strengthened them.
Joanna walked slowly among the crowd, her eyes sweeping over every face that had lost something. In each gaze, she could feel the vibration of emptiness calling to the soul. She stopped in front of the ceremonial fire, took a nearly burnt plum blossom, and felt warmth and emptiness together. "The old world has burned us, but from these ashes, a new tree will grow. The Sanctuary is no longer a wall—it is the ground where hope can grow freely, unconfined by fate or ancient oaths." Her voice rose with a firmness that pierced the silence, as if each word wove a new tapestry of hope for the future.
Gabriel knelt before Joanna, followed by the other angels, acknowledging her new leadership not as Michael, but as a bridge between heaven and earth. In that pose, it was clear how they united their strength, a symbol of unity built on the ruins of the past. "You have changed the meaning of protection. Today, the Sanctuary is no longer a fortress, but the heart of every human who dares to forgive and let go." Gabriel's words carried a deep resonance, as if opening the door to a new future, where embraces and understanding would replace pain.
The people followed, bowing their heads to Joanna and the angels, not out of fear—but out of gratitude born from shared suffering. Some among them wiped away tears, while others held hands, creating an unbreakable bond. Among the crowd, faces full of hope longing for change appeared, like wildflowers growing among the ruins.
As the ceremonial fire began to dwindle, Nobuzan sat beneath the last standing plum tree. Iris accompanied her, stroking her hair damp with sweat and tears. A quiet atmosphere enveloped them, save for the gentle breeze and the soft breaths that gradually returned to calm. Under the shade of the lush tree, they found a bit of tranquility, a precious moment amidst the chaos that had engulfed their world.
"I don't know what will remain of Oda," Nobuzan whispered, her voice hoarse yet full of meaning, "but today I am no longer afraid of losing everything. The Sanctuary is gone, but you—and my child—are still here. Perhaps that is enough." In her eyes, there was a small yet strong glimmer of hope, as if reassuring herself that the remaining love could fill the vast emptiness left by the city.
Iris gazed at the sky, which was slowly brightening, and her fingers danced gently in the air, as if grasping new hopes. "The new world no longer needs a great fortress. Perhaps it is enough to have the courage to start anew." Each word she spoke carried a deep conviction, as if challenging the sun, which was beginning to shine, to come and warm their new journey.
When the sun fully rose, Joanna stood at the altar of the former ceremonial fire. She began to sing a wordless song—a gentle melody, full of loss, but also full of promise. Joanna's voice echoed softly, as if weaving the morning breeze that carried the scent of damp earth and new hope. The people followed her, one by one, with shining eyes, full of emotion, until the song became a wave that penetrated the crumbling walls of the Sanctuary, spreading to the valleys, forests, and the land of Gaia and the remnants of Earth that had once witnessed war. Some of them appeared stunned, as if feeling the presence of lost souls, recalling every moment filled with struggle.
The angels played flutes from the plum tree, the protectors beat drums and small bells. The sound of the flute flowed sweetly, as if whispering to every forgotten corner, while the drums resonated with a power that shook the soul. No one knew who created that song, but everyone knew: this was "The Last Song of the Sanctuary." The unspoken words now built a bridge between life and death, reminding that although loss is painful, life must go on.
Amidst that song, the spirits of the old protectors—Jeanne, Sheena, and other names that had become legends—seemed to dance in the air, blessing the new world. In the silver morning light, their figures appeared radiant, dancing on thin clouds, reminding everyone present of the power of love and sacrifice. The wind blew gently, as if carrying new hopes and protecting the souls that had departed.
As the song concluded, the people began to leave the Sanctuary one by one. They headed towards new villages, valleys, and cities that needed to be rebuilt. The sound of their footsteps echoed hope and sorrow, the bittersweetness of parting lingering in the air. Joanna helped the children arrange small stones as markers for family graves. Each stone placed seemed to capture memories, forming a burial site that spoke of eternal love. Nobuzan and Iris wrote the name Oda on the last altar stone—not as a sign of defeat, but as a reminder that love and honor never truly fade.
Gabriel approached Joanna, his presence bringing a contagious calm. "What will you do now, Michael without wings?" Gabriel asked gently, his eyes reflecting concern for the steps she would take. Joanna smiled, gazing at the world under the morning light, the sun's rays shining on her face, bringing new hope. "I will walk with them. This world no longer needs walls between heaven and earth." Her voice was firm yet gentle, like the silent wind, but filled with conviction.
When everyone had gone, Sanctuary Plum Blossom stood in silence. Every corner held stories and histories that could not be erased. No more prayers, no more wars, only silence and the wind carrying a new promise: a promise that touched the soul.
That every wound, every loss, could grow into a tree of hope—as long as the world dared to let the past rest in the land of the Sanctuary. With every breath of wind, that hope seemed to tell a story, inviting everyone to believe that life always finds a way to continue.