Sanctuary Plum Blossom no longer takes shape. Its walls are reduced to charcoal and dark red stones, every altar and plum garden turned to ruins, leaving behind shadows of bodies sprawled out, as if their souls still lingered in the air. Amidst the rubble, the remnants of Oda gather the bodies of their comrades, covering the faces that Shigure could not save with pieces of bloodied cloaks, now nearly dry and smelling foul. The wind carries the scent of death mixed with burnt plum— a bitter aroma of a legend that failed to be rewritten, like its voice muffled in the silence of the night.
Shigure, his body full of wounds, is carried down the altar's lower corridor, each movement seemingly bound by an invisible weight. Akiko, the only remaining female protector who can still walk, holds back tears as she sees Shigure's face covered in blood and dust, longing for the moments when they laughed in the gentle embrace of blooming plum trees, far from the emptiness that surrounds them now.
"We must retreat, Shigure. The Sanctuary has become a grave, but Oda still lives within Nobuzan," Akiko's voice trembles, reflecting the deep concern gripping her soul.
Shigure weakly nods, his light fading as if hope also dissolves into the void. "Don't let the enemy take her… no matter the price we must pay," he says in a voice barely audible, as if arranging his last breaths to convey the remaining conviction.
Beneath the rubble, in a dark stone room, Nobuzan lies weakly in Akiko's arms. Her breath is heavy, her red eyes holding back pain not only from her wounds but also from contractions that come too early, each second feeling like it is caught between two worlds. The aura of magic around her feels threatening—Earth's hunter glyphs infiltrate every crack in the walls, making the air vibrate hot and full of magical pressure, as if warning of the tragedy that will follow.
On the other side of Gaia's underground world, Iris holds back tears. Her body grows weaker, her belly hard, and every sound of footsteps above makes her heart nearly stop. A heavy sound, like thunder in the distance, adds to the panic enveloping her dark space. The remaining protectors, Sabina and Luria, are nearly losing hope after hearing news of the paladins' deaths on the surface. Only Sheena's legacy spells hold the secret walls from collapsing—for now. A cold wind blows, carrying a faint aroma of hope that is almost extinguished.
"What if they force us out before the time is right, Sabina?" Iris asks, her voice hoarse and small. In that tone lies a deep fear, like a flash of lightning in the dark night.
"We will fight to the death, Queen. If the time comes… let the world write your name not as a source of curse, but as a mother who chooses to die rather than surrender."
Above, the special Earth forces—The Womb Reapers—move like shadows without sound, carrying glyphfire scrolls and spells to hasten birth. With every step they take, the earth seems to tremble, radiating an aura of chilling threat. They know time is the enemy. If the children of Fitran and Nobuzan are born under the influence of their glyphs, they could likely be exterminated before the spiral and void truly rise. The sound of breath, like a terrifying whisper, mingles with the tension in the air.
General Valen leads the glyphfire line himself, his face cold, his loud voice shaking the sanctuary sky: His voice echoes like the rumble of thunder, signaling that time is against them.
"Don't let a single womb wait for dawn! Force them out. Use all spells, all blood, all poison if necessary!" His harsh voice reveals a deep ambition, as if changing fate right before his eyes.
Glyphfire is thrown at every door and crack—blue flames that burn not only flesh but also souls. Each blaze carries spells that sever bloodlines, turning womb protection into disaster. The flashes of blue light paint terrifying shadows on the crumbling walls, as if bringing to life the fears buried within the souls of every protector and overseer of the womb. The cries of the protectors sound faint from within the earth, the voices of Iris and Nobuzan nearly drowned out by the magic that screams the names of ancient forgotten ones.
Time moves slowly in the basement. Iris whispers to her baby, feeling the weight of hope and fear mingling in every passing second,
"You are not a curse… but this world is too afraid of hope. If I fail, forgive me…"
Sabina embraces Iris, her tears falling onto the queen's forehead, creating a gentle trail that signifies love and loss. In that embrace, they feel a rumble deep below, as if the earth holds the hopes and fears of all humanity in turmoil.
"We can't go anywhere. They will force the birth, Queen. You must be strong… for a world that may not want to accept your child."
Akiko looks at the Queen with unwavering determination, even though her heart trembles with panic. "One step at a time, we will face it together…" Her voice quivers, but there is a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
Beneath the altar of Oda, Nobuzan screams as contractions grow more frequent. Akiko recites protective spells, trying to hold back the glyphfire that seeps through the floor, like a dangerous snake lurking in the dark. In every spell, she pours in pain and determination, as if her voice merges with the heartbeat echoing around them.
"Princess, hold on a little longer… I am here. No one will touch you but me."
Amidst the screams and spells, Shigure's weak voice floats, calling the darkness to retreat. Crying out in pain, he struggles against the shadows that try to haunt his mind,
"This child must live… not for the curse, but for a name that can choose its own fate."
As time runs out, the world outside has already surrendered to the magic of hatred. The protectors trapped in the underground corridor choose to take their own lives with glyph poison, refusing to be taken alive, their eyes closed as if ignoring the broken world above them.
Some Earth hunters break through the last door, igniting glyphs that can hasten birth, even if the mother's body is not ready—cruel and merciless. In that dim light, every soul that screams seems to become part of an unavoidable symphony of suffering.
Joanna, from the sky of the ruins, witnesses the atrocities occurring. Her angelic heart is torn—one side wants to save, the other side wants to end the suffering. But she knows that if she intervenes too quickly, the spiral curse could be unleashed earlier than predicted, like rice stalks cut before harvest time, harming the entire field.
She silently sends prayers to the mothers,
in the midst of panic and sorrow, a small hope flows in every breath. "Hold on, even if the world hates you. I am here, at the boundary between light and curse."
Time moves toward a starless night—without hope, only the roar of breaths and the heartbeat of mothers trying to survive under the pressure of magic and human cruelty. In that painful silence, every heartbeat feels like a ringing bell, marking an unending struggle. The children that the world does not want become the reason the world cannot sleep that night.
Sabina looks into Iris's eyes, then at Luria, as if seeking strength from both, hoping for the remnants of courage that might still exist within them. Their eyes speak more than words, filled with mingled fear and hope.
"If we fail tonight, let our names vanish with the dust—as long as this baby does not fall into the hands of the enemy."
Akiko at Oda embraces Nobuzan, who is nearly losing consciousness, feeling her warmth fading like a fire almost extinguished. Gently, she whispers, channeling her last strength through a soft touch, determined not to let that hope fade.
"Princess… when the time comes, I will choose to kill you myself rather than let the enemy write the last story of Oda."
Amidst all the despair, the first cry of a baby is heard—not as hope, but as a warning that the world is not done cursing, not ready to accept.
"Princess… when the time comes, I will choose to kill you myself rather than let the enemy write the last story of Oda."
In the silence that envelops the heart, the flames of battle tremble in the background, adding to the pain of the choices that must be made. The voice of the heart that rumbles feels deeper, like the whispering wind among the ruins. Amidst all the despair, the first cry of a baby is heard—not as hope, but as a warning that the world is not done cursing, not ready to accept.
The rumble of glyphfire, screams and cries, spells and blood, become one symphony of suffering that night. In the suffocating dark atmosphere, Joanna descends into the ruins, closing the eyes of all who have fallen, whispering prayers that the children born that night, under the curse and wrath of the world, still have one name—even if that name only lasts a moment under the stars that no longer wish to shine. The darkness of the night surrounds her, as if trying to swallow the remaining hope, yet she stands firm, longing for the light that once was, hoping that a single point of hope can emerge from the profound emptiness.