Mitsuyori Aketsu stood in the middle of the hideout, cold sweat trickling down her forehead. She closed her eyes, trying to strengthen the layer of illusion that now felt as fragile as a spider's web buffeted by a storm. "You have to believe in yourself," she whispered hopefully, as if encouraging herself more than Iris and Nobuzan. She opened her eyes briefly and saw them—Iris with her disheveled hair and vacant eyes; and Nobuzan, arms crossed with a tense face, as if harboring deep anxiety. In front of her, Iris and Nobuzan sat huddled together. They were exhausted; their skin pale, their breaths heavy. "Mitsuyori," Iris's weak voice broke the silence, "are we going to be okay?" Every attempt Mitsuyori made to reassure them felt futile, as something out there—something ancient and hungry—continued to tear at the veil of illusion she had created. In her heart, she cursed this helplessness, feeling the vibrations of that threat penetrate her soul.
Every night, Mitsuyori felt the pressure growing heavier. Her magic was no longer just a deception, but a direct resistance against the forces that rejected illusion and truth at the same time. Sometimes she felt as if the world was starting to "see" her—not with human eyes, but with thousands of eyes hatching in every crevice of reality. One night, as the wind howled through the cracks of the door, she heard whispers emerging from the darkness, like a ghostly call shadowing her every step. "Are you willing to sacrifice everything to fight this darkness?" That question haunted her, making her ponder what would happen.
She knew the chains of Tiamat were beginning to crumble. And if even one layer of protection broke, not only would Iris and Nobuzan be found, but she herself would also vanish—devoured by something that did not even acknowledge her existence. In moments of silence, the shadows of the faces she loved appeared, reminding her of what was at stake. "I can't let them suffer," she whispered with determination, feeling the flame of courage burning within her, even as fear crept through her bones.
The remaining protectors began to have nightmares almost simultaneously. One by one, they woke up in the middle of the night, cold sweat soaking their bodies. Their eyes were red, their lips trembling, and they began to speak to each other in shaky voices:
"I saw it. The dragon. Its crown made of blood. It called my name in a dream..." said one protector with a trembling voice, his eyes empty of hope. "As if all it wanted was to destroy us. Like a shadow gripping my soul," he added, his voice growing hoarse. Horror crept into their hearts, creating a sense of shame and helplessness that only strengthened the bond among them. "We can't let it win!" shouted another protector, trying to lift their spirits, even though uncertainty clearly inhabited the space between them.
The dreams became more vivid: they walked on scorched plains, witnessing the city of Sanctuary collapsing under the claws of a giant dragon. The rumble from the ruins filled the air, accompanied by the dragon's roar that shook their hearts. They watched rivers of blood flowing from the mountains, while the sky became a whirlpool of dragon eyes. Each protector felt parts of their bodies darkening—like there were wounds that could not be healed. "What is happening to us, Iris?" asked one protector with a trembling voice, staring into Iris's fearful eyes. Even the protective glyphs on their arms sometimes burned themselves, erasing their names one by one.
Some protectors went mad, attacking their own shadows, or burning charms and ancient books as if believing those objects invited disaster. "It's all our fault! We shouldn't have awakened them!" screamed one of them, his face filled with fear and regret. Others fled, hiding in caves or ruins, believing that darkness was their only protection.
Iris held Nobuzan's hand tightly. Each day felt longer, each night colder, as if time stretched to torture them. They began experiencing strange contractions—a sudden pain that pierced to the bone, as if something inside them wanted to escape. "Do you feel it, Nobuzan?" Iris asked in a barely audible voice, her eyes glistening with tears holding back the pain. Sometimes, blood dripped from their noses or ears, and no healing spell could stop the bleeding. "We have to find a way, Iris. Don't lose hope!" Nobuzan replied, tightening his grip on Iris's hand as if it could protect them from the encroaching darkness.
In her sleep, Iris dreamed of transforming into a dragon, surrounded by a sea of fire and the cries of babies that never ceased. She saw herself cradling two glowing spiral fetuses, but as she reached to embrace them, her body dissolved into black mist. Nobuzan dreamed of falling into an endless abyss, surrounded by whispers saying, "You are not a father; you are merely a sacrifice." In the darkness of his dream, he felt how empty and hollow the life he lived was; every second felt like a wound. That dark cloud sucked away all hope, making him feel alienated from the world. He screamed with all his might, but the sound drowned in the silence of the night, as if the world wanted to silence him forever.
When they woke up, they stared at each other without words. Every embrace now felt like a final farewell. They knew their time might only be counted in days—or hours. Iris felt her heart racing, creeping up her throat with fear. "What will happen to us?" she asked softly, her eyes searching for answers in Nobuzan's gaze. Nobuzan, pausing for a moment, took Iris's hand and held it tightly, as if wanting to convey that they would be together, no matter what happened. "As long as we are together," he said with a conviction that made Iris feel a little calmer, "we can get through this all."
At the defense headquarters, Joanna sat with her hands gripping Michael's relic. She looked at Gabriel, who stood in front of a world map now filled with cracks. Every strategy felt futile: the remaining angelic forces continued to dwindle, magical power decreased, and every effort to hold the leyline only worsened the cracks. "How can we survive?" Joanna asked, her voice almost a sigh, full of doubt. "We have to find a new way, but what I know is that this hope is dwindling," Gabriel replied, his expression tense. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the weight of the struggle filling his mind.
"We are fighting against something we cannot understand, Joanna. This is not just a battle of strength—this is a battle of meaning. The world itself wants to collapse," Gabriel said softly, pausing for a moment at the map that seemed to sing of destruction. An unimaginable threat felt like it was vibrating in the air. Joanna only nodded, her eyes filled with shadows of defeat. But in her heart, there was a small flame that had not gone out—she knew that if she gave up, everything would truly end. "I still believe in us," she said, her voice trembling—full of conviction yet stripped of despair. "If we can find a way to collaborate with the remaining powers, maybe we can turn back this fate."
The people of Sanctuary were increasingly downtrodden. The voice of Tiamat began to echo in the dreams of children: a melancholic song that woke them in fear. One by one, the babies born began to carry a blue spiral mark on their chests or backs. "What will happen to them?" hissed a mother, her voice choked by sobs. Mothers cried, fathers mourned their fate, and elders lost their words, lamenting the bright days that had gone.
Houses that once echoed with laughter were now filled with cries and sighs of despair. Outside the walls, forests and rivers began to change shape, as if the physical world itself bowed to the will of the ancient dragon. "We can't let this continue," shouted a young man with eyes full of anger. "We have to fight!" But his voice seemed to vanish, swallowed by the sorrow that enveloped them.
The priests tried to conduct healing rituals, but each ritual only worsened the symptoms—participants fainted, burned, or even vanished instantly. "We have tried everything!" shouted an elderly priest, gripping the edge of his robe tightly. They realized that the powers of the old world no longer applied here. In the silence, only the sound of heavy breaths and cries of pain accompanied them—a sign that hope was beginning to fade.
In the middle of the night, at the deepest center of the leyline, the rumble reached its peak. One by one, the ancient glyphs binding Tiamat began to break—one with a cracking sound, one with a burst of light, another with just a whisper. The cracks widened, opening a path to the depths where the ancient dragon awaited. Darkness recoiled, as if afraid of what was to come. At the end, a shadow stretched out, seemingly alive, vibrating with a power beyond imagination.
And as the last chain broke, the world trembled. The air became heavy, time seemed to stop. Everyone—from the strongest protectors to the babies in cradles—felt the presence of something much older than everything. The voice of Tiamat, soft yet clear, whispered in every mind: "The old world has ended. All that remains is regret and rebirth." That melody wrapped around the minds of every individual, evoking a mix of despair and fear. Hoping they were not part of this destruction, a soldier screamed, "We will not let you return!"
Yet, amid that courage, doubt lingered in his heart. Tiamat, with a terrifying power, slowly began its moment of resurrection.
The worlds of Sanctuary, Oda, and Gaia were now truly on the brink of destruction. No more safe places, no more old wonders to rely on. Only fear, uncertainty, and the waiting for something far more terrifying—the resurrection of Tiamat. In a distant place, the rumble grew closer, bringing with it the scent of uncertainty that could almost be felt by all beings. An old grandmother, sensing the lost peace, whispered a prayer to the sky, hoping for a miracle to come.