Dawn arrived with a deep red sky, as if blood had seeped into the clouds. There were no bird songs, no whisper of the wind—only the echo of a silent scream from thousands of souls who had lost hope. At that moment, the word "home" had lost its meaning. The sanctuary, once a center of light and protection, had now become a shadow of death that could not be dispelled. Among those shadows, Rinoa felt a weight in her chest, as if the world around her was gathering its last breath before disappearing. She remembered all that she had once called home, now just shards of bitter memories.
At midnight, the faint sound of warning bells echoed, swallowed by the fog and the cries of children. The protectors—both human, angels, and creatures from the Yamato clan and the Oda samurai—gathered in thin lines before the ruins of the main gate. Tension seeped into the air, making every breath heavy and filled with worry. Rinoa stood at the front, her face covered in dust and bloodstains that had not been cleaned. She felt as if time was slowing down, each second stretching out and demanding a decision she was not ready to make. "Should I go?" she thought, anxious about what she might leave behind.
People began to move in a great current, leaving tents, the ruins of homes, and all past memories. Each step felt like a betrayal of the old world, but the only other choice was death lurking behind every sound of dragons from below. As Rinoa stepped forward, she glanced back at the ruins, trying to remember the smiles of her friends, but only dark shadows greeted her. "This is not the end," she whispered to herself, trying to remind herself that hope was not entirely lost. In that uncertainty, she ignited a small flame of spirit that still remained within her.
Children bearing spiral marks on their skin were held tightly, sometimes avoided, sometimes accepted with tears. The mothers sang old songs, but the notes floated hollow, unable to soothe the fear that had become part of their blood. Amidst the heart-wrenching rhythm of nostalgia, some children stared blankly, as if understanding that their world would never be the same again.
Rinoa looked back. In the dim light, she could see the lines of angels with half-lost wings, protectors walking with limping steps, and old soldiers carrying the remnants of hope on their backs. "We must keep moving," she said, her voice hoarse, "Tiamat has torn the land of the Sanctuary—there is no longer a place to hold out here." The light in her eyes reflected determination, even as her heart fluttered with worry about the uncertain future.
Elsewhere, Mutsuyori led a small group of protectors and people toward a secret path known only to the Oda samurai. With illusion magic, she concealed their tracks, creating branches of hiding places in a false dimension—forest paths, caves in the mountains, even occasionally bringing them into pockets of time that made the night feel ten times longer. Each step they took echoed in the darkness, accompanied by the sighs and whispers of fear from those led by Mutsuyori.
However, Mutsuyori's magic continued to be tested. Each time Tiamat roared from below, the layers of illusion shook—shadows of a blood-crowned dragon pierced the fog, and its whispers guided hunters and monsters to chase the refugees. Mutsuyori held back the pain in her chest, aware that each spell only delayed the inevitable. In moments of silence, she wondered if hope could remain alive among the shadows of darkness that enveloped them, or if it was time for them to fight against fate.
Rinoa and Nobuzan, along with their growing fetus filled with anxiety, walked in an embrace of fear and anticipation. Rinoa occasionally held her belly, trying to reassure herself that she still had a reason to live. "Maybe this will all end," she whispered, though her heart refused to believe it. Nobuzan, who was growing thinner and paler, gripped his sword with trembling hands—promising himself that no matter what happened, he would protect the small family that had never truly been his. In the silent moments between their steps, he felt his heartbeat resonate, as if reminding him that every second was a struggle that was becoming deeper.
Another disaster came: a rapidly spreading infectious disease among the refugees, food ran out, and water was contaminated by blood and Tiamat's magic fog. As the hourglass of the night drew closer, fear crept into everyone, creating an aura of despair that could almost be cut. Each night, the remaining numbers dwindled, and among them, whispers could be heard: "This is punishment. This is rejection from the world. This is the beginning of the age of dragons…" The voice bounced around in Rinoa's mind, disturbing the peace she tried to create. She remembered the beautiful moments before all this darkness enveloped them.
Among the crowd, a silver-haired mother held her spiral-marked baby, screaming as the child suddenly stopped crying, its eyes wide open staring at the sky. "No, no, this cannot happen," she cried, her voice filled with anxiety. Every breath felt heavy, as if the world around her had thinned. On the other side, an old father submerged himself in a small river, unable to bear seeing his wife and children turn into strangers under the pressure of the spiral curse. The water flowed swiftly, carrying away the remaining hope, while his mind spun, trapped in the shadows of the past filled with love.
The protectors began to quarrel. Some accused Rinoa of being too slow to make decisions, others blamed Iris as the source of all disasters, and many believed the angels had abandoned humanity. Their voices rose, creating a crowd filled with tension; faces that once united in struggle were now divided by frustration and uncertainty. Gabriel, who was usually calm, began to unleash his anger, arguing fiercely with the former paladins and young angels who had lost their way.
In a dark cave on the outskirts of the mountains, Rinoa and Mutsuyori sat together. Small candles flickered around them, illuminating the weary faces of the refugees, but their light was not enough to dispel the shadows of fear hanging in the air. Every second felt heavy, as if time crawled in the uncertainty that enveloped them.
"I'm not sure how long we can hold on, Mutsuyori," Rinoa whispered, her eyes glistening, imagining the sorrow that might befall them. She could not contain the anxiety that enveloped her mind, remembering all that had been lost.
Mutsuyori looked down, "My magic is starting to weaken, Rinoa. Tiamat always finds a gap—and is getting closer to Iris and Nobuzan. I… I feel that every hiding place is a falsehood that delays death." She felt the cold stone beneath her, sensing the dark vibrations that enveloped their hope, as if the world outside that cave was a grave for dreams.
Rinoa grasped Mutsuyori's hand, "We have no choice but to keep trying. We are the remnants of the old world that must give time for the new to be born—whatever form it may take later." The heartbeat within her drowned out the noise from outside, and she gazed deeply into Mutsuyori's eyes, searching for hope in the courage that remained between them.
Mutsuyori stared at the candle flame, "If this world must perish, I want at least Iris and Nobuzan, and their fetus, to feel the day when the sun truly rises again." She longed for the days when courage and love could change fate. In her heart, that small hope still existed, though dim.
Rinoa turned to the crowd. She saw Iris cradling her belly, gently patting as if to soothe the fetus that felt the tension in the air. Nobuzan gazed outside the cave with weary eyes, restless like a bird trapped in a cage. The angels sat cross-legged in the corner, praying in a language that now sounded foreign even to themselves, and Rinoa felt a glimmer of despair enveloping them, as if no hope remained.
Outside, strange sounds shook the ground, breaking the silence with a terrifying precision. Tiamat's monsters began to creep into the refugee paths—strange creatures, a blend of snakes, birds, and wolves, with spiral eyes and dark scales. Rinoa's breath caught for a moment, each second passing felt slower as the threat approached. Gabriel and the angels took action, releasing arrows of light and bursts of holy fire, but their strength was waning. The magic was no longer consistent: sometimes bouncing, sometimes disappearing before reaching its target. In her heart, Rinoa wondered if that power would be enough to protect them or just an illusion.
Some protectors began to betray. They opened paths for Tiamat in exchange for promises of safety for their families—but it always ended in vain. Each betrayal felt like a wound to their hearts, inflicting pain that further wounded their spirit to survive. Betrayal after betrayal thinned the lines of refugees. Despair loomed, and Rinoa felt her eyes begin to well up, trying to hold back the tears that wanted to fall, hoping they would not all fall into the endless darkness.
As dawn approached, when they reached the mouth of the valley guarded by Mutsuyori, Rinoa stood before all that remained. She raised her hands, calling upon Michael's power. Her wings burned with blue fire, and her voice echoed:
"I know this world is rejecting us. Yet the blood of the spiral nature still flows within us all. As long as we walk together, Tiamat will not truly win!"
Within Rinoa, the images of all those who had been lost flashed, weighing heavily on her shoulders. She felt the weight of hope and fear unite in her chest. Some faces lifted, tears fell. They knew they might die tomorrow. But as long as there were those who endured, they would continue to walk, fighting against the fate of the ancient dragon.
A young man in the front line, his wounded eyes filled with anxiety, whispered, "Rinoa, will we really survive?" The voice of doubt made her take a deep breath, trying to answer with a confidence she herself did not fully feel.
Behind them, the sky darkened. Tiamat's fog thickened. Yet amidst fear and suffering, the humans and angels of the Sanctuary continued to move forward—toward a day when the old world would vanish, and the new would be born, whether as a blessing or an eternal curse. Distant screams reminded them of the approaching danger, each step bringing multiplied anxiety. Rinoa grasped the hand of one of the refugees, offering an unspoken promise that they would not be alone in this struggle.