The night sky transformed into a dark pool that no longer reflected the stars. At the pinnacle of the sky, the moon—once a symbol of hope for those who endured—turned into an absolute shadow, completely black, emitting faint blue-purple flashes from behind the clouds. This phenomenon was felt not only in Sanctuary but also across the lands of Gaia, Oda, and even the corners of Earth. "Black Moon," whispered the elders, "is a sign of destruction—a sign that the ancient dragon, Tiamat, has opened another door."
The night felt much longer than before. There was no dawn, no sound of crickets, only the echo of the wind carrying the scent of iron and blood. In the midst of that darkness, Joanna stood alone at the edge of a cliff, her eyes fixed on the heavy black moon hanging in the sky. Her body felt heavier, her once-flaming wings now felt as if they were burning from within. Michael's magic inside her rebelled—demanding the peak of power, yet at the same time demanding a price that no one could have imagined.
"What am I supposed to do?" she murmured, her voice drowned in the darkness of the night. A mix of emotions pressed against her chest; it was as if she could hear invisible whispers reminding her of the responsibilities she had to bear. Memories of her training with Michael flashed through her mind, how they used to joke about being heroes and defeating monsters. But now, darkness had come, and she was almost unprepared.
In the distance, the wails and cries of the spiral children could be heard faintly. They, the new generation born with the spiral mark on their bodies, had become the center of both fear and hope. Some began to mumble in their sleep, calling out names unknown, dreaming of great dragons and a collapsing world. Joanna felt a bitterness on her tongue as she thought of them—could she protect these children? Could hope still grow amidst the shadows of destruction? She knew that if no one dared to step forward, everything would end tragically.
"I cannot let this happen," she whispered, standing taller as if courage began to seep into her soul. She absorbed the night and all the fears that pressed upon her, then promised herself, "I will fight. I will find a way. For them."
Gabriel and the other angels sat cross-legged around Joanna. One by one, their wings began to turn black, some even started to fall, leaving gaping wounds on their backs. The atmosphere was silent, wrapped in anxiety, as if every heartbeat was holding onto hope that was fading. Some angels appeared with vacant stares, as if they had lost their way, shaking their heads when they saw the shadows haunting them. Some angels began to show signs of madness: talking to shadows, eating dust, or crying silently, producing a soundless cry that pierced Joanna's heart.
Every night, more lost their wings or chose to hide in caves, unable to face the sky that now offered no forgiveness. "So many have been lost. What more can we do?" asked a young angel with a hoarse voice, full of resignation. Joanna felt a pain in her chest, a deep sorrow that pierced her, and she knew that all of it was a burden she had to bear. The angels, who once symbolized strength and immortality, had now become fragile beings, losing their heavenly essence. Joanna felt empathy and grief weighing down on her—she knew this was the price of Fitran's and Michael's blood flowing within her, and also the price of all the sins that had never been atoned.
Gabriel, with a pale face and red eyes, approached Joanna. "You will soon be the only one who can endure, Joanna," he said softly, his voice trembling like dry leaves blown by the wind. A deep uncertainty washed over him as he looked at the face that had become a shield and guide for several angels. "Michael is dead. You are the last successor. I... I am not sure if I will be able to stand again tomorrow morning." In his heart, Gabriel struggled against the fear and the heavy weight gnawing at his soul.
Joanna grasped Gabriel's hand tightly, feeling the cold and weakness enveloping his palm. "I will not let this world perish in vain. We have lost too much to give up on this night." Her voice soared, trying to replace uncertainty with conviction. Were her words enough to strengthen them? She hoped that even in darkness, hope could still endure.
Gabriel smiled faintly, though the light in his eyes began to fade. "I will hold on as long as you keep fighting." There was an agreement between them, an unspoken promise that intertwined in the tension of the night. In that silence, they exchanged glances for a moment, borrowing strength from one another. Was that enough to face the dark night? That question hung in the air, filling the space between them with a fragile yet irreplaceable sense of hope.
In the unending silence of the night, Joanna's body began to undergo strange changes. In every crack of her skin, a faint blue-purple light glowed, forming spiral patterns and ancient sigils of Michael. Her wings grew larger, their feathers changing from white to dark blue, their tips burned by divine fire. However, her face became more human, her eyes wet with tears of sorrow, reflecting all that had been lost, her body filled with small wounds that would not heal—like bearing the burden of all the Sanctuary's people on her back. She could feel each wound, like a constant reminder of the responsibility she was forced to bear.
She heard voices in her mind—not just Michael's voice, but also the whispers of Fitran, Sheena, and ancestors whose names had been forgotten. Their voices harmonized clearly, creating a symphony filled with hope and fear: "You are the bridge between two worlds. You must choose what will be born from this destruction—a curse, or a new possibility?" Their urging made Joanna pause for a moment; in the uncertainty, she felt a heavy compulsion in her heart. "Am I ready to make this decision?" she thought, her heart trembling with doubt.
Every night, Joanna dreamed of a black spiral swallowing the world. Inside that spiral, she saw Tiamat's face—a woman crowned with shards of the world, crying blood, gazing at her with seven-colored eyes. As if Tiamat could feel her, they shared pain and burden. In that dream, Tiamat whispered, "If you let me be reborn, you will lose everything. But if you resist, this world may vanish." Joanna could feel every word of Tiamat piercing her heart, igniting a drive to fight even though that choice haunted her dreams. Hoping, she wanted to believe that there was still a way to save the world without losing herself.
Joanna awoke in a cold sweat, her breath quickening. She gasped, her mind filled with images of Tiamat and those terrifying words. "Is there no other way?" her heart asked, a mix of hope and despair. She knew her time to choose was drawing near. In her deep reflection, her fingers formed a fist; she was determined to stand, not just for herself, but for everyone who relied on her. A surge of spirit began to grow within her, feeling like a small flame in the darkness—a hope to fight. She reached for her now larger wings, feeling the power flowing through her, as if the world awaited her to rise.
Meanwhile, in the refugee camp, the remaining protectors were arguing fiercely. Their voices echoed, reflecting the boiling tension. "You cannot lead all of this, Joanna!" shouted one protector who was beginning to lose hope. "You are just an ordinary human in the face of a power we cannot fight!"
Some began to question Joanna's leadership and that of the angels. They felt trapped in an endless dilemma. Some wanted a sacrificial ritual to plead for forgiveness from the dragon, while others began to worship Tiamat, seeing her as the "goddess of new birth" who would lead the world out of old suffering. "Maybe we should act before it's too late!" said another, his eyes shining with uncertainty and fear.
Mitsuyori, still wounded from the illusion magic and Tiamat's monster attack, led the loyal protectors to guard Iris and Nobuzan. "We cannot give up," she said firmly, trying to suppress the pain coursing through her body. She knew that Tiamat's followers were beginning to lurk, looking for opportunities to offer the spiral fetuses as sacrifices to the dragon. "We must protect them, no matter what happens. They are our hope," she added, her voice hoarse but full of determination.
Iris, increasingly plagued by contractions and nightmares, locked herself away with Nobuzan. In the darkness of the tent, she whispered, "I don't know how much longer I can hold on, Nobuzan. Every time I close my eyes, I see them... those who want to replace us." They only dared to come out when Joanna or Mitsuyori arrived, feeling their presence like a light that dispelled the dark shadows. Outside, whispers and slanders grew stronger: "Iris is the cause of all this disaster. Her fetus brings destruction." Yet some still worshipped her as the only hope for a new birth, creating a continuous tension between hope and the pressure of fear.
Throughout the refugee camp, nightmares became a new epidemic. The spiral children dreamed of a world sinking, rivers of blood, and trees of the world withering. In the darkness of the night, every scream of theirs seemed to awaken echoes of fear haunting the parents. Their parents woke up with panic screams, finding their children growing thinner, their eyes sometimes shining blue-purple in the dark, as if containing hope that was fading.
Some tied their children with red threads, a narrow hope, seeking protection in inherited myths. "This thread will keep you safe, my child," cried a mother while stroking her child's hair, her eyes glistening but full of determination. Others were willing to sacrifice themselves to protect the spiral offspring, hiding their pain in their hearts. But the curse was already too strong. Each remaining soul now lived in two worlds—the real world that was slowly collapsing, and the nightmare world that became increasingly real every night. In their minds, they often pictured children playing, laughing in a once-beautiful meadow, as a reminder of the happy times that had long vanished.
When the night came again, and there was still no sign of dawn, Joanna stood in the midst of the ruins, raising her hands to the sky. She was trapped in thought, "Is all of this in vain? Will I fail?" but her determination could not fade. She called upon all of Michael's power, channeling divine fire into the ground, creating the last protective circle around the refugee camp. A sense of despair began to recede as she felt the vibrations of power within her, as if that energy was hope that had not yet completely extinguished.
"Those of you who are still alive, listen to me," she cried, her voice echoing far beyond the meadow. "We have lost too much to give up here. I swear, as long as I am still standing, Tiamat will not claim our souls without a final fight." Her passionate shout gave encouragement to the protectors who now stood with her, though in their gazes lay hidden doubts. Some protectors and angels raised their weapons, holding back tears, struggling against the fear that enveloped their hearts. In the absolute darkness, Joanna's voice became the only light left, flowing hope for those who still endured, strengthening them to unite against the encroaching darkness.
And at the pinnacle of the sky, the black moon watched them, expressionless, merciless—becoming a silent witness to the final battle between hope and destruction that was just a step away. The cold wind whispered softly, as if conveying the unspoken messages from the souls fighting. In those tense moments, Hannah, standing beside Joanna, grasped her friend's arm tightly, as if afraid of the uncertainty awaiting them. "Joanna, we cannot give up now," she breathed with a trembling tone, reflecting the clear uncertainty within her.
Joanna turned, her eyes shining like embers that refused to extinguish. "I know, Han. But how can we fight something that seems destined?" That question hung in the air, vibrating with turmoil. They both understood—behind the fiery spirit, there was creeping fear, threatening to destroy the last remaining hope.
On the other side, Rael, a protector who had fought for a long time, took a deep breath. "We are the hope for those who are lost," he said, his voice firm even though his heart wrestled with doubt. "If we do not fight, who else will?" His fingers gripping the sword trembled, struggling to remain calm amidst the noise of tension surrounding them. All gazes turned to the black moon watching over them, as if waiting for the right moment to deliver judgment. Every passing second felt like a burden growing heavier, testing their endurance. In the suffocating silence, all present knew—this struggle was the only path to freedom, even though the chances of winning felt slim. They had to fight, not just for themselves, but for every soul that had fallen victim to the merciless dark power.