The world awakens in a suffocating silence, as if time itself has paused for a moment to witness a tragedy rewritten by the hands of an ancient dragon. The sky above the Sanctuary—and the entire world—is filled with a dark red hue. No stars remain, no moon. Only heavy clouds, roiling with gusts of cold wind, cover the horizon with shadows of death. The sound of the howling wind, like the roar of a thunderous creature, spreads through the empty space, as if announcing that something terrible is about to happen.
When dawn arrives, it brings not light, but rain. Not water, but blood. Dark red drops fall from the sky, one by one, staining the roofs of ruins, the withered leaves, and even the surface of the river that is beginning to turn black. Like slowly erasing the traces of life, each drop of blood is an echo of the past—sins, memories, vengeance, and laments that humanity has long hidden. The sharp sound of blood splattering against the surface is a sad, uncertain song, singing a tale that can never be erased from memory.
In every home, in every corner of the city that still stands, people stare at this rain in fear. Children cry silently, mothers hold them with trembling bodies, and the remaining men can only bow their heads—realizing that they are utterly powerless before the will of Tiamat. Amidst the shattered hearts, occasionally a breath of despair hisses, mingling with the roar of the rain that makes my chest feel tight. One child whispers, "Mother, why is this happening?" and every delayed answer hangs in the air, never able to be spoken.
Not only blood falls to the earth, but also the souls of the past—spirits of protectors, warriors, and children who once sacrificed everything for the Sanctuary. In the rain of blood, they reveal themselves; formless figures, only shadows that weep, wail, and crawl along the walls. Their cries transcend time and space, awakening a deep longing, as if those voices are calling the survivors not to forget them. The darkness grows thicker, enveloping every corner, as if the spirits want to remind of the painful truth and to remember the beautiful moments before it all perished.
Some spirits seek their loved ones, trying to touch, embrace, or merely whisper late apologies. Among the deep sorrow, one voice echoes louder than the others, calling a lost name with hope, wishing that the love that once existed could erase all suffering. Yet most wander aimlessly, drowning in an unresolved guilt. The voices of ghosts and melancholic whispers merge with the sound of the wind, creating an inescapable symphony of sorrow.
Gabriel, who still endures among the ruins, kneels beneath the rain of blood. He feels the coldness of the wet earth, a mixture of tears and blood flowing between his fingers. His wings are tattered, one side already gone, while his eyes have lost their heavenly light. He remembers all that he has sacrificed—all that he could never save, the faces that haunt him in nightmares, demanding justice in this dark world. "Our sins come back to demand a price," he whispers to the silent world, his voice like a coil of wind surging through the ruins, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.
Mitsuyori Aketsu, with a body full of wounds and fading illusion magic, stands before the secret altar where Iris and Nobuzan lie. She gazes at the rain of blood seeping through the roof, painting the altar with colors of sorrow, each drop seeming like a lost story. Her breath is ragged, inhaling the damp scent of earth carried by the wind, yet she still casts protective spells, struggling to hold back the tide of Tiamat's illusions that continuously seek the whereabouts of the two mothers. She feels the wave of Tiamat's power, as if the world trembles beneath its might, adding to the tension she feels.
Every faint sound of a baby's cry heard from the altar is hope—and every roar of Tiamat in the distance is an unending threat. The shadow of a possible resurrection that could destroy everything she loves makes her heart race, yet within her, she harbors the determination to protect what remains.
Amidst the ruins of the Sanctuary, Joanna lies weak. Her body is severely injured, part of it has turned into a faint light. Her angelic wings are no longer perfect—only half still burns. Yet in her eyes, there is still determination, even though she knows her strength is nearly gone. The gust of wind carries the scent of damp earth and blood, creating an intimidating atmosphere. She groans softly, feeling each heartbeat resonate with deep pain.
The spirit of Michael echoes within her, whispering resilience. But for the first time, Joanna feels truly alone—without a protector, without family, armed only with a promise to those who have gone. As shadows of the past wander in her mind, she imagines Sheena's smile and Fitran's strength that she could always rely on. That memory warms her for a moment, until her enemies return to invade her thoughts.
When the rain of blood touches her skin, she feels the memories of Sheena, Fitran, and the ancestors flow like a nightmare. She holds back tears, then stands, gazing at the sky with a face full of wounds. There are moments of silence amidst the roar of the rain, as the sky seems to ask her, "What will you do next?" Joanna bites her lip, feeling its bitterness, and resolves not to let this suffering be in vain.
"If this is the price of our blood—then I will pay it to the last drop. As long as one more life can be born from all this destruction." Her voice trembles with emotion, echoing among the silent ruins, as if the sky strengthens her resolve with every drop of rain that falls.
The refugees at the border of the forest and mountains shiver under makeshift roofs. The rain of blood cannot be avoided. Some try to cover themselves with cloth, animal skins, or leaves. But the blood seeps through everything, causing them to have nightmares every time they sleep. The sounds of sighs and whispers of fear envelop the night, as if guiding every soul toward darkness. In the distance, a mother's scream tears through the tranquility, adding to the anxious rumble in their minds.
Babies cry for no reason, some women suddenly feel pain in their bellies—a sign that spirals begin to grow on their children's skin. In the corners of shabby tents, the sounds of crying create a sad rhythm, as if adding to the heaviness of the atmosphere. The shamans and healers pray with ancient mantras, hoping the strength of the world tree's roots can still protect them from misfortune. In the silence, the scent of damp earth and sweat mingles, creating an unbearable sense of anxiety.
But the power of the world tree itself begins to fade. The people start to feel despair becoming real, slowly turning into apathy. Some are stunned, staring at the gray sky with unblinking eyes, as if waiting for an answer from the vanished gods. Some among them dare to approach the ruins of the Sanctuary, praying among the dead, hoping a miracle will descend from the sky, but what comes is only the rain of blood. Each drop of blood that falls to the ground feels like the shame that remains from the despair flooding their souls.
From the muddy ground and the crimson river, new monsters begin to emerge—creatures without clear forms, sometimes horned, sometimes scaled, with red eyes and bloodthirsty fangs. Their rumbling sounds are like thunder slicing through the silence of the night, creating a fear that freezes blood. They are the children of Tiamat—embodiments of nightmares that have now become real. A cold wind blows, carrying the foul scent from these creatures, making hearts race even faster.
Some of the last protectors try to kill them, but every monster that dies turns into black mist, merging back into Tiamat's body in the sky. The screams of fallen protectors resonate, echoing among the ruins, adding to the chilling tension. Others hunt the refugees, devouring their souls to strengthen the will of the dragon. In panic, tears flow down the faces of mothers struggling to protect their children, as if the world they knew is drifting further away.
Iris and Nobuzan, though weak, hold hands over their wombs. The protective magic still endures thanks to Mitsuyori's spell, but every second feels like a gamble between life and death. The sound of the terrifying wind mingles with the pounding of their hearts, as if reminding them that time is running out.
Iris murmurs Fitran's name, "I beg you… watch over us. Don't let that dragon take our last hope." Tears flow, mixing with blood and faint spiral light. In the chaos, there seems to be a gentle breeze reminding her of the happy times before all this happened—the smile of Fitran, the laughter of children, the aroma of warm evening meals. She misses every moment, fighting with all her strength to revive the memories that could become her spirit.
Nobuzan, her face pale and full of wounds, can only stroke Iris's hair, whispering a promise that is almost broken: "We will survive. These children will be born." Her hope, though thin as a thread, cannot be extinguished. She feels the warmth of Iris's palm, and for a moment, her pain is diverted. Perhaps that hope can serve as a shield against the terror lurking outside.
They know that if Tiamat finds them, everything will end. The shadow of the dragon, dark and dominating the sky, feels like a curse that never lifts; every movement and breath makes the ground tremble, radiating an unspoken fear.
Gabriel, nearly losing consciousness, uses the last of his strength to form a small barrier around the altar. In the thick fog, he tries to neutralize the threatening rumbling sounds from outside, merging with the rhythm of his weak heartbeat. Mitsuyori kneels beside him, blood flowing from her temple, yet she continues to recite protective spells. Every word spoken feels like a mantra of life, reviving the strength that is almost gone.
"If I must die today, let me die for something worthy," Mitsuyori murmurs, holding back the burning pain in her chest. In her mind, she envisions the world out there—a world free from the dragon's intimidation, a place where children can play without fear, a place where hope can be nurtured again. Her mother once said that sacrifice is the purest form of love, and for a moment, she feels that all of this is worth it.
Joanna, though her body can barely stand, crawls to the altar, placing herself between the red sky and the mothers struggling to give birth to hope. She whispers Michael's fire mantra, holding back the attacks of monsters and Tiamat's fog, even as her body is nearly spent. In every breath, she feels a fire igniting—not just elemental fire, but also from an indomitable spirit. A spirit that seems to run in rhythm with the mana flowing through her, transforming all pain into newfound strength.
The rain of blood intensifies. Some newborn babies cry loudly, their bodies glowing with faint spirals. Their cries are like a mournful melody in the darkness, creating a painful contrast in the heart. The spirits of the past dance in the air, surrounding the altar, and the world seems to hold its breath. The aroma of metal and damp earth mixes in the air, weighing down the atmosphere. Each drop of rain feels like remnants of a dark history, creating a panorama of despair.
At its peak, the voice of the dragon Tiamat echoes throughout the land, demanding blood, demanding destruction. Its voice shakes the earth, as if awakening every fiber of the soul. Joanna gazes at the sky, challenging the thousands of eyes behind the clouds. She can feel her heartbeat resonating in sync with the rhythm of courage thundering in her chest. In the threatening silence, she knows the final battle is about to begin—and only a miracle can save the world from emptiness. As the wind gently trembles, she lifts her head higher, savoring every moment of tension, ready to face whatever comes with a hope that burns within her.