Sanctuary Plum Blossom no longer exists in its former glory. Its walls have turned to ash and dark red stones, every altar and plum garden reduced to rubble, leaving behind shadows of bodies sprawled out, as if their souls still hung in the air. Amidst the ruins, the remaining protectors of Oda gathered the bodies of their fallen comrades, covering the faces that Shigure could not save with pieces of bloodied robes, now nearly dry and reeking. The wind carried the scent of death mixed with burnt plum blossoms—a bitter aroma of a legend that failed to be rewritten, like her voice muffled in the silence of the night.
Shigure, her body riddled with wounds, was carried down the corridor beneath the altar, each movement seeming bound by an invisible weight. Akiko, the only remaining female protector who could still walk, held back tears as she looked at Shigure's bloodied and dusty face, longing for the moments when they laughed in the gentle embrace of blooming plum trees, far from the emptiness that surrounded them now.
"We must retreat, Shigure. Sanctuary has become a grave, but Oda still lives within Nobuzan," Akiko's voice trembled, reflecting the deep worry that gripped her soul.
Shigure nodded weakly, her light fading as if hope too dissolved into the void. "Don't let the enemy take her… no matter the price we must pay," she said in a voice barely audible, as if she were arranging her last breath to convey the remaining conviction.
Beneath the rubble, in a dark stone chamber, Nobuzan lay weakly in Akiko's arms. Her breath was heavy, her red eyes holding back pain that was not only from her wounds but also from contractions that came too early, each second feeling like it was caught between two worlds. The aura of magic around her felt threatening—Earth hunter glyphs infiltrated every crack in the walls, making the air vibrate with heat and magical pressure, as if warning of the tragedy that would follow.
On the other side of Gaia's underground, Iris held back her sobs. Her body was growing weaker, her belly hard, and every sound of footsteps above made her heart nearly stop. A heavy sound, like distant thunder, added to the panic that enveloped her dark space. The remaining protectors, Sabina and Luria, were nearly losing hope after hearing news of the paladins' deaths on the surface. Only Sheena's legacy spells held the walls of secrets from collapsing—for now. A cold wind blew, carrying a faint scent of hope that was almost extinguished.
"What if they force us out before the time is right, Sabina?" Iris asked, her voice hoarse and small. In that tone lay a deep fear, like a flash of lightning in the dark night.
"We will fight until death, Queen. If the time comes… let the world write your name not as a source of curse, but as a mother who chose to die rather than surrender."
Above, the Earth special forces—The Womb Reapers—moved like shadows without sound, carrying glyphfire scrolls and spells to hasten birth. With each step they took, the earth seemed to tremble, radiating an aura of dread. They knew time was the enemy. If Fitran and Nobuzan's children were born under the influence of their glyphs, they could likely be exterminated before the spiral and void truly awakened. The sound of hissing breaths, like a terrifying whisper, mingled with the tension in the air.
General Valen led the glyphfire line himself, his face cold, his loud voice shaking the sanctuary's sky: His voice echoed like thunder, signaling that time was 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 revealed a deep ambition, as if he were changing fate right before his eyes.
Glyphfire was thrown at every door and crack—blue flames that burned not only flesh but also souls. Each blaze carried spells that severed bloodlines, turning womb protections into disaster. Blue light flashed, painting terrifying shadows on the crumbling walls, as if awakening the fears buried within the souls of every protector and overseer of the womb. The cries of the protectors echoed faintly from within the earth, the voices of Iris and Nobuzan nearly drowned out by the magic that screamed the names of ancient, forgotten ones.
Time moved slowly in the underground. Iris whispered 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 embraced Iris, her tears falling onto the queen's forehead, creating a gentle trail that signified love and loss. In that embrace, they felt a rumble deep below, as if the earth was filled with the hopes and fears of all humanity churning.
"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 looked at the Queen with unwavering determination, though her heart trembled with panic. "One step at a time, we will face it together…" Her voice quivered, but there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
Beneath the altar of Oda, Nobuzan screamed as contractions grew more frequent. Akiko recited protective spells, trying to hold back the glyphfire that seeped through the floor, like a dangerous snake lurking in the dark. In every spell, she infused pain and determination, as if her voice blended 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 floated, calling the darkness to retreat. Crying out in pain, she struggled against the shadows that sought to haunt her mind,
"This child must live… not for a curse, but for a name that can choose its own fate."
As time dwindled, the world outside had already surrendered to the magic of hatred. The protectors trapped in the underground corridor chose 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 broke through the last door, igniting glyphs that could hasten birth, even if the mother's body was not ready—cruel and merciless. In that dim light, every screaming soul seemed to become part of an unavoidable symphony of suffering.
Joanna, from the sky of the ruins, witnessed the atrocities unfolding. Her angelic heart was torn—one side wanting to save, the other wanting to end the suffering. But she knew that if she intervened too quickly, the curse of the spiral could be unleashed earlier than predicted, like rice stalks cut before harvest time, harming the entire field.
She sent silent prayers to the mothers,
Amidst the panic and sorrow, a small hope flowed in every breath. "Hold on, even if the world hates you. I am here, at the boundary between light and curse."
Time marched toward a starless night—without hope, only the roar of breaths and the heartbeat of mothers trying to endure under the pressure of magic and human cruelty. In that painful silence, every heartbeat felt like a ringing bell, marking an unending struggle. The unwanted children of this world became the reason the world could not sleep that night.
Sabina looked into Iris's eyes, then at Luria, as if seeking strength from both, hoping for the remnants of courage that might exist within them. Their eyes spoke 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 embraced Nobuzan, who was nearly losing consciousness, feeling her warmth fading like a fire almost extinguished. Gently, she whispered, 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's hands write the final story of Oda."
In the midst of all that despair, the first cry of the baby was heard—not as hope, but as a warning that the world was not done cursing.
"Princess… when the time comes, I will choose to kill you myself rather than let the enemy's hands write the final story of Oda."
In the silence that enveloped the heart, the flames of battle trembled in the background, adding to the pain of the choices that had to be made. The rumbling voice of the heart felt deeper, like the sigh of the wind whispering among the ruins. In the midst of all that despair, the first cry of the baby was heard—not as hope, but as a warning that the world was not done cursing, not ready to accept.
The roar of glyphfire, screams and cries, spells and blood, became one symphony of suffering that night. In the suffocating dark atmosphere, Joanna descended into the ruins, closing the eyes of all who had fallen, whispering prayers that the children born that night, under the curse and wrath of the world, would still have one name—even if that name only lasted a moment under the stars that no longer wished to shine. The darkness of the night surrounded her, as if trying to swallow the remaining hope, yet she stood firm, yearning for the light that once was, hoping that a single point of hope could emerge from the deep void.