Soil of Thirtos had not yet had a chance to breathe. The sky was still red—not the red of dawn, but the red of wounds, like the skin of reality burning from within. The roots of the Genesis tree were slowly drying, spreading the stinging aroma of burnt wood. The protective spiral of Seraphine had vanished into the air. And the air around the altar began to vibrate, as if gasping to hold something too large for this world to bear. It was as if a heavy gust of wind carried whispers of sorrow, creating a sense of anxiety that enveloped the soul. Every second felt oppressive, and cold sweat began to trickle down their foreheads.

  In the distant black sea, Tiamat—who had never truly revealed her true face—rose from the abyss of the world. The waves roared, as if angry, breaking the silence; the flapping wind sent chills down their spines. Four pairs of blue eyes shone above the waves, their light sparkling like jewels in the night. Six necks towered like the towers of the world, and from each of her jaws, foreign voices emerged—not language, not magic, but raw concepts that tore through space. In the sight, there was a mix of fear and awe, making every heart beat faster, every breath heavy in their lungs.

  Fitran opened his eyes. He had just managed to sit up, supported by Joanna at the altar. However, what he witnessed in the distance made his heart stop for a moment.

  The sky began to tear.

  Like a giant glass struck by a giant hammer, the sky above the horizon split apart. From the gap emerged veins of light.

  Fitran opened his eyes in panic. He had just managed to sit up, supported by Joanna at the altar surrounded by the dim light of candles. However, what he witnessed in the distance made his heart stop for a moment, fear enveloping his body.

  The sky began to tear, creating a sound that resembled a scream.

  Like a giant glass struck by a giant hammer, the sky above the horizon split with a rumbling sound. From the gap emerged veins of black light, splitting the sky and the earth, casting a terrifying shadow on Fitran's face. Inverted colors appeared in the sky, as if reality itself was trying to rebel. The laws of gravity began to be disturbed; rocks started to float in unnatural movements, the sea water spiraled upward, and screams emerged… from a direction that had no mouth, piercing through the suffocating silence.

  “D-d-world… is breaking,” whispered Rinoa from behind the altar, her wide eyes filled with fear showing how the world around her began to collapse. Her trembling hands gripped the altar cushion, as if that object could save her from the void.

  Tiamat opened one of her wide mouths, as if challenging the universe itself. A dark ball of energy—not fire, not light, but a crack of meaning—hurtled toward the land, with a glimmer of black light creating vibrations in the air, as if an invisible sound passed through every pore of the earth. The fear in Fitran's heart deepened, sending a cold wave down his spine.

  “Fracture: Worlds Undone.”

  The attack did not explode anything. It erased, without dramatic effects, like ink wiped from paper. The land struck by the attack became a blank white—silent, timeless, colorless; like a piece of the world that had never been created, evoking a profound sense of loss in every soul witnessing it.

  One side of Thirtos—including a settlement—vanished in an instant, enveloping everything in a chilling silence, as if even a single breath had stopped. The shadows of the houses and the people who once lived there disappeared without a trace, leaving behind memories that were completely absent.

  Fitran stood in despair. “Joanna! Reality is being torn apart! Use your magic—now!” Fitran's eyes widened as if pleading for help, while a current of tension flowed in his voice.

  Joanna trembled, her body shaking not only from the cold but from the fear that enveloped every thought. The world around her no longer made logical sense. The sorcerers began to lose their way; some even started speaking in foreign languages with pressures they could not control, or fell completely silent, as if their existence had been cut off, pulled into a terrifying cosmic chaos, revealing their deep inner struggles.

  Time was no longer linear. Some parts of the city advanced faster, while others regressed. A child was seen growing up in five seconds, then disappearing into a fetus, then light. Droplets of light flowed like waterfalls, creating shimmering circles in the dark air pressed by panic. The rumbling sounds of the city’s ruins felt deep in Joanna's chest, creating an uncomfortable vibration. Fear and hope intertwined, gripping the heart tightly.

  Joanna knelt, pressing her hands against the remaining roots of Genesis. The roots, wet and golden, swelled like the poison of life gripping the earth. She closed her eyes, trying to center her thoughts amidst the chaos. Within her, the voices of Seraphine, the voice of Sheena, the voice of the world echoed: “Your task is not to unite the future and the past, Joanna. But to make both willing to stay.” Each word felt like an electric current, stinging her skin, penetrating her tumultuous thoughts.

  With a choked breath, Joanna shouted, “Spiral Weave: Chrono Mend!” Her voice, filled with determination despite trembling, echoed against the emptiness, breaking the biting silence. From her body, spirals of time exploded in all directions, creating patterns of light that sparkled like newly born stars. They were not just light, but living threads of existence. Each one moved toward the parts of the city that were beginning to crumble, starting to fade, filling the gaps with hope. She wove space, gently intertwining, as if avoiding the broken threads. She patched time, trying to save every lost second. She reassembled existence, feeling the burning pressure in her heart.

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  But for every spiral she wove, a part of her slipped away. Her heartbeat began to falter, beating erratically. Her pupils blinked rapidly, as if seeing thousands of versions of the world simultaneously, creating a blurred effect that enveloped her vision. Her ears heard Sheena's voice on one side, and Rinoa's voice as a child on the other, reminding her of moments of safety and happiness that now felt distant and unreachable.

  Fitran held her body, nervously biting his lower lip. His expression was a mix of worry and determination. “Joanna, stop. Your body—you’re not ready!” He stepped forward, trying to hold her arm, feeling the vibrations of doubt and the awakening desire to fight. The surroundings began to tremble, as if adjusting to the uncertain journey of time. A chill wind made Joanna's hair stand on end, a warning of the danger approaching, intensifying her foreboding of what was to come next.

  Joanna looked at her father with glistening eyes, as if the world around her had vanished. Red liquid filled her cheeks, not just blood but a symbol of the struggle and helplessness that lay buried within. “If I don’t stitch this tear… then this world will become a tattered cloth, and we will all fall into an unnamed abyss.” Her voice trembled, reflecting the tension surrounding the events.

  The spiral light continued to radiate, piercing through the deep darkness. The shimmering effect of the light added beauty while strengthening the aura of sadness within Joanna's heart. Each missing piece seemed to respond to her magical call. The half-gone houses slowly began to reform, their faded colors now starting to stand out again under the light. The forces that had vanished from time reappeared, though some looked unfamiliar in their new positions. A golem appeared half-formed, then whole, standing with terrifying strength, while the cold wind blew, adding to the anxiety that hung in the air.

  But Tiamat had not stopped. Her other necks unleashed a second spell—Gravity Collapse—a dark mass appeared in the sky, vibrating with unsettling energy. The atmosphere around her immediately felt heavier, as if the world was under the control of unimaginable forces. Clouds, dust, even some of the roots of Genesis began to rise, struggling against the increasingly burning pull. Joanna felt a burning fear within her, pushing her to fight even though everything felt futile.

  Rinoa, from the altar, wielded her magic with strength and determination. She prayed in silence, her body trembling lightly as if resonating with the vibrations surrounding the altar: “Song of Anchor!” The melodic voice soared high, spreading to every corner of the broken sky, embedding the magic of sound into the foundations of the earth, ensuring that Joanna's magical field would not be lifted. Amidst the chorus of beating hearts, Rinoa could feel the pride mixed with sadness, like two sides of an inseparable coin.

  However, Joanna's body was nearly shattered from within. The sound of time flowed in her blood, birthing chaos: children crying in the future, Sheena's voice dying in the past, and Fitran shouting in the present. All overlapped, creating a symphony of sorrow that ran deep. Each note carried buried feelings that bit, making her feel torn apart.

  Fitran embraced her from behind, the warmth of his body providing comfort amidst Joanna's panic. “You don’t have to stitch everything alone…” his gentle words seemed to try to calm the storm raging within Joanna, but there was uncertainty in his gaze.

  Joanna cried, her tears flowing freely, a mix of pain and hope. The spirals in her body began to shatter into shards of light, glowing beautifully yet depicting the damage that loomed over her. But she held on, fighting against the wave that wanted to drown her.

  “No… I am the spiral that embraces the wound. This is my duty. Spiral… is not a perfect line. It is a wound that refuses to disappear.” Her voice now full of assertion, her round eyes gazed deep into the darkness, trying to find the light that might still exist. Desperation and strength united, creating an aura that was hard to deny.

  In one final explosion of light, Chrono Mend was completed. A bright, greenish-white light radiated and enveloped everything around, creating the illusion that the world was being reborn, even though traces of wounds still lingered.

  Reality stabilized. The torn sky slowly began to close again, though not perfectly—each blend of color showed the emptiness and hope intertwined. The land returned to its normal form, but every step taken felt vibrating, as if holding the weight of the journey through time. Time resumed its linear flow, with the rustling of bushes and the crashing of waves in the distance. Most of Thirtos was saved, but the coastline was no longer the same—the crashing waves struck with a different tone, they knew, the world would never be the same.

  Joanna fell into Fitran's embrace. Not unconscious, not dead—but half of her now lived between times. She felt the cold touch her skin, and there was a gentle vibration as she began to sense the flow of emotions that her consciousness could not grasp. She did not respond to the world normally; her wet eyes signaled a battle between hope and pain, like a tear in the endless night sky.

  Rinoa embraced her from the other side. “We are still with you, Jo… still together…” Her voice was soft, yet there was a longing woven between her words, conveyed through her gentle hand movements—as if trying to erase the shadows of fear that surrounded Joanna.

  In the distance, Tiamat's voice faded, echoing as if held back by a greater power. She returned to the sea, while hundreds of small Avatars began to retreat behind the dark and terrifying abyss. They appeared horrified in the silence, their faces reflecting uncertainty and loss.

  Tiamat had not been defeated. She had merely retreated… to let the torn reality gaze upon its own wounds, with each wave returning carrying dust and fragments from the chaos that had passed.

  And Thirtos, now no longer an ordinary city. It was a patchwork mended with love, tears, and the spiral of blood. Every corner was sandy and filled with traces of stories; seagulls flying low, shadows of hope mingled with the lingering sadness, creating an unforgettable atmosphere.