The next morning, Thirtos breathed like a baby just saved from fever. Her skin still felt damp, a remnant of her restless dreams. The pale blue sky was streaked with thin clouds, creating a soft contrast with the green trees below. The remnants of abyssal fog had vanished, but its traces still hung in the air—a kind of metallic and salty scent that could not be erased, only slowly forgotten by time and hope. The fresh aroma of morning dew added to the tranquility, even though the whispering wind carried an unseen threat.

  The Genesis tree towered higher than the night before, its trunk glistening with dew trapped on its large leaves. Its roots now grew through the ruins with unexpected strength, channeling mana throughout the city, forming a new web of life. At the base of its trunk, Joanna sat cross-legged, her eyes closed, trying to feel the vibrations around her. Her hands, encircled by thin spirals of light, trembled gently, as if responding to the flowing energy. She was stabilizing the currents of time around her—but her face was calm, even though cold sweat trickled down her neck.

  Fitran stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the eastern sea. His armor glimmered as the newly risen sun reflected light onto the churning waters below. Waves crashed against the rocks with a slow rhythm, producing a sound that resonated through the earth. He had cleaned his armor, its metallic reflection contrasting with the morning light. The Voidlight hung again on his back, its blade now nearly transparent—a sign that the dual magic he had used yesterday was evolving into a new form. He took a deep breath, feeling the clear air fill his lungs, while his lips curved for a moment, displaying a smile full of hope.

  Rinoa stood not far from him, holding a sound crystal in her hand, her wrist trembling with anxiety. She caught echoes from the depths of the ocean—an inhuman rhythm, as if the voice of an ancient creature awakening from its slumber. “They are starting to move again,” she whispered, her soft voice almost drowned out by the thunder of crashing waves. Her hands felt cold, and she looked at Fitran with eyes reflecting both fear and courage.

  Fitran nodded, though his heart raced. “I know. The sea is never this calm if Tiamat has truly retreated.” His voice was firm, but the fingers gripping the cliff's edge revealed an unavoidable tension.

  And at that moment, the earth trembled slightly. The gentle shake felt like a whispering wind, but there was something unsettling within it. His heart raced faster, and for a moment, it felt as if there was a hole in his stomach, making him feel a sense of loss.

  So light—almost like an illusion. Yet everyone who had faced the abyss knew: it was not an earthquake. Joanna's fingers clenched, preparing herself as if something was about to happen.

  It was a call.

  Iris Gaia, Joanna, and several main sorcerers gathered beneath the altar of Thirtos. There lay the Second Spiral Relic—a ball of organic metal, beating slowly like a giant heart. The sound of its beating pierced the silence, producing an echo that awakened a sense of anxiety. The ball shimmered with a gradient of dark green and deep blue, connecting the surface spiral with the ocean floor, where the world kept memories it did not want to remember.

  Joanna stood closest to the ball, her body slightly frozen. Her face tensed, cold sweat beginning to trickle down her temples. “This is not just a call to reset. This… is some kind of emergency call.” Joanna's voice cracked slightly, resonating with the tension in the air.

  “Emergency for what?” Rinoa asked, her eyes widening, reflecting uncertainty. She tried to calm the pounding of her heart that echoed in her chest.

  “The world is calling back what has been buried because we are too close to the deepest layers of the sea.” Joanna bit her lip, exhaling softly before continuing, “There is something down there that even Tiamat did not awaken the first time she appeared. But now…” She held Rinoa's hand, gripping it tightly, as if to maintain control.

  Iris interjected, her tone firm, yet there was a clear worry in her eyes. “Now it… is rising on its own.” She stared at the ball, as if seeing the ghostly shadows of the past, feeling the chill touch her skin.

  Fitran stood atop the western watchtower of the city, the sea wind blowing fiercely, providing a cool touch to his face. His magical telescope pointed toward the horizon of the ocean, his eyes focused with concern. There, faintly, a structure resembling an inverted tower emerged from the sea, radiating purple-green light that distorted gravity. This light vibrated gently like waves on the water's surface, trying to attract the attention of anyone who looked.

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  Rinoa stood beside him, her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching the terrifying sight with uncertainty on her face. “That is not part of Tiamat's body. That…” her voice trembled, as if sensing the lurking threat.

  “Another creature,” Fitran murmured, his voice dropping, making him seem older than his years. Cold sweat began to trickle down his temples as his face showed deep fear. “The minions that Tiamat kept. They are not Avatars, not Manifestations. They are… the ones who call. The Callers of the Deep.” In his tone, there was despair, as if he had seen a dark future.

  They were ancient spiral-sea entities that did not move like monsters but sang. And their song was melodious yet terrifying, haunting the space between them, making the waves in the ocean tremble. Their song was a code to awaken the deepest parts of Tiamat—the parts that had no form, could not be killed, only sealed by the meaning of existence. The waves formed sparkled, as if many eyes were watching from the mysterious depths.

  Iris called all the leaders: Oda Nobuzan from the east, the High Aetherists from the north, and the spiral leaders from Terra. Iris's voice was loud and firm, yet there was a hint of unspoken tension in her aspirations. They had to strategize not just to survive but to close the call, so that no one else would be drawn into the terrifying webs of darkness.

  Fitran and Joanna would be the spearhead into the depths of the sea—their souls vibrating with this great responsibility. Meanwhile, Rinoa became the anchor of sound for the upper world, binding their existence so they would not drift below. She bit her lower lip, trying to hold back her worries, remembering how crucial her role was to prevent further disaster.

  Oda initially refused, her voice trembling amidst the crashing waves on the shore. “Lowering them into the sea? That is where Tiamat tore apart the bodies of the founders of the world!” Her expression was tense, cold sweat trickling down her temples, a reflection of her fear. But when Joanna looked at her, her eyes calm and full of conviction, she said in a gentle yet firm tone: “I do not bring vengeance. I bring thread.” Joanna's voice was like a calm stream amidst the storm. Oda fell silent, feeling the wave of tranquility enveloping those words.

  The darkness of night enveloped the camp, the stars twinkling in the sky like hopes that would not fade. Joanna approached Fitran outside the camp, at the edge of the sea. The cool wind brushed against their skin, carrying the sharp scent of salt.

  “Don’t use your crazy moves too soon,” she said, sitting beside her father. Her cold hand felt the soft sand, grasping the hope and anxiety racing within her heart.

  Fitran smiled, but there was an anxiety he could not hide. “Are you still angry?” His expression reflected deep affection, but his eyes hinted at nervousness.

  “Angry and proud. A dangerous combination.” Her tone was spirited, yet it also held a subtle weariness, illustrating the weight of the responsibility she bore.

  “You’re just like your mother.”

  Joanna paused for a moment, gazing at the sea merging black and dark blue, while the waves trembled, breaking the silence of the night. The sea breeze tousled her hair, creating waves that reminded her of her mother’s determination.

  “…Are you afraid?” she finally asked, her voice almost drowned in the sigh of the waves.

  Fitran turned, his mind drifting far away. “I am not afraid of sinking. But I am afraid we cannot return with the same meaning.” His voice trembled, filled with a very real anxiety. His chest felt as if it were pressed by a heavy weight.

  Joanna looked at the sea, which was beginning to calm. “Then let’s create a new meaning down there. Let’s rewrite what it means to ‘return’.” Her motivation burned brightly, full of fiery spirit, instilling confidence amidst this uncertainty.

  At midnight, the magic ship "Lung of Genesis" prepared to leave the emergency harbor. Inside: Fitran, Joanna, and elite forces from various regions, all with expressions full of spirit yet tinged with anxiety on their faces. The rumbling sound of waves crashing against the harbor seemed to whisper threats from the depths of the sea. Everyone felt the coldness of the night wind piercing through, carrying the scent of salt and the warmth of threatened hope.

  Their destination: to dive into the depths of the underwater world, to a place called Bathys Omega—the oldest center of the spiral-sea where the voices of Tiamat were first imprisoned. Fitran stood by the window, observing the starry sky approaching the darkness of night, while his hands gently clenched, feeling the vibrations of excitement and fear merging into one. Joanna stood beside him, gazing ahead with sparkling eyes, as if challenging the darkness. In the distance, the call grew louder. No longer a whisper, but the song of the callers of emptiness. The sound seeped into their minds, making Joanna's fingers tremble and her temples furrow.

  And the world, once again, held its breath. The waves crashed with an increasingly pressing rhythm, delivering a profoundly melancholic feeling. Fitran closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his heartbeat thrum. Cold sweat trickled down his temples, creating a chilling sensation that contrasted with the tension in his heart. Outside, the moonlight reflected on the calm surface of the sea, revealing layers of dark and deep blue, as if hiding unspoken secrets. Meanwhile, the wind blew gently, brushing against their tunics and making them flutter, as if following the rhythm of the song calling from the depths.