The night had calmed, leaving the air of Terra now beginning to thin from the pungent scent of blood, replaced by bitter dew clinging to the leaves and the remnants of embers that were nearly extinguished, struggling to maintain their warmth. Outside the break room, an ancient stone corridor stretched out, silence enveloping her footsteps as she made her way to a small garden located at the edge of the fortress. There, wild bushes grew thick and tall, as if wanting to hide secrets buried deep within the heart. Fitran walked slowly, alone, following the quiet hallway illuminated only by the remnants of spiral light, a soft glow dancing on the brick walls. The sound of the night wind whispered gently, as if recounting old memories stored between the frozen walls untouched by time.

  Her footsteps echoed faintly, as if each step invited the echoes of history embedded in the cold, hard stone. On the walls, long shadows moved as if wanting to touch her, but always failing, resembling memories that could not be reached, floating between hope and reality. In the middle of the garden, beneath the half-broken Genesis tree, stood a girl—her purple hair flowing like strands of silk, her tattered robe fluttering in the wind, and her clear yet deep eyes radiating warmth that contrasted with the chill of the night. She was Joanna.

  But Fitran knew, Joanna was still asleep in the break room. The figure before him was a manifestation—whether a representation of a memory, an echo from the future, or merely a sign that his soul was too heavy to carry alone. The soft scent of withered flowers wafted through the air, creating a stark contrast with the silence enveloping the atmosphere, as if the night itself felt a profound sadness.

  “Joanna…?” Her voice was barely a whisper, gently disturbing the thickening silence of the night.

  The girl turned, her smile faint—like a flower wilting in the midst of a drought, representing the accumulated fatigue yet refusing to break. Her fingers slowly caressed the air around her, as if trying to feel the pulse of life that remained in the garden, evoking a warm sense of nostalgia.

  “Father, you look older tonight,” the shadow of Joanna said with a light voice, but within it lay thousands of sorrows, floating among the twinkling stars, adding an unbearable weight to his heart. Her soft voice flowed like clear water trickling between stones, bringing tranquility yet simultaneously deep sadness.

  Fitran bowed his head, his hands trembling. His heart raced, vibrating the silence of the mysterious night. “Why do you come at a time when I’m not even sure I can still dream?” Despair enveloped his voice, as if every word he spoke was a fragment of resignation that was hard to face.

  “Because you need to be reminded,” Joanna replied, stepping closer gracefully, her steps barely making a sound, like the gentle whisper of the night wind greeting him. Around them, the aroma of wet earth enveloped the air, awakening memories of beautiful days that had passed—days when laughter and happiness filled the room. “Do you think you are alone in bearing the world? Do you think all wounds and hopes can only be kept by you, as if no one is strong enough to share?” she continued. Each word flowed gently like a river, filling the gaps between them and bridging the distance that stretched.

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  Fitran held back a sob, closing his eyes in fear. The sound of water droplets flowing from the leaves trembling in the wind made him feel even more fragile, like shards of glass that had fallen. “I… fear losing you all. I fear this world is not enough to atone for all that has been lost.” His voice trembled, conveying a deep longing, as if the air around him sympathized and supported every emotional burden that had been pent up in his chest.

  Joanna smiled sadly, gently extending her hand, and—for a moment—Fitran felt a warm touch on his cheek, like the soft light of the moon wrapping around him, soothing and calming. “No one can ever truly atone for wounds, Father. But this world does not need a flawless hero. The world needs someone willing to remember—that loss and love walk side by side.” Her voice resonated softly, like a melody that could erase the worries of the soul.

  The shadow of Joanna gazed at the dawn that had just ignited on the horizon, while a faint golden hue pierced through the leaves, creating a gentle light that shone from the morning dew. The sound of birds chirping began to adorn the silence, creating a symphony of awakening that calmed the heart and revived the spirit.

  “I— we all—will always be here. Within you. In stories, in dreams, in unfinished hopes,” she said in a voice as soft as the whispering wind, as if signaling that life never truly ends. “Nothing is ever truly lost, Father, unless you stop believing in love.” Each word felt like a grasp of hope in Fitran's heart, lifting the heavy burden he had long carried.

  Fitran sobbed softly, and for the first time allowed tears to fall, flowing gently like a river trapped between smooth stones. He felt an embrace—whether real or not—that wrapped around him with warmth transcending time and space; enough to make his soul stop running, trapped in a beautiful moment in the small garden surrounded by shadows.

  “I… will try. To believe again. To share this burden,” he expressed, his voice trembling yet full of hope, as if he were sending his deepest wish floating gently with the whispering wind.

  Joanna released her warm embrace, looking at him once more with clear eyes, eyes that once radiated light when her daughter first called his name. In that gaze, a spirit of revival shone through, as if the morning light embraced all the hopes buried in Fitran's heart, rekindling dreams that had once been broken.

  “Tomorrow, when you wake up, remember. This world still exists—because there is someone out there who chooses to believe in you,” Joanna said, her voice soft yet firm, piercing through the uncertainty that enveloped him.

  The shadow slowly faded, replaced by the gentle morning light. The warm sunlight kissed the wet leaves in the small garden, radiating a sparkling gem-like glow, as if every corner was reborn in beauty. Fitran stood alone, his body still trembling, but his heart felt lighter, wrapped in a newfound sense of relief. He inhaled deeply the fresh morning air, the aroma of wet earth freshly washed by rain adding peace within him. He gazed toward the east, where dawn began to emerge, splashing soft orange hues across the still dark sky. The sound of birds chirping, a cheerful melody filling the emptiness, seemed to usher in new hope, bringing miracles in every note.

  And in his heart, for the first time in a long while, Fitran believed that he could still start a new day. A gentle smile crossed his lips, as if responding to the vibrations of positive energy flowing from the surrounding nature. As he moved his fingers, he felt the rough texture of the wooden beam standing tall beside him—a weathered garden chair, holding sweet memories waiting to be revived. In the stillness of the garden, a spirit seeped in, as if inviting every creature to join hands in the remaining hope. Fitran closed his eyes for a moment, savoring each heartbeat that was now calmer, as if inviting every side of his soul to unite in this precious moment.