Dawn was still gray as the breeze carried a thin mist over the city of Oda, which had just been amputated by the night. Thin smoke from the feast still danced in the air. The aroma of iron dust, charred roots, and blood had not completely vanished from the streets.

  From the northern edge, a young girl slowly stepped forward. Her body was weak, her steps heavy, but in each footprint lay a remnant of will that refused to crumble. Around her, dim light struggled against dark shadows, creating an atmosphere as if the world was waiting for something important. Joanna's messy blonde hair framed her pale face, yet in her eyes shone a fire that never extinguished. Within her, two things battled: sorrow and hope, loss and determination. She held her breath for a moment, feeling the pain radiating through her body, like shards of a bitter reality.

  Joanna had just awakened from a long coma. Her body was nearly shattered after enduring the abyssal tsunami and waves of Tiamat's creatures in Thirtos. In her chest, her heart beat loudly, as if trying to remind her that she was still alive. In a world that had almost lost its meaning, Joanna, the Golden Witch—who had once been merely a shadow of legend—now stood, real and fragile, on land that had nearly lost everything. A warmth she did not recognize began to seep into her cold bones, bringing new spirit even though it was still wrapped in pain.

  Fitran was the first to see Joanna. He was comforting the young witches by the ruins when he heard the sound of slow footsteps behind him. He turned, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. His focus shifted, as if time had stopped, feeling an emotional vibration that touched his soul.

  “Joanna…” he whispered. In that voice lay wounds, longing, and hope that had nearly faded away. He formed a gentle movement, extending his arms to welcome Joanna, though slightly trembling.

  Joanna smiled weakly, but her smile did not fully reach her gray eyes, reflecting all the pain she had endured. She looked at Fitran, then gazed at the remnants of the city of Oda. Fine dust floated in the air, adding weight to her heart. “Am I late, Father?” Joanna's voice was barely audible, yet somehow her words resonated in the hearts of everyone who heard them. Within her lay a gaping hope and uncertainty, as if the past fought for all the memories she wished to forget.

  Fitran shook his head, embracing Joanna without words, a hug that felt warm and nourishing amidst the pain that engulfed them. As his embrace tightened, Joanna felt her heartbeat synchronize with a sense of safety. “You came at the right time. The world always needs light, even if it’s just a glimmer.”

  Behind them, Oda and Iris approached, their faces shifting from sorrow to relief, their jaws slightly relaxing as if the burden on their chests began to lift. Rinoa came over, hugging Joanna tightly, as if wanting to ensure this was not another dream that Tiamat would steal away. A sweet taste lingered at the corner of her mouth as she felt this embrace. In her mind, her voice trembled, as if trapped between reality and memory.

  Joanna's Monologue: The Meaning of Wounds

  Joanna sat among the ruins of roots and steel, gazing at the still gray sky. A gentle breeze rustled, carrying the scent of wet earth that reminded her of the bright days that once were. I once thought the world would only remember those who won. But tonight, I learned that the world also grows from tears, from those who choose to stand even knowing they will lose. Only pain remains, each tear feels like a silent witness to my struggle.

  Mother once said, there is no magic stronger than hope. But hope itself can be painful: binding you to a world you wish to leave, forcing you to bear sorrow that cannot be shared. Remembering her mother’s gentle voice, Joanna felt bile rise in her throat, stinging as she tried to focus on things that might bring peace to her wounded soul.

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  I rise today not because I am no longer weak, not because the wounds have healed. I rise because there are those still waiting. There are names to protect, stories to save.

  With every surge of encouragement growing within her, her eyes sparkled, as if holding countless hopes, even as cold sweat trickled down her temples. In her heavy breaths, she felt tension in every muscle, yet each heartbeat carried a mission stronger than mere survival.

  She shifted her gaze to the gray sky—dark clouds gathered above, threatening rain that might deepen the sorrowful atmosphere. However, the light from the campfire before her provided warmth, caressing her skin, as if whispering a promise that darkness would not last forever.

  Each step she took felt heavy, as if fighting against the gravity of a world that had burdened her for too long. Yet, there was warmth offered by the memories of the faces she loved. This love, like green leaves growing amidst the storm, guided her forward. She savored each step; the wet earth beneath her feet, the damp scent of the trees, and the rustling of leaves, as if supporting her heroism.

  As she raised her spiral staff, energy surged from her fingertips, as if one with nature. A warm sensation enveloped her—power that came from within, igniting her spirit even though pain still lingered occasionally. With each incantation, she felt magical vibrations coursing through her veins, awakening the fighting spirit that had long been dormant.

  Joanna stepped forward, her voice of magic resonating: “Solar Spiral: Wings of the Sun!”

  Around her, the atmosphere changed rapidly; as if the wind sided with her, swirling dust and chaos. Golden light danced in the air, ensnaring the monsters in a web of light, burning and erasing them without a trace. In mere seconds, the battlefield, once filled with fear, became calm—even the remnants of the night felt warmer. The dangerous foes vanished into a tranquil glow on the horizon.

  The refugees looked at Joanna with eyes that recognized hope once more. Among them, children cheered softly, filled with awe, while the soldiers began to rise, weary yet inspired. Every small gesture of hers, from a warm smile to a gentle tap on a warrior's shoulder, affirmed her presence not just as a strong figure, but as one who touched souls.

  Oda cried, her face glistening with sweat and tears; Iris smiled widely, like a flower blooming in the morning, and Fitran—for the first time in a long while—felt that the world might not be truly lost. In that moment, Joanna realized that hope was not just a word; it was a force that changed everything, moving helpless hearts into a wave of new action.

  After a brief battle, Joanna walked among the people, greeting each one. She hugged the children gently, feeling the warmth of their small, fragile bodies. The dark clouds began to drift away, allowing sunlight to touch the hopeful faces around her. These small moments strengthened her spirit, even as heaviness still weighed on her heart. She helped bandage wounds, her palms gentle as they touched the injured skin, providing an unspoken sense of safety. She even sat with the young engineers, her fingers moving softly as she showed them how to repair the remnants of the golem forces lying around, her voice filled with enthusiasm and contagious confidence. She was no longer a distant legend, but a new light guiding them out of the ruins, like a star in the sky beginning to shine after the darkness.

  In silence, Fitran gazed at his daughter, his eyes reflecting a mix of pride and deep longing. My blood, my flesh, but the light born from a miracle I could never possess alone. Joanna, a new world begins when you decide not to give up. Fitran's gaze sparkled, but there was also a shadow of longing enveloping his soul, missing the togetherness that had been lost. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if trying to hold back the emotion that wanted to break free from within.

  And that night, above the wounded city of Oda, the scent of wet earth mingled with the smell of extinguished fire. A promise was made: as long as there is one soul brave enough to rise, the world will always find a reason to endure. The gentle breeze whispered, as if agreeing with that promise, and dew began to drip from the stunned leaves, offering new hope amidst the darkness that once enveloped this grand city.