The sound of the clash between Voidlight and Tiamat's claws echoed through the seven heavens. Each time the two forces crossed paths, the world trembled; the air split into fragments of sound, the ground cracked not only physically but also in meaning—mountains, rivers, and even time itself seemed to burn from within. From a distance, sparks of light could be seen as if the stars in the sky protested against this chaos, vibrating with deep fear.
At first, it was only a sound: a tremendous roar, yet unheard by the ears, instead piercing the souls of all living beings. Everyone—whether on the battlefield, in the city fortress, or hiding in caves—felt a pain in their heads, flashes of memories, and a strange sensation: as if the world was transforming into something they had never dreamed of. Some of those in the caves felt the damp stone walls as if they were inhaling fear, cold against their skin, adding to the chaos that engulfed their souls.
The sky was no longer the sky. It shattered into dozens of layers—some blue, red, black, even transparent like cracked glass. In between those layers, shadows of the past and future passed by. Some soldiers saw themselves, dead and alive at the same time, their faces reflecting profound confusion, as if they were caught in an invisible web. Children cried, losing their names for a moment—mothers searched for their children but only found shifting shadows, the sound of their sobs burning their feelings like an unquenchable flame.
In the center of the battlefield, Fitran and Tiamat continued to fight, their bodies becoming points of fire in the midst of a spiral vortex of emptiness. Every spell, every slash, formed shockwaves of existence that spread throughout the world. Fitran's face, creased with tension, radiated determination as he recalled small moments from the past: the laughter of his friends, the scent of wet earth after rain, and the glimmer of hope that once lived in his heart. With every movement, it was as if all those memories flowed through his body, empowering his attacks and defenses.
The wizards and warriors in Oda, Terra, and the naval fleet began to lose their grip on reality. Some suddenly forgot why they were fighting, even who their own names were. A commander from Sanctuary shouted, “Who am I? Who are you? Why are we here?” One sailor cried, watching his hands turn to water, then solidify back into metal. The sound of his sobs merged with the hissing wind that pierced the tension in the air, creating an unbearable symphony of sorrow.
A mother prayed at the altar of Genesis roots, but her prayer turned into the laughter of her long-dead child. That laughter soared high, filling the empty space around her, as if calling forth hidden memories from the depths of her heart, making her pain throb like an open wound. Healers tried to mend wounds, but every injury they closed reappeared elsewhere. Some even felt pains they had never experienced before—wounds of others that now felt like their own. In that moment, they could feel an unexpected heartbeat echoing in the silence, laden with helplessness.
Joanna ran among the rows of victims, her light wings fading. She felt the weight of thousands of memories—some her own, some not. As she walked, her breath grew heavier, as if each step carried the burden of unspoken history. She witnessed her own childhood shatter, seeing Jeanne and herself swap places, as if reality was choosing its path anew. In that moment, a small shadow in her daydream greeted her, a sour face full of curiosity, then vanished, leaving her with a profound sense of emptiness and loss.
Rinoa embraced a crying girl: “What is my name, Mom? Am I really here?” Rinoa held back tears, only able to grasp the small, cold hand of the child, feeling that tiny connection was the only link to a world that felt increasingly distant. Her eyes, filled with hope, trembled, waiting for an uncertain answer. “As long as you still feel fear and want to be loved, you are in this world, dear. Hold me, don’t let go.” Her expression reflected inner tension, indicating how fragile hope was amidst the vulnerability that surrounded them. The scent of wet earth and morning dew enveloped them, creating a sensation of memories of peace that now seemed far away.
The Genesis spells, protective mantras, all began to waver. The barriers were no longer certain. Sometimes one wall appeared doubled, sometimes it vanished suddenly, creating illusions that ensnared the minds of anyone who saw them. The roots of Genesis gripped the air, forming a staircase to the dark sky. With a flash of red darkness, it created a terrifying shadow that moved in the corners of vision, then transformed into a waterfall down to the ground, emitting a rumbling sound reminiscent of lost screams. In the city of Oda, where the atmosphere was tense and filled with hope mixed with anxiety, a poet saw the words of his poem flow from his mouth, gently drifting in the air, one by one, as if longing for freedom. Each word vibrated with a sense of loss, transforming into small creatures that danced around him, evoking nostalgia for the beautiful times that had passed. Brave children, with innocent faces and sparkling eyes, laughed despite the looming threat, rewriting their names on the cracked walls, hoping not to vanish into the uncertainty that enveloped them.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Time itself was chaotic. As if seconds turned into suffocating ash, some lived one minute, then suddenly remembered they were old—beautiful moments with loved ones visited them in bitter dreams. A young girl, filled with fear and confusion, looked at her mother’s face, which transformed into her grandmother’s, reverting back to its original form, bringing forth tears that could not be held back. Some humans saw the world repeat, like a never-ending nightmare, trapped in a loop of memories, their breaths signaling a deep sense of despair, creeping into their shattered souls.
Iris, holding the hands of Oda and other leaders at the center of the fortress, felt the vibrations of anxiety radiating from their touch. “I don’t want to lose you all… I’m afraid we will all become memories, never real again,” whispered Iris, her eyes shimmering with tears waiting to fall.
Oda, feeling a palpitation in her heart, replied with a trembling voice, “As long as we can still feel pain and love, this world is not completely destroyed. The world is created from feelings, not from forms.” Her expression reflected despair yet hope, while her fingers trembled in a tight embrace, trying to channel strength to Iris.
Joanna, half-conscious, felt her spirit oscillating between the real world and dreams, raising her voice that radiated the remaining energy, “Hold each other’s hands! We are the world—if we let go, the world will truly disappear!” Her words floated in the air, building an invisible bond, igniting the spirit buried in the hearts of every leader gathered, piercing through sadness with a hug of hope for a better future.
The people began to form small circles, holding hands, closing their eyes, and repeatedly stating their names—struggling against the erasure by the powers of Tiamat and Fitran, who fought at the peak of the spiral chaos. From the corners of their eyes, tears flowed, mingling with hope and fear, creating faint shadows of the past. Sweet memories of children’s laughter, togetherness with loved ones, all flashed in their minds; a reminder that this life is precious, even amidst the emptiness that loomed.
Tiamat unleashed the Scream of Oblivion, a scream that made mountains tremble, oceans boil, and the Genesis trees bleed. The sound seemed to pierce the soul of every listener, shaking the foundations of their existence. Weak-spirited humans began to fall asleep and never wake up; some vanished, leaving only their clothes where they stood. Amidst the waves of screams and despair, a faint glimmer of hope emerged, as if whispering that perhaps there was a way to fight back.
Fitran—staggering in the midst of battle—felt the weight of a thousand worlds on his shoulders. He held his breath, held back tears, held back the names that kept falling from his mind. Every second felt like an unbearable burden, and he remembered the smile of a friend who had once fought alongside him. With his fingers tightly gripping another’s hand, as if seeking strength in that bond, he resolved not to give up.
“I am the Nameless Monarch. If I must fall today, let me fall with the name of this world, so it has a reason to be reborn—without fear, without loss.” His voice echoed in the silence, delivering a promise to the wind and the souls that heard him, calling forth the remaining courage in the darkness. A chill enveloped his spirit, but in his heart, there was a flame of courage that refused to extinguish.
The sky and earth spun as one. All sounds, forms, and meanings blended into a sea of voices—screams, laughter, prayers, names, and sobs. The dim sunlight seemed to gaze sadly, while the distant starlight twinkled like hope that never faded. The world held its breath, waiting for one more second, whether it would remain… or vanish forever.
In the midst of the emptiness, Fitran and Tiamat still stood. Everything was now possible, everything could also be lost—and only the courage to hold each other’s hands kept the world from total annihilation. With every breath they took, there was a longing for the beauty of the world that once was, a reminder that even in darkness, there is light waiting to be rediscovered.
