Chapter 636 The Spiral’s Defense

The steps of Tharmessan shook not only the land of Stones but also the root networks of the entire world. Elsewhere, guardian spirits could no longer dream. The songs of the spirits lost their melody. Cities lost the colors of their history. Even memories began to shift, like pages of a book disappearing one by one.

Yet at the center of the spiral, the moonlight illuminated the altar, casting a magical touch upon the space filled with silence. The scent of damp earth and the whispering wind seemed to invite all elements to join in this ritual. It was as if the universe paused for a moment to witness what would happen next.

In that stillness, amidst the shadows of trees dancing in the full moonlight, echoes of the past emerged. Every rite and incantation spoken by the nameless threat unveiled fragments of hidden history, dissolving into the flow of magic radiating from the three wills.

Fitran. Rinoa. Sheena.

"If we attack him directly," Rinoa said, "he will reflect all our meanings back at us."

Behind her words lay a rumble, like distant thunder rolling behind the mountains. Each of her sentences felt like a spell touching the essence of magic, vibrating in the thick air of tension. This was not just a statement; it was a soulful call to unite against the darkness.

Sheena added, "But if we remain silent… the roots will lose their will. The Tree of Life will cease to grow."

Each utterance was like a fine thread, weaving together hope and fear. Among all the possibilities, they found themselves trapped in a web of fate demanding choices, where silence could become a deadly weapon and decisions could lead them to either resurrection or destruction.

Fitran gazed at both of them. Blood dripped from his arm, but his gaze remained clear.

"We cannot fight as individuals. We must fight as notes in the harmony of the world."

And from the center of the altar, he drew with the tip of his sword:

A forbidden magic formation, only possible by three wills that had once hurt each other… and still chose to stand together.

As they formed a circle, an aura of energy enveloped them, like a rainbow appearing amidst the rain. Every finger raised, every word uttered, generated waves of magic that could be felt in every inch of the earth. This was a sacred dance, calling upon the full power of the universe, united in an unspoken rhythm.

Around them, sparkling light reflected hope and fear, like fireflies guiding souls in the darkness. The wind whispered softly, as if reciting a mantra of empowerment, and the trees rustled, witnessing a moment that would define the fate of the world.

In the thick silence of the night, the starlight stood as a silent witness to this magical call. The power of magic gathered around them like morning dew clinging to leaves, waiting for the moment to reveal its beauty. Fitran took his position in the north: Void and Unforgiving Darkness.

Rinoa in the south: Harmony, Denial, and Gamma Wounds.

Sheena in the west: Roots of the World, Love, and Resurrected Memories.

These three streams of magic could never theoretically unite. Yet, the gentle voice of the universe gave them the strength to ignite hope. Like prisoners in a cell with time pressing down, they sought and found ways to overcome that limitation. But on that day… they did not unite.

They resonated. Like three different notes that did not merge into one voice but created space to listen to one another.

The roots of the Tree of Life reignited, where light and shadow collaborated like a pair of dancers in a mystical ballet, forming enchanting patterns in the night sky. For a moment, the world stood still in silence, preparing to witness the miracle that was about to unfold.

A magical blow surged in the darkness, enveloping the area around them with a palpable and threatening presence. Tharmessan hurled Antiphona Reversa at them—a wave of song cancellation. But in those tense moments, the Harmonic Spiral formation did not resist the attack. With calm and certainty, the formation accepted it, then unraveled its components one by one.

In the midst of the roaring panic, Rinoa transformed the echo of cancellation into fragments of the spirit's voice from Gamma, rewinding it into melody. Her voice was like dew falling in the middle of the night, bringing peace to her soul. Each gentle wave created a new layer against the darkness, adding strength to the dormant spirit within the ripples of time.

Sheena transformed that vibration into protective roots, not to attack… but to hold the meaning of the world in place, preventing it from being uprooted. She felt life in every fiber of those roots, as if the world were speaking, conveying a message too precious to forget. Fitran… cut through the remaining magical residue, like the wind clearing clouds to let the moonlight shine through.

Not as an attack. But as the final act of healing wounds.

Together, they created the first combined magic technique since the Tree of Life was formed, where light and darkness intertwined, creating a resonating rhythm. Every movement was a symbol, every incantation a stanza of poetry, and everything became one grand vision. Together, they would show the world an unexpected power, affirming that even though they were separated, they still shared a strong bond, unbroken by time or space.

Not as an attack. But as the final act of healing wounds.

In the lingering silence, the three sorcerers stood, exchanging glances, feeling the weight of responsibility on their shoulders. The wind whispered softly, as if recalling every neglected wound. They knew they were not just fighting against the physical, but against the memories buried in the darkness of their hearts.

With every circular movement of their hands, soft light flickered from their fingers, creating symbols that hung in the air. The clouds in the sky turned copper, as if honoring the ritual, giving the impression that the world too felt every wound meant to be healed. The sound of the incantation flowed like water—calm yet powerful, vibrating in harmony.

Every wound called forth… pierced Tharmessan's body, not as an attack…

but as a call to be acknowledged.

A magic not meant to defeat an opponent…

but to recall all the wounds that had been ignored.

In the enveloping darkness, they were flooded with light from hope that slowly ignited, breaking through the walls of fear. Rinoa's voice, soft yet filled with substance, brought tranquility to the troubled heart. It felt as if, for a moment, the world paused just to listen to the call of the soul.

"Not all wounds can heal," Rinoa said.

"But all wounds deserve to be named," Sheena added.

Each word spoken seemed to dance, depicting sorrow and hope in one breath. It was as if, in this sincere dialogue, the secrets of darkness and light intertwined, creating an unexpected symphony of life.

"And I…" Fitran closed his eyes, "…will bear the remnants that were never named." As if realizing the burden he had to carry, the voice of his heart echoed in the silence, giving strength to the fallen spirit. It was the Tree of Life that vibrated slowly, as if feeling every pulse of the wounds poured into each incantation.

The massive body ceased to move. His right hand shattered into fragments of Proto-Speech. From his eyes flowed not light… but root liquid—a symbol that he could not contain all the names now being called back.

Around him, the sky sparkled in shades of purple and green. Thunder crept slowly behind the clouds, providing a tone to the sorrow hanging in the air. The clouds seemed to grasp the magical flames that split, hinting at the struggle between hope and despair. Every second felt like a wave swelling, shaking the ground beneath their feet.

"Do you want me to be named?" Tharmessan roared.

"Do you want to make me a part of your world?"

"No," Fitran replied.

"We just want the world not to pretend that you never existed."

The Tree of Life stirred. The great roots began to wrap around Tharmessan's body from below. But not to bind him. The roots read his body, like roots touching dead soil to seek a place for new growth.

In the silence, the air vibrated with ancient energy, a flow of wonder hidden behind the boundaries of the world. Each strand of root seeped into Tharmessan's flesh and soul, like a warm embrace from Mother Earth offering comfort to her child. Each root whispered ancient poetry, connecting the past with the future, as if safeguarding the secrets of the universe.

Sheena whispered, "We are not imprisoning the wounds. We are… honestly keeping them."

And for the first time…

Tharmessan did not scream.

He simply fell silent.

In the midst of the Harmonic Spiral formation, Fitran fell to his knees. His body burned with magic, but his spirit remained intact. Around him, the light of the spices of the wind flowed, forming a gentle beam that embraced every inch of this space filled with intention. The sweet aroma of floral magic hung in the air, creating an atmosphere that framed the feeling of hope in every heartbeat.

Rinoa cried. But not out of fear. Her tears were the morning dew waiting to touch the new leaves born from sorrow. In her shining eyes, the world seemed to dance in the rhythm of sadness and beauty, carrying the message that from darkness, life could rise again.

Sheena touched the ground. The Tree of Life began to grow new roots… into Tharmessan's body. With every touch, the earth vibrated and radiated waves of energy, as if welcoming every stroke of light between them. The roots were like gentle fingers embracing new life, carrying messages of love and sacrifice across the boundaries of time.

Proto-Speech wrote a single sentence in the air:

ꦏꦸꦩ꧀ꦧꦸꦤ ꦲꦸꦠꦶ ꦏꦺꦴꦠꦃ ꦭꦩꦁ —

Kumbun Uti Kotah Lamang

(The wound that is named… will not turn into destruction.)