As Beelzebub lay down and vanished into the swirling mist, the world of Stones felt as if it had just awakened from a long nightmare. The wind ceased, and the sky, once swirling black, slowly faded, revealing a touching calmness. It was as if the world itself sighed in relief, feeling a new hope enveloping every corner. The clouds drifted slowly, carrying a thin orange light behind them, as if the sun, which had long hidden, was now hesitantly emerging among the ruins of the altar, greeting every remaining soul with warmth and hope.

  The stone pillars, which had cracked from the great battle, were now covered in glowing blue-green moss, softly shining as if whispering to every creature that passed by. Each crack seemed to absorb the remnants of dark magic, transforming it into a soft surface comfortable for the small spirits of the world, while the wind whispered gently, as if celebrating this resurrection. This moment, though calm, felt alive—like a new heartbeat in a long-delayed tapestry of fate.

  The roots of the Tree of Scars, which had once been destroyed, were partially blackened and wilted, yet amidst the death, white and violet shoots emerged—each shoot a promise that the magical world had not truly given up. With every shoot that appeared, hope crept back, like unfulfilled promises waiting for the right time and place to flourish. They were symbols of courage and rebirth, a presence representing endless hope in the hearts of its inhabitants.

  The aura of the Monarch, once heavy and terrifying, now spread a coolness throughout the altar of Stones, as if giving a warm embrace to all who were present. Light blue and purple glyphs formed spiral patterns on the ground, each spiral radiating a soft light to the sky—like lanterns of spirits, guiding the souls of the ancient Avatars to their final resting place, amidst a silence filled with respect. All creatures felt this peace, a calming stillness that seemed to affirm that every end is a beautiful new beginning.

  Spirit birds, which had hidden behind the roots, emerged one by one, perching on the shoulders of the remaining Knights and on Rinoa's wrists. With each arrival, Rinoa's heart fluttered, connecting with the warmth emanating from these small beings. They chirped softly, as if thanking her for the new world freed from the abyssal curse, filling the air with a gentle and hopeful melody.

  The water of the altar well, once murky and bloody, now reflected the light of dawn—its surface clear, displaying the shadows of Fitran, Rinoa, and the Knights not as heroes, but as survivors of a long night of suffering. This moment, when the past and future united, brought a deep sense of relief, as if they had just been reborn from the darkness. With every drop that rippled on the water's surface, they felt the presence of an inseparable spirit, a marker of hope amidst the sorrow that had once shackled their souls.

  Fitran stood silently in the middle of the altar, his body covered in wounds and blood, yet his eyes remained sharp, following the remnants of black mist that slowly faded from the ground. Within him, pain surged, but there was something greater that strengthened his resolve; a burning love and longing for someone who had long been lost. He felt the fingers of the wind touch his skin, reminding him of better times, when Selene's smile still graced his face.

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  Before him, only one black glyph circle remained—the remnant of Beelzebub, now glowing faintly before completely vanishing. The fading light seemed to tell the bitter story hidden within his soul, carrying memories of the battles fought and the impact left behind.

  In a soft yet firm voice, Fitran spoke to the now peaceful air, calling out the name long buried in history: “Selene…” His voice was almost like a whisper of the calm wind, yet filled with longing. In that moment, his heart trembled, as if inviting back memories of someone who had once meant so much to him.

  “Selene…”

  That name echoed softly among the roots and pillars of the altar, filling the empty space left by Beelzebub with a painful warmth: not as an enemy, but as part of a world that had once sought light in the darkest night. Mixed feelings enveloped his mind; hope and sorrow intertwined, carrying with them all the beautiful and tragic memories he had shared with Selene. In his soul, there was an understanding that loss is part of growth, even though it felt so painful.

  For a moment, the wind at the altar blew gently, whispering to the depths of his heart, and above the glyph circle, a beam of white light appeared—a vague form of a young woman, with long hair and red eyes that no longer burned, but were filled with sadness. The appearance of that figure shook Fitran's soul; he could feel every pulse of emotion stored within, every hope and longing trapped in time. Selene, with all her grace and sorrow, reminded him of all the dreams unfulfilled.

  The shadow of Selene smiled sadly at Fitran, then looked up at the sky, merging with the spiral of light and leaving Stones in a silence filled with forgiveness. As that smile painted her face, the gentle wind brushed away strands of her long hair, as if nature itself was celebrating this moment of farewell. Fitran felt his heart constricted by the sense of loss, yet simultaneously flooded with hope; Selene's presence signified that everything would be alright.

  The black mist had completely vanished, replaced by a thin dew that soaked the grass of the altar. Each drop of dew contained a new promise, refreshing the ground that had once been filled with bitter memories. Wildflowers bloomed in every corner of the altar, their colors new: purple, white, pale blue—all symbols of wounds that had grown into hope. One flower, with bright purple petals, even seemed to dance in rhythm with the wind, telling Fitran that life had found its way back.

  A new glyph appeared on the Tree of Scars: “S E L E N E” etched faintly among the Monarch glyphs, not as a curse, but as a sign that the world had accepted its dark side and chosen to forgive. Each letter seemed to vibrate with energy, as if conveying the awakening spirit that had long been dormant, reinforcing the hope that the past would no longer overshadow the future.

  The air was filled with the sounds of spirits and birds, and the light of the morning sun—for the first time in a long while—fell straight into the center of the altar of Stones, marking the beginning of a new era no longer controlled by old names, but by the courage to name and forgive them. Stones now shone with a new light, as if every stone and crevice in the altar felt the metamorphosis taking place: from reminders of pain to symbols of rebirth. A sense of relief and joy enveloped the place, bringing a coolness to Fitran's heart, reminding him that every end brings a new beginning.