The rain has stopped, but the streets of the capital remain wet and muddy. The fresh scent of earth mingles with hope and anxiety. Joanna's ritual of forgiveness has initiated change—but in the real world, old wounds are not easily healed, and enemies do not easily become friends.

  The Gaia Council is held in the open. For the first time, representatives of the victims' families and the poor sit side by side with the old nobility in the grand hall. Cold sweat trickles down Fitran's forehead as he sits as king, indicating the heavy burden he carries. Rinoa, beside him, holds his hand, trying to channel courage into both of them. Joanna and Oda sit in the front row, exchanging anxious and curious glances, while Iris watches from a special seat, her keen eyes absorbing every detail of the meeting that could affect their fate. The whispers, the tapping of feet, and the sound of breaths add to the intensity of the atmosphere.

  Lord Aldebran, his face grim and lined with tension, speaks in a heavy voice, as if drawing words from the depths of his wounded heart: Lord Aldebran: “We appreciate the palace's efforts to seek revenge with… forgiveness. However, you must understand: the blood of our family also flows in this land. Can we live together without constantly bringing up past sins?” His face trembles, and for a moment, his gaze drifts to the ceiling, as if searching for an answer that never comes. Many fall silent, feeling the weight of his words. An extraordinary tension envelops the room, forcing everyone to reflect on their painful pasts.

  A young farmer stands up, his face filled with doubt but also newfound courage, his breath slightly choked. Inside, the pain of losing his father clashes with the hope for a better future. Looking around, he feels the skeptical and doubtful gazes of the council members, but he strives to find courage in the voice of his heart. Farmer: “My father died in the laboratory. But I don’t want my child to grow up with hatred. I want a new world—not for revenge, but to remember. We all must work together.”

  There is a soft applause, but some council members—especially Lady Cassara—only cross their arms, her expression tense, as if the dark past still binds her heart in chains of unending resentment. Her heart is torn between hope and anger. Lady Cassara: “Reconciliation? Nice in theory, but don’t think we’ve forgotten who burned our homes during the rebellion.”

  Joanna intervenes, tears nearly spilling from her eyes, feeling the same burden on the shoulders of these people. Imagining remembering her lost brother makes her want to hear their sorrows even more, but she knows that peace cannot be achieved if these wounds continue to fester. Joanna: “I also lost my brother to the old war. If we keep writing the names of the victims on the enemy list, Gaia will never be free from the night.”

  The meeting ends without a unanimous decision. The atmosphere is thick with tension, with small whispers and cold stares enveloping the room. Some council members are seen whispering in small groups, their faces contemplative. But at least, for the first time, enemies and victims sit together, exchanging wounds and trying to speak without weapons. A small but important step in hoping to release the deeply rooted hatred.

  To ease the tension, Rinoa suggests a small festival in the palace garden, where all parties must attend without honor robes or weapons—only in common people's clothing. There will be music performances, free food, and discussion tents where commoners and nobles must sit side by side, sharing stories of wounds and hopes. The atmosphere in the garden feels full of hope, even though behind the smiles, many hearts are still filled with uncertainty; is this truly the first step toward peace or just a decorative carcass over lingering conflict?

  Oda invites both young and old engineers to teach each other. Children play together, regardless of their family backgrounds; their laughter sweeps away all bitterness, creating moments where history no longer burdens their small steps. However, the watchful eyes of the adults reveal that the mixed feelings of hope and fear have not entirely vanished.

  But amidst the laughter and dancing, political whispers remain. Lord Aldebran quietly observes the representatives of the people, searching for someone he can recruit to become a new pawn. He feels the emotions in his heart and the weariness in his soul, torn between the desire to regain power and the awareness of the dangers if his steps are too reckless. Lady Cassara wears a sweet smile, but every word she speaks is laced with thin sarcasm, creating a sharp aura amidst the forced cheerfulness. She knows well how to pull the strings of politics, and as her laughter rings out, she tries to mask her own anxiety with a facade of happiness.

  In the kitchen, the servants discuss the changes. Servant: “I hope this peace is genuine, not just a show for the king…” The servant's voice trembles, revealing deep doubts and curiosity. They know that fragile peace often tempts human nature to betray, and their gazes meet, strengthening the bond among them, even though they come from very different worlds.

  Joanna knows that peace spoken only on lips is not enough. She meets Lord Aldebran privately in the palace library. In the room filled with old books, the scent of paper and dust creates a tense atmosphere, as if history is watching them. They talk at length—about the past, family hopes, and the nobility's fears of a “new world” that is fast and uncertain. When Joanna looks into Lord Aldebran's eyes, she senses deep hesitation, as if he is torn between tradition and the future.

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  Joanna: “If the new world moves on without you, Gaia will be limping. But if you oppose change, the people will no longer believe in old titles.”

  Joanna's voice is firm, but inside, she grapples with worry. She knows her words must be strong, yet every statement also forces her to face the possibility of resistance. Lord Aldebran, with a furrowed brow, shows signs of opposition. He shakes his head as if rejecting the reality being offered.

  Lord Aldebran: “We need guarantees. Our legacy is not just land, but dignity. Don’t cast us aside as if we are the trash of the old world.”

  As Lord Aldebran speaks, his tone carries profound sorrow. It’s as if every word he utters represents generations that have fought to maintain their place in this world. Joanna feels the weight of that emotion, and she swallows hard, trying to calm her racing heart.

  Joanna: “Then let’s create a new system. A council of honor, where the old nobility serves as advisors, not rulers. We need your voices, but the world must no longer be locked by lineage.”

  Joanna's words hang in the air, creating a tension that can be felt. Lord Aldebran ponders, then nods slowly, but his face reveals deep uncertainty, as if he is sacrificing something very precious to him.

  “Fine. I will try to hold back my fangs. But if the palace betrays these words, I will become an enemy you cannot tame.”

  Once again, his gaze is filled with inner conflict. On one side, there is hope for new possibilities; on the other, there is immense pain if that hope shatters. Joanna feels her fighting spirit reignite, but she knows this path will not be easy. The quiet library feels heavier with the reality that they are both on the brink of a significant shift in the world they know.

  The night before the official announcement of the new council, an incident occurs: the main boiler fuel is contaminated with sleep glyphs by someone who infiltrated during the festival. In the darkness, tension escalates, and voices falter as they process the consequences of this wicked act. The machine nearly explodes, only saved by Oda's quick thinking and the young sorceress from the laboratory, who swiftly performs a restoration ritual, her panic tempered by deep courage.

  Suspicions flare again—everyone accuses one another, even the victims' families and the nobility exchange suspicious glances, tears and anger mixing. In a secret room, the atmosphere is tense; Joanna comforts Yana and several representatives of the people, their faces creased with worry. Joanna: “Peace is always tested by those who fear losing power—both from our side and yours. If we give in to fear, the spiral of vengeance will live again.” Her voice is soft yet firm, reflecting the uncertainty gnawing at her own heart.

  Yana, who once hated the palace, now speaks more quietly, struggling to find new conviction in the tyranny of her past. Yana: “This time, I want to believe. But don’t let new blood spill in vain, Jo.” Her eyes glisten, the light of hope and fear clashing in her mind, marking how fragile the line is between seeking peace and repeating a dark history.

  Finally, the new council is announced. There are special seats for representatives of the people, chairs for the advisors of the old nobility, and a supervisory position held by Joanna—a symbol of a new world learning from its wounds. With hopeful yet nervous eyes, Joanna feels the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. The rumble of the crowd outside adds to the tension inside the room, and she knows her decisions will be a test for all.

  Many remain suspicious, many are not yet ready to forgive. Their faces reflect old wounds that have not healed, while some look at each other with doubt. But slowly, the work together begins. The boiler train runs again, the school of magic welcomes the children of farmers, and nobles sit side by side, and the garden festival becomes a monthly routine to keep the bridge of peace open. These small moments provide new hope, even though they are still overshadowed by anxiety.

  That night, Joanna stands on the balcony with Fitran and Rinoa. The city looks peaceful, but she knows that such peace is easily shattered—like thin glass between two stones. The sadness in her eyes reflects her uncertainty, and the sound of the wind seems to whisper, reminding her of what is at stake.

  Joanna: “Peace does not mean wounds heal. But perhaps, peace is the courage to hold back a hand from striking back and a heart from adding more wounds.” Her voice trembles, holding back the burning emotions, and for a moment, she feels as if the entire burden rests on her shoulders.

  Fitran: “As long as we are willing to talk, the spiral of vengeance can be broken—even if tomorrow we may have to start all over again.” Fitran's gaze reflects a mix of hope and fear, a mirror of their long journey.

  Rinoa gazes far into the garden, her hair dancing in the night wind. “As long as there is one heart willing to try again, the new world will remain alive.” She speaks softly, yet there is firmness in her voice—seemingly reassuring herself and others that hope must not fade.

  Joanna bows her head, her shoulders slightly trembling. Fitran reaches out, gently touching Joanna's shoulder. Fitran: “Joanna, you are too hard on yourself. You have borne more than enough. This world… does not ask us to be perfect, only to endure together.”

  Rinoa moves closer, embracing Joanna from the side. Rinoa: “It’s okay to feel tired, Jo. Those wounds may not disappear, but you are not alone in bearing them. We are here, with you—always.”

  Joanna finally allows herself to lean into Rinoa's embrace, letting the simple warmth seep through the cracks in her heart. That night, Gaia sleeps more quietly—not because there are no problems, but because there are those who choose to fight to maintain peace, even in the shadow of wounds that have yet to heal. There is no typical night clamor, only the slow heartbeat merging with the still-burning hope.