The sound of The Horn rang out. It was a sound that could not be compared to any known instrument—deep, desolate, and piercing through the veils of life, death, and time, like a heavy sigh exhaled by the world itself.
The sound was not high-pitched, yet it rippled outward in an incomprehensible manner, skimming over the ink-black sea, seeping into the island’s rock strata, and echoing in the cracks between reality and nothingness.
The sea responded.
One, ten, 100, 1,000… countless translucent figures emitting a faint Glimmer rose slowly from beneath the waves, from the jagged rocks, and from the rusted wreckage of ships. They took many forms: some wore ancient armor, others tattered explorer’s gear, but most wore the familiar, ravaged uniforms of the Order Bureau. Their faces were blurred, and only the pale or eerie blue flames burning in their eyes remained distinct. They all looked toward the source of the sound, toward Jiang Ming, who held The Horn.
A dead silence followed—a silence even more vast and heavy than before.
Jiang Ming lowered The Horn. His throat and chest felt as if they had been scorched by that single call. He straightened his back, facing hundreds of millions of gazes that were enough to drive any living being mad.
“I know who you are!”
His voice pierced through the silence of the dead like a quenched dagger, cutting through the darkness.
“You are not lost Wraiths, nor are you travelers who sank by chance. You are The Unyielding!”
“Look at those beside you! Look at these tattered uniforms, this rusted armor, and these rotting ship planks!” He swept his arm across the entire Sea of the Dead. “You come from different eras, different ships, and different missions… but you fell here, sank here, and linger here for one common reason!”
Jiang Ming’s gaze was as sharp as a sword, as if he intended to pierce through the obsessions hidden beneath each Wraith’s blurred face.
“You refused to kneel!”
“When the Angels wove the threads of fate and demanded your obedience; when They handed down divine oracles and demanded you surrender your freedom and will; when a bent knee could have bought survival or even a blessing, you chose to keep your backs straight! You chose to point your weapons at the sky! In Their perfect script, you chose to scream ‘no’!”
The Sea of the Dead trembled violently. Countless blue soul fires flickered wildly, emitting silent yet deafening shrieks! Memories eroded by the long passage of years were brutally awakened. Yes, unyielding! Resistance! Against those high-and-mighty existences who manipulated everything, they had burned away the last of their life’s fury!
“That is why you were placed here!” Jiang Ming’s voice rose above the spiritual storm, carrying a resonance of blood and fire. “This island is not your destination; it is a prison! That monster is not a guardian; it is a jailer! The Angels threw those of you who would not listen into this eternal cage, watching you sink into despair, watching your resistance become a repetitive performance, over and over again, until the end of time!”
He raised The Horn once more, not as a tool for summoning, but as a banner, a symbol.
“This horn cannot command you. It only gives you a choice: to continue fading into silence within this eternal cage, or…”
He paused, his eyes like burning stars as they swept over the millions of dead.
“Seize this final opportunity! Let those Angels who think they control everything take another look. Let them see if the spines they failed to break back then are still straight today! See if the fury they thought had long since withered can still burn the sky and boil the sea!”
His voice finally turned into a thunderclap that tore through the dusk:
“Not for me, not for the living, not even for revenge!”
“Simply to tell them—”
“Some souls never surrender!”
“Some cries will never be silenced!”
“Some existences, even if only a spark of ash remains, will still sear Their eyes!”
“One last time, grip your weapons! Not for survival, but to declare—”
“We existed!”
“We resisted!”
“We will never forgive!”
A roar erupted!
It was no longer a silent vibration, but the soul-shriek of millions, condensing all their indignation, rage, and pride into a spiritual tsunami that swept through heaven and earth!
The Sea of the Dead began to boil completely. The blue soul fires merged into a single, resolute wall of flame. They turned, transforming the hatred and pride accumulated over countless years into a spear point that could incinerate all things, aiming it directly at the descending darkness!
Behind the boiling flames of the dead, on the horizon of the distant sea under a clear sky illuminated by the final rays of the setting sun, more silhouettes of sails appeared as if in response.
The wreckage of ships that had sunk here across different eras and for different reasons—yet all for resisting the Angels—broke free from the silt of history. Their tattered, ghostly hulls swelled with illusory sails as they cut through the ink-green water. They converged silently toward Colchis Island, toward this ultimate sacrifice and testament.
The light was fading, and darkness was falling.
But the burning soul fires and the returning sails illuminated these waters like the most magnificent twilight before the end of the world.