Inside the sanctuary, following the audacious escape from Dorshan's tomb, the angels convened in a serious discussion. Moonlight streamed through the treetops, creating silver circles of light around the wounded and fatigued.
Penemue rested quietly, her heartbeat faint yet consistent, as Sariel quietly administered healing, wrapping her delicate form in layers of luminous energy. Although liberated, Shamsiel bore the invisible wounds of his captivity. His eyes reflected a deep emptiness, and his voice was muted by feelings of betrayal and celestial anguish. In the center of the assembly stood Samyaza, his wings crackling with storm energy, and his once-bright golden eyes dulled by the weight of responsibility.
"We must disappear," he finally announced, his voice breaking through the stillness like a clap of thunder. "Humans are no longer our kin; they have become our enemies disguised in memories. We must retreat into the sea—beyond their reach—until we are forgotten."
The angels, faces etched with solemnity, nodded in agreement. Some wept softly, while others closed their eyes, inwardly reflecting. They all comprehended: this marked the conclusion of an era.
But the Nephilim could not stay silent.
Igodo stepped forward, his body taut and his voice cutting like finely forged steel. "Are you suggesting we run? Hide like phantoms beneath the waves while humans sharpen their weapons for our demise?"
Oduwa's fury blazed hotter than fire. "We are not prey—we are power, born of the stars and the earth. Let them come; we will vanquish them."
Agreement rippled through the crowd like a rising tide. The younger Nephilim—Oyuki, Iyore, Idu, and Etin—stood defiantly, filled with untamed vigor and fierce ambition. They did not seek escape; they yearned for supremacy.
Samyaza raised a hand to quell their unrest, but the storm of rebellion had already swelled.
At that moment, the mothers stepped in.
Maari, Igodo's mother, was the first to enter the circle. Her movements were calm and intentional. She bore no weapons, yet the power of generations emanated from her. Her voice, though gentle, quieted the camp like snow falling on embers.
"You are fueled by the fire of your ancestors. But uncontrolled fire leads only to destruction," she warned. "Do not confuse patience with weakness. Your time will come."
Anaa, the mother of Oduwa and Iyore, followed suit. Her eyes sparkled with profound wisdom beneath her headscarf. "If we retreat now, it doesn't mean we surrender—it's a strategy. Let them think they have triumphed, let them forget their fear. We shall return when the world has turned once more."
One by one, other Nephilim mothers joined in. These women had given birth to angelic children and nurtured them between sky and soil. They spoke not like warriors, but as sources of life, roots, and prophecies.
"We will find a way," Maari whispered to Igodo. "To restore the Nephilim—not as hunted creatures, but as rulers. You will reign—but not yet."
Igodo, still fiery with rage, locked eyes with her. Slowly, he lowered his head in understanding.
"I trust you alone," he said. "Bring us that future."
Oduwa, more reluctant to bend, gazed at his mother for a long moment. Finally, he nodded in agreement.
"We may go beneath the waves," he growled, "but we will rise again."
And so, the Nephilim chose to stand down, not out of fear, but from respect and hope. Hope for a new era that would honor their lineage and renew their purpose.
As twilight deepened, the angels began to chant.
Ancient words surged like powerful rivers through the clearing. The sea responded, its currents swayed not by the moon but by a deeper force. The sanctuary trembled as the very earth began shifting. Stones unraveled, trees dissipated into mist, and the atmosphere became thick with vapor while the veil of concealment descended.
One by one, the angels and Nephilim disappeared beneath the sea—wrapped in spells older than the stars, cloaked in shadow and light, leaving behind only an eerie silence.
The humans witnessed nothing.
The city of Dorshan would eventually forget,
Yet, in the depths, legends began to stirred.