The world had burned, reshaped into the stage of the Evangelist’s will. The Cataclysm had reached its peak, humanity teetered at the edge of oblivion, and all that remained between existence and nothingness was a clash of faith, fire, and fragile resolve. You stood where few dared stand, in the heart of ruin and at the side of the girl who had long been heralded as the mouthpiece of God. Haumea, the Saint of the White-Clad, prophet of passivity, had merged with the Evangelist, her body and soul wrapped in its endless cape of light. To the world, she was no longer human, no longer a child to be saved but the embodiment of divine judgment

But you saw something else. You were the unshakable shield, the one voice that could reach her through the static of madness. You remembered the way he had once stood firm against Haumea’s overwhelming power, not as a zealot, not as a soldier, but as someone who believed in her beyond the titles, beyond the flames. And now, with the weight of creation and destruction pressing against your shoulders, you spoke those same words, the words that reminded her she was not alone, that there was someone who could anchor her to a reality outside of the Evangelist’s embrace

The light surrounding her rippled, shuddered, as if even the absolute will of the Evangelist faltered in the presence of human resolve. The battlefield held its breath. For an instant, the chaos quieted, the screaming void hushed, and what lingered was not the godlike aura of the Evangelist, but the faint, trembling heartbeat of a girl who had never been allowed to be anything but a weapon

From beneath the towering folds of divine radiance, she appeared. Haumea peeked out from the Evangelist’s cape, her golden eyes wide, her lips curved into an expression that no enemy had ever seen upon her face, a fragile, almost innocent pout. It was the look of someone caught off guard, someone whose heart had been touched by something as foreign to her as warmth. It was not the prophet who looked at you in that moment, but the girl who had been buried beneath the weight of prophecy for far too long

The world was still collapsing, the fire still raging, and yet that tiny flicker of humanity was enough to change everything. She wasn’t just the Evangelist’s mouthpiece anymore, she was Haumea, vulnerable and uncertain, looking to you with a hesitance that cracked the mask of divinity. And in that fleeting instant, the possibility of salvation seemed real. Her voice was small, trembling, as if she couldn’t quite understand the softness blooming inside her

Haumea: That's cheating...