In that instant, all sound vanished.
Ishtar fell silent.
The Chaldeans fell silent.
Everything around them sank into stillness.
Rozen and Tiamat gazed at one another—no words, no actions.
But Rozen could see it all: the sadness, the longing in her eyes.
Looking upon Tiamat like this, recalling her weeping in the Black Sea and her sorrowful song, Rozen began to understand.
He understood what kind of being Tiamat truly was.
In Mesopotamian myth, she was one of the gods of creation. From the union of fresh water, Abzu, and salt water, Tiamat, the gods were born.
Yet those children soon rebelled, killed Abzu, and seized dominion over the world.
Tiamat, though aware of this, calmly accepted their actions—yet for it, she too was struck down by the blades of her own children.
Her body was torn in two, used to create heaven and earth, the very ritual of mankind's genesis.
For such a fate, Tiamat was without doubt sorrowful, pitiful, innocent.
Even if Rozen knew that her true nature differed from the myths—that she was the Mother of All Life, the designer of existence, cast into the Imaginary Numbers because the world no longer needed her—her very being synonymous with evil to mankind, that did not mean she was devoid of emotion.
Indeed, to the world she was an unnecessary existence, one that must never again be allowed.
Should she remain upon the earth, all order of the planet would collapse.
And yet—as a mother goddess whose sole meaning lay in birthing, raising, and loving her children—amidst betrayal, hatred, and malice, she still possessed sorrow, still possessed love.
In other words, alongside her grief and resentment, her "motherhood" remained.
Deep within, her love for her children endured.
Thus, even as she fell into Beast, even as she became one of the Evils of Humanity, perhaps—at the very end—she still carried a final wish: to protect mankind.
That was why she now appeared as she did.
Rozen understood.
He understood why, upon awakening, Tiamat had not acted, but lingered above the Black Sea, quietly singing.
The reason was the restraint upon her.
A seal she had placed upon herself—a final manifestation of her love for mankind.
Once that seal broke, her love for humanity would vanish utterly. She would transform into true Beast, the Beast of Original Sin, existing only to exterminate mankind, to overwrite the planet's ecosystem under instinct's command.
But now, that seal remained. Her love remained.
And so Tiamat's sorrow, her longing, shone through.
Her sorrow was the scar of her children's betrayal.
Her longing was the aching love she still bore for them.
Before Rozen was not yet a fallen monster, but the primordial Mother, the Sea of Life, who cherished her children as her sole meaning of existence.
Why did she gaze only at Rozen?
On one hand, because she sensed his threat—fearing he might break her seal.
On the other hand, because she had seen in him the child who had always listened to her cries, and her eyes could not leave him.
All life in this world sprang from Tiamat.
To her, any living being was her child.
That included Rozen.
So when he cast aside fear and approached her directly, she ceased her song.
Perhaps because, overcome with emotion, she could neither harm her child nor look away from him up close.
From her gaze, Rozen understood it all.
He understood this goddess before him was the embodiment of Tiamat's last love, her last motherhood.
"…Mother."
Unconsciously, Rozen whispered the word.
His hand rose to her face, brushing her cheek.
Tiamat only gazed at him. When his hand touched her, a single tear traced down from her eye.
Then she closed her eyes, leaning into his palm as if to nestle against him.
In that moment, Rozen could feel her overwhelming love, enough to make his heart tremble.
Not only Rozen.
All present were struck silent at the sight—the beautiful goddess, tears streaming, eyes shut, cheek pressed into Rozen's hand.
"…Mother."
Even Ishtar's expression grew complicated.
And then—a voice rang out.
"Step away from Mother, Chaldean Master. As one of the old humanity, you have no right to her love."
With those words, countless golden lights rained from the sky like thunder, shooting down toward Rozen in a blinding storm.
"Danger!"
Ishtar cried out.
"Rozen!"
The Chaldeans finally reacted, faces paling.
"…!"
Rozen, too, was jolted from Tiamat's sorrow and love, his body flashing into an afterimage as he darted away.
"Boom!"
The golden weapons, like countless blades and spears, slammed into the Black Sea before Tiamat, erupting into towers of spray.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa————!!!"
Tiamat's eyes flew open. Her cry rang out—anger, grief, anxiety—it was impossible to tell.
But that cry stilled the Black Sea. The colossal waves fell silent, the waters turned calm once more.
Rozen reappeared midair, gaze cold as he fixed upon the source.
"You alright?"
Ishtar swooped down beside him, glaring ahead.
There, a figure slowly descended, alighting before Tiamat.
"Forgive me, Mother. I was delayed, attending to matters."
The figure turned, then knelt upon one knee before her.
"Kingu!"
Ishtar shouted.
It was indeed Kingu.
But Kingu ignored her. Raising his head, he looked only to Tiamat.
"Tiamat's child, Kingu, has returned at last, Mother."
He spoke reverently.
"Your true child is me. We are the new humanity who shall inherit this earth, this world, replacing the old humanity who betrayed and exiled you. They are not worthy of your love."
"I know your love is selfless, great. Even for old humanity, you would love them as your children. We understand that. But this attachment—you must abandon it here."
"We will return you to your rightful form, our true god."
As he spoke, Kingu lifted both hands in reverence, as if offering tribute.
In his grasp, a golden urn radiated brilliance.
"The Holy Grail!"
Within Chaldea, all cried out in shock.
At last, the Holy Grail of this era had appeared.