Their forms trembled, faces twisted in agony.
"Free… dom…" "Help us… kid…"
Their voices overlapped, drenched in unbearable suffering, echoing through the cursed land like broken prayers.
"We want—"
Orimo stepped forward.
"Say no more," he said calmly. "I'll ease your suffering."
He walked ahead, burning rage simmering deep inside his chest.
"This isn't Emka," he murmured to himself.
All around him, the echoes of spirits crying filled the air — as if they had been enduring a thousand years of torment, unable to rest, unable to move on.
Then Orimo encountered an old man. Tears streamed endlessly from his hollow eyes as he spoke.
"Do you know Diamante Tempest?" the old man asked, his voice shaking.
"He controls our spirits… even after death. We're in immense pain… please… help us."
An old woman appeared beside him, her form flickering.
"My daughter and I died," she said, sobbing as her voice broke.
"When the island was erased."
She collapsed to her knees, clutching her chest.
"Promise us," she begged.
"You won't let anyone go through what we did again… I beg you."
Orimo looked at the spirits. His gaze sharpened — no hesitation, no fear.
"Don't worry," he said firmly.
"I will save and protect as many as I can."
"That, I promise you."
The old woman screamed softly in pain — then whispered,
"Thank you…"
Her form faded, disappearing into the darkness, finally at peace.