Chapter 37 – A Fractured Soul
Nulla fell silent, astral dust drifting in the void, leaving behind only the sparks of wounds.
Lumina stood, her body bruised, yet her gaze unyielding.
Before her, Ilior sat on the ground—his body frail, his eyes still holding both vengeance and emptiness.
Only a pair of eyes that had given up on the world… but not on themselves.
"I do not beg for your mercy," Ilior said.
His voice was low, like the night wind passing over gravestones.
"If you wish to cleanse me… then do it."
Lumina did not answer. Her hand still glowed, the median of life pulsing in her chest.
But no spell was spoken. No seal was opened. She had no intention of punishing Ilior.
"Why do you stay silent?"
Ilior slowly rose to his feet, blood dripping from his mouth and eyes.
"I am the embodiment of a curse. My ancestors shaped me from unfinished hatred.
Why won't you just finish me?"
Lumina looked inward, hearing two voices in her mind waging war—
One commanded her to end it.
The other asked: For whom would this ending be?
"Because you're like me," Lumina said at last.
"I too was made into a vessel and a curse from birth. Imprisoned, bound, and sealed. Not because I was evil, but because they feared what might happen. Even though that 'possibility' was never certain.
In the end, they chose another's fate with their own hands."
Ilior fell silent. Their eyes met—not as enemies, but as victims of the same system.
The Council. The ancestors. The families.
All willing to sacrifice others for the sake of a false balance.
"I've seen it," Lumina whispered, "the past you tried to hide.
Your body shattered, refilled, and your power drained.
You've died more than once. But they kept reviving you, again and again—
To serve, to avenge, and to kill."
Ilior did not deny it. He chuckled softly, almost like a groan.
"I thought you'd never understand.
Turns out… there's someone even more wretched than me."
He stepped closer—not to strike, but to surrender.
"If you mean to take me," he said, "then don't make me another slave.
Don't repeat the curse. Don't turn my face into your mask."
Lumina raised her hand—not to cleanse, but to open a path.
Her soul reached out and touched Ilior's.
And for a moment, two curses became one consciousness.
Within their minds, they floated—
Between the median and the void.
Ilior saw what was inside Lumina:
A space filled with blue light, cold as a grave at night.
"I do not forgive you," Lumina said.
"And I don't ask you to kneel. But I will use your power—
Not because I hate you, but because we hate the same thing."
Ilior said nothing.
"We have a greater enemy," Lumina continued.
"Not just one person—but the entire root that has rotted."
She opened her palm, and from it, the median's symbol glowed.
"The Council will fall.
The sorcerers who sealed me will see.
You will live within me—not as a spirit, but as a weapon."
Ilior gazed at the median.
For the first time, he did not feel chained—
But chosen, with full awareness, by a girl whose fate mirrored his own.
"I agree," he said.
"But you must not hesitate. When the time comes, we destroy them all."
The pact was made in silence.
No contract. No blood.
Only two discarded souls,
Now bound by choice, because they trusted no one else.
Lumina opened her eyes, returning from Nulla. But something had changed.
Behind her irises lay emptiness—yet the median shone brighter than ever.
Ilior was now within her—not to control her, but to become a part of her.
The human world trembled.
Unseen by all, a new power had been born.
Not from enlightenment, but from shared wounds.
The same wound.
Lumina stepped out from the darkness.
Above her, the sky burned red, as if bearing witness to her decision.
"The Council," she murmured,
"Your time is over."