On a windy night, Iris remembered Fitran's warm smile as they sat side by side beneath the radiant full moon. A gentle breeze carried the salty freshness of the sea while distant waves rhythmically crashed, composing a tranquil lullaby. As their fingers intertwined, the noisy world around them seemed to dissolve into silence, leaving only their synchronized heartbeats filling the calm. Their laughter danced softly in the stillness, weaving through shared dreams and whispered hopes, as if that precious moment was all that truly mattered. Fitran's voice, tender and unwavering, once murmured, "I will always be here for you, Iris. In every part of this life." In those fleeting hours, their love and hope entwined tightly, forging an invisible bridge that linked their souls across any distance.
Yet, when silence settled after Fitran's departure, Iris found the world swallowed by a shadowy darkness, stripped of any comforting glow. The days crawled endlessly as she replayed their final moments, etched deeply in her memory. Before vanishing, Fitran had held her in a fierce embrace—a touch that radiated safety and fortified Iris's fragile heart. Amidst soft, steady breaths, Fitran vowed not to stray far. Their eyes locked with profound intensity, binding Iris to a sacred promise—one that, in time, slipped away into the engulfing night.
The hundred and first night since Fitran disappeared.
Gaia's vast sky stretched endlessly overhead, studded with stars that flickered faintly, their light wavering as if struggling against the overwhelming darkness to remain alight in the biting cold of night.
Within the quiet solitude of her private chamber, Iris awoke, a shiver tracing down her spine as she sensed a presence breathing just beyond the thin veil of reality.
It was no gentle clatter of servants preparing drinks, nor the measured footsteps of palace guards on patrol. It was not even the soft, rhythmic thrum of the child awakening within her womb. Instead, a faint whisper drifted through her soul—ancient, unyielding words carved into her essence, words absent from the hallowed pages of the Book of Man:
"O progeny of the unnamable light… You do not belong here."
A cold wind slithered through a window that should not have existed,
its icy fingers crawling beneath her skin, sinking deep into her very bones.
In that instant, the solitary candle flame trembled violently before snapping out, plunging the room into a suffocating darkness that swallowed every glimmer of hope.
From the trembling shadow cast by a heavy curtain, silent footsteps materialized—ethereal and ghostlike—as though the fabric itself had taken breath and stirred to life amid the oppressive stillness of night.
Azazel emerged from the depths of the shadows, his skin as pale and brittle as ancient bone. Seven glowing eyes, each radiating a haunting, otherworldly light, scanned the room with relentless intensity. His forked tongue flickered in and out, as if siphoning the surrounding darkness into himself. Breaking the suffocating silence, his presence was undeniable and chilling. A supernatural aura, thick and suffused like a creeping black mist, flowed from him, engulfing the space and warping the very air. The flickering points of light quivered in response, trembling with fear beneath his oppressive gaze. Every deliberate step Azazel took shattered the stillness, sending ripples through the heavy atmosphere, saturating the room with a deep-seated, vibrating tension that felt alive with eerie, palpable power.
Amid this overwhelming darkness, Iris's mind drifted to Fitran—a figure who once illuminated her world with warmth and hope. His gentle smile and steady, hopeful eyes had always been a sanctuary amid the encroaching threats. Their story was woven into one exquisite night beneath a sprawling tapestry of stars, where they sat side by side by a serene lake. The moonlight cascaded softly across the water's glassy surface, creating a shimmering path that seemed endless. In that enchanted stillness, they exchanged dreams and memories, their voices mingling with the whisper of the night breeze. Iris spoke cautiously of the uncertain fate that loomed over her, while Fitran's steady voice vowed unwavering loyalty, promising to stand by her side through whatever darkness lay ahead.
Yet the most unforgettable moment came when Fitran gently reached for Iris's hand, his fingers curling around hers with tender assurance. In a voice thick with conviction, he whispered, "With you, I feel I can face all the frightening things." That intense gaze, once sharp and piercing, now lingered only as a shadow etched deep within Iris's memory, a bittersweet echo filling the hollow spaces left by his departure. His presence had remolded the surrounding darkness into something almost tangible—an otherworldly veil where shadows trembled and danced like living spirits, hinting at secrets lurking beyond mere sight. Around her, the very fabric of space seemed to bend and warp; time slowed to a hesitant pulse, each drawn-out moment teetering on the edge of a profound, unsettling silence.
He stood tall and resolute, neither hunched nor menacing, but exuding a formidable strength that felt elemental—like the living embodiment of cosmic law itself, summoned to claim a price from a miracle that defied ordinary nature. With his return, the darkness morphed and shifted, weaving forms and textures so vivid they seemed almost tangible. Shadows swelled into a haunting symphony of hidden life, while the surrounding air thickened into a dangerous illusion of calm, pulling her perilously close to the abyss of despair.
"Iris. You carry a rift," he declared, his voice sharp and resonant, piercing deep within the core of her soul. "A rift born from the union of Voidwright and the Elemental Queen. Within your womb beats a heart with the power to rewrite the very laws of space—even before its birth, it has sent tremors rippling through the layers of the Aether, unsettling existence itself."
Though her body quivered with unbearable tension, Iris stood unwavering. She was more than a queen; she was a force of love so fierce that it bends the world around her, her essence radiating outward and seeping into every fiber of her being. Each moment hung heavy and melancholic, suspended as if time itself had paused to honor her presence, while the flickering lights around her dimmed uneasily—like fragile candles struggling against an unforgiving, howling wind.
"This child is my answer… to the emptiness left by Fitran." His voice was calm yet resonant, imbued with an unwavering determination that filled the room like a low hum of defiance. "If you dare lay a finger on him, Azazel, I will drain your heaven dry before you taste a drop of his blood." A deep rumble, reminiscent of an enraged swarm of bees, vibrated through the air, thickening the tension and spreading a silent but palpable threat throughout the space.
Azazel's grin split his face, sharp teeth glinting like jagged shards of glass catching the flickering light. The colors around him seemed to twist and warp beneath his menacing smile, as if reality itself recoiled from his presence. With a fluid yet perilous motion, he leaned forward, hovering his hand just above Iris's stomach—
—though he did not truly make contact. A suffocating dark aura poured from Azazel, dimming the surrounding light as if the very air shrank away in fear. The unborn child stirred, an ethereal guardian manifesting an ancient power far beyond mortal grasp. Each heartbeat from Iris sent ripples brushing against Azazel's fingertips, echoing with a force that trembled through the room. Shadows stretched and writhed along the walls, seeming to possess their own sinister will and awakening with a life of their own.
Azazel's shadow hissed and melted like burning wax, twisting into an undefined, amorphous shape that spilled forth wrath in a forbidden, forgotten language. His voice, thick with bitterness and saturated with deep darkness, echoed through the room. Dark energy pulsed from his very form, fracturing the delicate balance of light and warping the air around him into shimmering distortions, as if reality itself teetered on the edge of unraveling beneath his oppressive presence.
"It already has a will of its own. It has recognized destruction and refuses to submit. So I will come when it slips beyond your protection. On the day it is born, Iris... I will be by your bedside,
asking it: do you want to be a god, or a victim?"
The wind stirred suddenly, breaking the heavy silence that hung like a suffocating shroud in the room—like a hidden lust, long dormant, now awakened. Azazel vanished, swallowed whole by the shadows, yet not without leaving a fine crack in the ceiling, as if the very walls of reality had lost their faith, trembling beneath the weight of his terrifying presence. The darkness seemed alive, seeping through the fragile seams of the physical world, suffusing everything with a cold, despairing cloak. In the corners, the shadows twisted and writhed into grotesque forms, their sharp, piercing eyes watching intently, waiting for the moment to strike.
Iris lowered her gaze, her face faintly veiled by the deepening shadows of sorrow, as if cold winds whispered through those darkened contours, chilling her to the bone. Her hand rested gently on her slowly rounding belly, feeling the invisible pulse of new life stirring within—like a fragile flame flickering defiantly against the encroaching void, its light unwavering despite the surrounding darkness.
"You are not alone," she whispered, her voice soft and steady, flowing like a gentle stream carving its path through a landscape of panic. "Even if your father cannot come, I will stand as the last shield protecting you before they reach you."