> "There is a light that does not offer warmth.
There is a breath that does not come from lungs."
And Lumina… was both.
She sat at the edge of a moss-covered stone, one born from the ruins of time. Above her, the wind carried no scent of flowers—only ash. A thin mist hung like a shroud of death, cloaking her place of exile—a foreign land overgrown with the roots of vengeance, roots left behind by ancient spirits forgotten by history.
They called this place the End of the World.
But in truth, it was not an end.
It was the beginning of something never permitted to breathe.
And Lumina wanted to breathe—
if only once more.
Her body still bore wounds. The tattered clothes clinging to her were witnesses to betrayal and abandonment. Yet in her eyes, there was fire. She turned toward a swirl of wind slithering through the air like a serpent. That aura wasn't hers.
But it was familiar—
like an echo of a voice she'd never spoken, like a shadow she once knew in dreams that had been forcibly erased.
Someone was out there...
Someone like her.
But as she stepped closer to the boundary of that realm—
the place where shadows had no name—
a piercing voice rang out.
"Stop, human."
Ancient spirits emerged. They had no faces—only the curve of black mist forming mouthless jaws and hands that gripped the earth as if ready to tear her apart.
"This place is not for the living," one hissed.
"You entered as a human, and none of your kind are allowed to leave alive."
Lumina looked at them.
Not with fear—
but with pain that had crystallized into strength.
She said nothing.
Yet her body began to glow softly.
Not a holy light—
but the radiance of a wound.
A light born from ruin.
The ancient spirits charged.
They moved like a storm of black wind, twisting the sky and toppling dead trees. Lumina's body was thrown back—but she did not yield. She stood again. Bled again. And with a single breath—she summoned her power.
From within her, shards of light burst forth, like fragments of shattered glass—sharp and lacerating.
"I don't intend to escape…" she whispered.
"…I just want to know why I'm still alive."
The battle was not merely one of strength—
but of existence.
The spirits sought to erase her not because she was weak—
but because she threatened the balance.
But before the blood dried on the ashen soil,
before Lumina could unleash the last of her power to defend her remaining breath—
another voice descended from the fractured sky.
"Enough."
The voice was no echo.
It was the chime of halted time.
From the mist emerged the Sovereign of Ancient Spirits.
None dared speak his name—
for every utterance summoned the deepest echoes of eternity.
His body was forged of shattered sky,
and in his eyes burned stars that had died millions of years ago.
He walked through the battlefield,
and with every step, he silenced the air of its murderous intent.
"She lives because she must," he said.
"And you will not spill blood that was never yours to create."
The ancient spirits writhed, screamed—
but could not resist.
They were not only afraid—
they obeyed.
"She is human!" one of them spat.
"She is more than that," the Sovereign replied.
Then, from the cracked heavens, a voice of prophecy fell:
> "If the two old flames find each other before the cleansing is complete,
then the world shall no longer distinguish between light and darkness."
Lumina stood still.
Her chest felt as if it had been torn open.
The prophecy struck the roots of memories long buried.
Who was she?
Why did she possess a power that even ancient spirits feared?
The Sovereign looked into her eyes.
"Your time has not yet come, Lumina.
But time will come for you."
And in that moment,
the stagnant black water pooled atop the stones reflected something—
not Lumina's face—
but the eyes of someone not present in that realm.
Eyes filled with dark light—
eyes like night remembering day.
The eyes of someone named Enver.
In another corner of the world,
Enver was staring into the cracked mirror of his sanctuary—
and within its fractured surface,
he saw Lumina's eyes.
He did not know who she was.
But something deep within him knew—
this meeting was not an illusion.
In different places,
at the same moment in time,
two souls—born of exile and wounds—
saw one another.
And the world began to tremble.