Chapter 45 – That Which Was Never Mine
Lumina's body was cold.
The altar had crumbled into dust. The remnants of incantations still lingered like the whisper of a wound. No sound remained, only the echo of something that had never been whole.
She touched her stomach. No movement. Silence. Emptiness.
"You rejected that life," whispered the wind from the hollow altar.
But it was not Maxcen's voice. Not Kaelin's. Not anyone's.
Lumina rose. Her steps dragged across the ruins. Dried blood stained her soles, but she did not complain. She had known this would happen. She had always known her body was not a vessel.
The child… vanished. Not dead. Not taken. But dissolved.
Merged into something inseparable from emptiness.
She never had the chance to give it a name.
Never the chance to hear its cry.
It was only an echo.
The ancient force within her did not resist.
But it did not welcome either.
It absorbed. It digested. It drowned the small life into the deepest abyss, and erased its existence.
Kaelin might once have called it hope.
But Lumina did not believe hope could live inside a body that had once rejected life itself.
She sat with her back against the rubble. Her eyes lifted to the gaping ceiling.
There were no stars. Only a black rift—fractures in the world.
"Are you crying?" asked a small voice.
Not from outside, but from within.
A shadow, perhaps. Or the remnant of a soul that never had the chance to grow.
Lumina said nothing.
Her hands trembled. Not from grief. But from hollowness.
Her body mourned for something that had never truly been hers.
"You never wanted me," said the voice again.
"I only wanted you safe."
"Then why couldn't I stay?"
She did not answer. She already knew why.
The world does not accept what is not born of pure will. Even the median of life rejects when balance is disturbed.
The child belonged to Kaelin—conceived through cursed magic, saved within a body that was no longer sacred. Planted in a womb that had never prayed for birth.
Thus, it had to vanish—without ever feeling a thing.
Only a faint tremor remained in Lumina's chest. Like ripples in a river that no longer flowed.
She inhaled deeply.
No blood. No torn flesh.
Only emptiness.
She stood. She left the place, walking with a steady gaze.
Her body was intact. But she felt the loss of something that was never meant to be part of her.
Kaelin did not come.
No spirit demanded her.
No force pursued her.
All was quiet, for a moment.
Because the world had already decided: that life was not valid.
Lumina walked toward the faint light. Not to the city.
But to a place where she could be silent without having to answer.
She lowered her gaze.
In her palm, a tiny speck of pure light emerged. A single origin point.
"Are you still there?"
No answer.
But the light seeped into her skin.
She understood now. Not every life needs a name.
Not everything lost must be found.
Some arrive only to test: can this body still feel?
And she felt.
She did not cry. But one drop of blood fell from her eye.
Not a wound.
But a memory of something that almost became life.
Her steps grew light, free of burden.
There was only her.
And the ancient force within her, silent once again—waiting to rise when the world rotted once more.
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