Chapter 103 The Daughter Who Shouldn’t Be Born
Gaia Grand Castle, Underground Throne Room
Amid the zircon stones that softly radiated a sacred, ethereal light, Iris stood poised and graceful, draped in a magnificent ceremonial gown intricately woven with anti-detection runes. The heavy cloak trailing behind her was dusted with shimmering particles that caught the faint glow, its rich fabric forming a stark contrast against the enveloping darkness of the chamber. Yet, the true burden of the cloak was far heavier than its weight— it concealed a lie she could never afford to reveal. The damp, cold air of the underground throne room seeped mercilessly through the folds of her gown, sending icy tendrils of discomfort across her skin and deepening the unease knotting within her. Nervously, Iris tightened the cloak around her slender frame, yearning for its dense layers to shield her not just from the chilling air, but from the accusing, suspicious eyes lurking unseen within the castle's shadowed walls.
"They will call me a heretic. They will demand purification. Or worse... reject me as Gaia."
A full month had elapsed since Lamashtu's ominous emergence, yet the tension rooted itself ever deeper in Iris's restless mind. The danger wasn't confined to the shadows of her dreams alone—outside, the Gaia Council had begun to cast doubtful glances at the Queen's growing absence from the sacred ceremonies, leaving an unsettling void where her radiant presence once flourished. The space that had once shimmered with light and an unmistakable vibrant aura now felt dim, claustrophobic, as if the crushing weight of unanswered hopes pressed relentlessly on her shoulders. Questions churned within her: Why did her body feel uncharacteristically soft? Why did her aura no longer blaze with the piercing, magical light that had always enveloped her?
With each increasingly erratic heartbeat, Iris felt herself ensnared within the oppressive silence of darkness. A trembling hand reached out, fingers brushing against the cold, unforgiving stone walls of the castle, seeking some fragile anchor amidst the uncertainty. The fragile embers of hope flickered weakly within her, slowly succumbing to the relentless waves of doubt that clung to her like a suffocating shroud.
Along the castle's shadowed corridors, unseen eyes watched with relentless scrutiny. Factions moved like phantoms lingering in the gloom, their presence nearly spectral as they slipped between pockets of darkness. Their keen gazes tracked Iris's every movement, as if drawn to the quiet vulnerability emanating from her. Whispered voices floated on the stale air, punctuated by soft, cautious footsteps, weaving a tapestry of tension that threatened to close around her like an inescapable snare.
Every passing second quickened Iris's heartbeat, now pounding erratically within the dark, damp confines of the underground castle. The cold, rough zirconium stone walls radiated a piercing chill that seemed to seep deep beneath her skin, sending shivers of unease coursing through her as she mulled over the rise of the Ordo Asterion. Heavy humidity clung to her skin, thick and suffocating, mingling with the faint, sickly scent of rotting leaves seeping through the barely visible cracks in the ancient windows. Shadows shifted restlessly in the surrounding darkness, conjuring images of the Ordo Asterion's rigid doctrine and the extremist views of the Eclipsian Atlantis faction—phantoms haunting her mind. The overwhelming tension squeezed her spirit tightly; her once-tense shoulders sagged slightly, burdened by a weight in her heart that seemed unbearable. With every whispered criticism and piercing gaze aimed her way, the threat looming over her intensified, like a relentless cold stream slowly eroding her resolve. If they continued to track her, nowhere would remain safe—her soul caught at a crossroads, teetering precariously between hope and fear. In that suffocating atmosphere, Iris understood with stark clarity that she had to act swiftly. The time to hide was slipping away, and she could no longer delay facing the dangers creeping ever closer.
Ordo Asterion is a faction of conservative Gaia priests, their pride rooted in the sacred belief that Gaia's bloodline must remain pure—untainted by any powers originating beyond the veil of reality. Clad in austere robes, their stern faces and piercing gazes mirror an unyielding resolve as they diligently uphold ancient rituals passed down through countless generations, their every action steeped in solemn tradition.
Faksi Eclipsian Atlantis is a collective of extremist scholars consumed by a fanatic conviction: that the Void represents a contagious and malevolent disease rather than an enigmatic phenomenon worthy of study. Fueled by a fiery obsession, these academics tirelessly gather forbidden knowledge in shadowed chambers, preparing themselves to wage war against what they perceive as an existential threat poised to unravel all of creation.