Chapter 113 A Split Womb, a Singing World
That night, while the world slumbered under the embrace of a dark sky, Fitran sat silently in the towering spire of Atlantis Magic School. The soft flicker of candlelight cast wavering shadows against ancient stone walls, weaving an atmosphere thick with enigma. Immersed in Keiran's intricate notes on the Gamma language, each word beckoned his mind to journey deeper—like a flowing river carrying whispered secrets from unknown realms. Then, abruptly...
His mental seal shattered.
Not from the overwhelming magic woven within the knowledge, but from a pain so profound it defied recognition: the pain of Iris.
Within the darkest recesses of his mind, a foreign dream began to unravel—an ominous realm drenched in fresh blood, slick with dripping amniotic fluid, haunted by the anguished cries of a fetus trapped in eternal darkness, never glimpsing the light of the world. A heavy fusion of longing and sorrow exhaled as a single, suffocating breath, etching a grim tableau where time itself seemed suspended between despair and the faintest glimmer of lost hope.
Fitran rose slowly, his body trembling under the weight of unseen forces,
words caught, failing to escape his lips.
Only a subtle movement persisted—a pulse emanating deep within his soul, stirring every fiber of his being. Through this ripple, the dream world opened its gates to the Voidwright who dared to defy the Mother of Cursed Wombs.
From the depths of shadow, Lamashtu stepped forward with unwavering resolve, his face illuminated by a radiant glow of divine pride that cut through the darkness like a beacon. His voice reverberated through the dreamscape, dripping with disdain: "Oh, weak mortal, you dare trespass in a realm you ought to venerate. Beneath my eternal gaze, you shall bear witness to a power far beyond your comprehension!"
Fitran met his challenge with steady determination, his eyes burning with unshakable conviction. "Your power means nothing compared to our will. Even if our dreams fracture and fall, we will stand and fight!"
With a deliberate motion, Lamashtu lifted his hand and chanted an ancient invocation in a voice deep and resonant: "Vahron Zalarath!" (Light of Destruction!). In an instant, searing flames erupted, tearing through the dreamscape in a surreal blaze of incandescent fury. Waves of scorching energy surged forward like molten rivers, forcing Fitran to step back, each retreat weighed down by a profound sorrow—as if the very essence of his soul, his hopes and dreams, were being eroded and consumed by the relentless inferno.
Amid the swirling chaos, Fitran drew a slow, steady breath and whispered with unyielding faith, "Inggathra Illyas!" (Repression of Darkness!). As his words echoed softly, the surging flames began to falter, the torrential wave of destruction solidifying into a luminous, radiant shield that encased him like a fortress. The brilliant barrier absorbed the ferocity of Lamashtu's assault, casting a brief moment of calm over the storm. Yet beneath this fragile peace, the tension hummed palpably within their souls, betraying a struggle that transcended mere physical battle, delving into the very fabric of their beings.