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.
Unyielding, Lamashtu surged forward with a fierce strike, her voice slicing through the charged air like a blade. "Dodging alone will not save you, o Voidwright!" she hissed, her words dripping with scorn. Then, with chilling precision, she unleashed a curse, intoning, "Tamalor Nihil!" (Lost in Darkness!). The very fabric of the dreamscape trembled violently beneath the weight of her destructive magic, the shadows twisting and writhing as they pressed heavily on Fitran's mind. Bitterness and sorrow from past wounds clawed their way to the surface, casting deep shadows behind his tightly shut eyes.
Amidst the convulsing chaos of the battle, Fitran felt a surge of searing pain blend with rising strength, a flame kindling deep within his soul. Memories of Iris flickered like distant stars, illuminating the darkness with tender light and reigniting a dormant spirit long subdued. Drawing forth every shred of courage left within, he roared with a voice thick with determination, "Behold, Lamashtu, we are stronger than this fear! Abyssus Vitorum!" (Victorious Abyss!).
A radiant energy burst forth, piercing the veil of darkness with a brilliance that cleaved the shadows asunder. Fitran's resolve blazed like a solitary star in an obsidian sky, bathing the dreamscape in a luminous glow that shattered the menacing shadows and breathed hope into the heart of the storm.
After the fierce attack, a heavy silence fell between them—a solemn pause thick with unspoken understanding. Every thought was ensnared by the clash of their powers, a decisive battle frozen in time, each moment pregnant with the anticipation of the next move that could shatter the mounting tension.
He descended deeper into the labyrinthine layers of the dream, as if plunging into the very womb of the world, enveloped by an all-encompassing stillness that whispered secrets in the void.
Here, time unraveled, ceasing its linear march;
his form fractured—part warrior ablaze with relentless, burning passion, part shadow curled tight within the shaded recesses of his wounded heart.
He wandered among the infants forsaken and aborted by history,
traversing wombs twisted into cruel battlegrounds,
until at last he reached the pulsating core of the grotesque and nightmarish flesh palace...
where Iris dangled in a harrowing state, bound by a monstrous umbilical cord, her eyes vacant and swallowed by eternal darkness, overflowing with sorrow.
Perched atop a throne carved from the bones of countless mothers, Lamashtu waited, radiating a chilling and malevolent presence.
Her wide, leathery wings stretched ominously; sharp, jagged horns crowned her head; and seven merciless eyes glinted with cruel calculation.
Her face morphed in a nightmarish amalgam—part human mother, part untouched virgin, part feral beast—each element fusing into a visage both mesmerizing and terrifying.
Lamashtu hissed, her voice dripping with ancient malice: "You have finally arrived, Father of the Forbidden to Be Born. Do you truly dare to challenge the fate I have woven? Understand this — the battlefield I command is inevitable, and no one escapes its grasp."
Fitran stepped forward, eyes blazing with resolute defiance. "I am not a father, only a man bound by love. I will protect Iris, no matter the cost. No curse, no darkness can stand in my way."
Lamashtu sneered, her seven eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Such audacity. Do you really believe your fleeting courage can withstand my eternal power? Hear me well — I will cast a curse so profound it will rend your very soul."
Her hands stretched outward, fingers weaving through the air as ancient runes ignited around her. In a voice like thunder rolling across a desolate plain, she intoned: "Vashtara Ibonar, deep darkness, birth the gripping life!"
Fitran met her challenge without hesitation, his voice a fierce cry of determination: "If battle is what you seek, I will unleash every ounce of my strength. For Iris!" Flames of raw energy erupted from his being as he commanded, "Quorath Asyl, shatter the flow of time!"
A surging tide of radiant power burst forth, crashing into Lamashtu's form and staggering the monstrous goddess, if only fleetingly. But her eyes narrowed to lethal slits as she countered, her spell sharp as a blade: "Only a weak mortal believes they can twist my destiny. Now, face this — Direstakan Nefarim, cast shadows into the void!"
A tempest of overwhelming energy violently hurled Fitran across the vast dreamscape, shaking the fragile boundaries of reality itself until countless fragments scattered into the void beyond. In the eye of this unexpected cataclysm, both warriors fell into a heavy silence, the tension thick and palpable—as if time itself had paused, holding its breath to witness the collision of raw courage and unyielding arrogance.
With a sneer of haughty defiance, Lamashtu lifted her hand toward the shadowed sky. The dreams of Gaia's children—once delicate glimmers, like twinkling stars drifting gently downward—twisted suddenly into grotesque flesh-tipped spears, plummeting from the heavens with lethal precision. Yet, against the deadly storm, Fitran's spirit blazed brighter than ever; gathering every ounce of his resolve, he stretched forth his hands and declared:
"True Dark Magic: Shell of the Nameless Father."
From this invocation, an existential shield blossomed before him—not a barrier wrought from mere physical might or conventional sorcery, but a terrifying masterpiece forged from the depths of self-denial. This was no common defense; it was the embodiment of his inner will, a fortress born from the void itself. In profound, unyielding silence, Fitran vowed to cast off the fate of becoming a sorrowful father of worlds or a tormented savior. His heart beat solely to protect one woman, his love radiating like a steadfast beacon piercing the surrounding darkness—a glimmer of hope amid the encroaching night.
The dreams shattered like shards of fragile glass hurled violently onto stone, their piercing crash fracturing the profound silence. From the shadows emerged Lamashtu, a looming dark figure whose malevolent eyes glowed like embers in a void, his chilling laughter echoing through the air like a cascade of splintering emptiness. "Listen, lowly creature! For every hope you clutch, a deeper fragment of sorrow awaits," he sneered, his voice dripping with venomous arrogance. "The Guardian will not allow you to escape your shameful fate!"
Summoning twisted, unnamed infants—spectral lost souls drifting with eerie grace—Lamashtu unleashed them toward Fitran. Each silent movement was haunted by whispered laments that sliced through the heart with unbearable pain:
"The father who never came…"
"The savior who chose one and forsook millions…"
"Why is it only her that you protect?"
Fitran faltered, nearly swallowed by the suffocating shadows of despair. Yet, with unwavering resolve, he declared, "I am not the father you accuse me of being, but I am the eternal protector of choice. It is not our past that defines us, but the radiant hope kindled within." His eyes blazed with fierce determination as he confronted Lamashtu directly, "For this unexpected love, I will confront every challenge that dares block my path."
With a voice thickened by ancient power and raw emotion, Lamashtu intoned a spell, weaving darkness around his words: "Sombra Sicut Spectra, (Shadow like a Ghost) come to me!"
The epic battle erupted as waves of dark, swirling energy surged through the dreamscape, transforming the space into an eerie void filled with chilling shadows. In a rare moment of calm amid the chaos, Fitran's voice rang out steady and clear as he intoned his incantation: "Lux Aeterna, (Eternal Light) grant me courage!"
From his outstretched hands, a gentle yet determined light blossomed, piercing the enveloping darkness like a beacon of hope. In response, Lamashtu's furious cry shattered the silence: "You dare challenge your fate with fragile hope?" Her eyes blazing with venom, she unleashed another spell, her voice resonating deep and haunting: "Pulsus Animae, (Pulse of the Soul) gather all scattered souls!"
The air trembled as her spell took hold, a surge of raw, ancient power rippling through the dream realm, stirring trembling echoes of forgotten spirits. For a fleeting instant, hope flickered amidst despair, only to be swallowed once again as the oppressive Circle of Darkness tightened its sinister grip around them.
Amid this swirling maelstrom, Fitran and Iris, caught within the tempest of the dream, pressed their lips together—an intimate act that bridged two souls torn apart by the cruel hand of fate.
From their joined breath arose an ancient chant, cutting through the night's silence with piercing clarity:
"If I must bear a womb that brings disaster, then I shall embrace that disaster."
"But only with you."
Hope and unwavering resolve infused their voices as the sacred incantation flowed tirelessly from their lips, echoing across the cold, shadowed dreamscape:
"Amnun'kael vi Lamashtu: The womb is sealed by a Love that refuses to be a god."
A furious scream shattered the air—Lamashtu's voice echoed like a tempest ripping through reality, clawing at their very souls. Her words boomed with arrogant rage,
"How dare you challenge me, wretched beings? I, born from the void, banisher of light from darkness,
and wielder of terrifying primordial power, will seize everything you hold dear."
"No, Lamashtu!" Fitran's shout rang out, flames of defiance kindling fiercely in his heart. "You will not control our dreams!"
He pressed on, voice unwavering and strong: "With the power of eternal love, we will fight you!"
Suddenly, Lamashtu intoned the ancient spell with venomous grace, "Ayu'zar syam ruz al'telka! (Darkness becomes the binding shield!)" A violent wave of shadowed energy burst forth, rending the very fabric of their dreamscape like jagged lightning. The searing force struck Fitran and Iris, scorching them with relentless, otherworldly power.
Amid the chaos, in a rare moment of focused stillness, Fitran felt an unbreakable bond tightening between him and Iris. His whisper was soft yet resolute: "We can fight this." But no sooner had the words left his lips than Lamashtu unleashed another terrifying assault.
Her voice dripped with dark malice as she chanted, "Ka'laram vi Azalu: Fear transforms into shadows." Instantly, suffocating black shadows surged across the dreamscape, pressing down like a crushing weight. The darkness seeped into Fitran and Iris's hearts, filling them with overwhelming helplessness and crushing doubt.
"No, we are not shadows!" Iris shouted, her eyes blazing like twin stars piercing through the gloom. "We are the light that shatters the darkness!" Her voice rang out, vibrant and resolute, a beacon of hope that dared to defy the encroaching shadows.
With a surge of fiery determination, Fitran's voice thundered across the dreamscape: "Veralu'ten vi Assyria: Love will conquer every shadow."
Their mantra unfurled like a ribbon of radiant light cutting through the night, waves of luminous energy rippling outward to shatter the oppressive darkness. The dream's cruel grip began to crumble, slipping away like grains of sand through trembling fingers. Cornered and desperate, Lamashtu snarled, "You cannot simply banish me; I am the oldest and the strongest!" Her voice trembled with rage and panic, echoing through the fading shadows.
Yet as the darkness receded, her tone cooled, steely and menacing: "But I will leave behind your shadows, to return once more!" Her voice lingered like a frozen breath in the empty space, a chilling reminder that though beaten back, the darkness waited just beyond the light's reach.
Fitran turned to Iris, his eyes alight with cautious hope. "Did we succeed?"
"Only for now," Iris replied softly, her voice gentle and soothing like morning dew caressing fragile leaves. A serene stillness settled between them, as if the very fabric of time paused to cradle this fragile new world born from the power of their love.
"Are we safe?" Fitran asked, his words trembling with lingering uncertainty.
Iris slowly opened her eyes, returning to the waking world,
where her womb remained sealed,
But this time, Lamashtu had vanished, dissipating like mist under the morning sun.
Slowly, fear began to ebb away, retreating like a shadow at dawn, replaced by a fragile flicker of hope that illuminated the dim room.
Fitran sat at her bedside, his hand resting lightly on the cool linens, feeling the steady, unwavering rhythm of her heartbeat—a powerful pulse anchoring him to the present, as if the world itself was preparing to embrace the uncertain journey ahead.
"I don't know whose child Iris is," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, weighed down by confusion and longing. His eyes scanned the surrounding darkness, searching desperately for answers that refused to come.
"Iris never told me anything about it," he continued, his words trailing into a hollow silence, "and now, I can't meet her ..."