In the singularity of the comma, the world seemed to hold its breath. Between the borders of consciousness and unconsciousness, Iris stood upright, feeling the thrum of her heartbeat resonating in the silence. She closed her eyes, reciting an ancient incantation passed down only to the sorceresses of old blood. "This world is filled with emptiness," she whispered softly, her voice gentle as the wind rustling through leaves. Spiral glyphs and shadowed roots coiled around her body, swirling softly to form a hazy circle of dream magic, as if inviting dormant powers to rise.

  Iris opened her lips, whispering faintly, "Let me in… I won’t let you succumb to the void, Fitran. This world is far too cruel for you to face alone on this dark night." She felt the strength of their bond, even as distance ensnared and separated them. "You are not alone. Do you remember when we played under the light of the full moon, when we vowed to always stand together?”

  The dream magic began to creep slowly, like a soft thread of light searching for cracks in Fitran's mind. "I am here, Fitran," she cried, hoping her heartfelt words could pierce the fabric of time. In the next moment, Fitran felt himself fall—plunging into a vortex of memories that were not his own. "This is not the end," he shouted into the darkness, urging himself to find his way back.

  He awoke in a moss-covered stone corridor, enveloped by the dim glow of the enchanted lamps. The air was thick with the sharp scent of medicine, mingling with an unsettling anxiety that gnawed at him. Sounds of screams, weeping, and whispered incantations crept from behind the rusted iron doors. "What in the world is happening here?" he thought, his heart racing as if trying to flee the dread that clung to him. Each step brought him closer to the source of sorrow he had never anticipated. He understood that this unease was not solely about his own plight. It was about Iris, and with every heartbeat he felt echoing in the distance.

  Suddenly, he saw a small girl—Irithya, her body almost ethereal, with green eyes that radiated depths of trauma. "Please, don’t let them hurt me!" Irithya pleaded, her voice trembling with panic, like a small bird caught in a snare. Around her, magi in white uniforms gripped shimmering magical instruments, sparkling like morning dew. Their expressions were tense, a resolute determination clear on each face, though hidden doubts lurked among them. The glyph on the floor vibrated, forming a sealing circle, conveying a deep sense of despair. In the corner of the room, Iris—still young, her body marred with wounds, her silver hair tangled shrouded in powerlessness. Her face was pale, reminiscent of someone struggling to hold back tears, her beautiful eyes radiating a mix of hope intertwined with profound fear.

  "Irithya!" Iris cried, her voice laden with pain and desperation. "Don’t be afraid, I’m here to protect you!" She stretched out her arms, as if attempting to pierce the boundary between the dream world and the gripped reality. "We will escape this place together, my friend." However, the shouts of the magi and the resonating incantations made her feel trapped in a rising tide of panic. "This power... cannot hold much longer." Iris's thumb brushed against the glyph clinging to her neck, her hand moved swiftly, struggling to break free from the chains that bound her.

  Fitran struggled to move, but his body felt like smoke, leaving him only able to watch with desperate hope. "No... I can't just sit here," he gasped, his voice muffled by deep anger and sorrow. "Please, remember all our memories. Recall every promise we made in the past!" Within his heart, each word was a plea to reunite everything that had been torn apart by darkness.

  One of the magi shouted, his voice echoing through the suffocating tension,

  “His blood is unstable! The Spiral effects are mixing... It seems there are still traces of the Chaos mark left. We must increase his dosage! If we don’t, all our efforts will be in vain!”

  Irithya sobbed softly, her body trembling like a puppet with strings pulled too tight.

  “Please... I feel pain... I am so afraid... Mother...! Why must all this happen to me? I don’t want to die here!”

  Iris, ensnared by the glyph that tightened around her neck and wrists, cried out in despair, her voice piercing like wind trapped in a silent chamber,

  “Stop! That’s enough! She’s still a child! She’s not a test subject! Can’t you see how wrong this is?”

  Another magus grinned, his gaze cold and devoid of empathy,

  “You mean nothing here, Iris. This child—a product of Chaos—only holds value if he can endure this experiment. If he fails… Oh, we all know there will be a new experiment. And everything you hold dear will be shattered!”

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  Fitran watched it all with a heart that trembled. Each heartbeat felt like a thunderclap that shook his very soul. Irithya’s wailing pierced his bones like a sharp needle, while Iris’s screams burned within him, incinerating every thought that tried to fend off the anguish. He struggled to call out to them, his gentle cries nearly drowned out by the powerful incantations surging through the lab’s atmosphere, “Irithya! I’m here! Hold on!” His voice almost vanished, swept away by the oppressive presence of the magical spells shimmering with arcane might.

  Iris crawled towards the edge of the glyph, her face wet with uncontrollable tears. With a trembling voice, she whispered, “Forgive me, Mother, Irithya… Forgive me… I can’t… I cannot save you…” Her face was filled with longing, as if hope was preserved behind every tear that fell.

  Irithya whimpered, her eyes filled with anguish searching for her mother in the thick fog of pain. “Mother… don’t leave me…” Her voice trembled, barely more than a whisper, as she repeated those words, as if that soft hope was the only light in the darkness that enveloped her.

  Time in the dream moved swiftly; every second felt like a thousand years. Scene after scene shifted—Irithya, in her sorrowful youth, her body covered in wounds, stood alone before the barred window that confined her freedom. The sound of a trembling branch sang a mournful tune in the night’s silence, echoing into the deepest corners of her heart. Iris grew thinner, her bones stark against her increasingly pale skin, yet each night she tried with all her heart to embrace her daughter. She whispered protective incantations even as her own spirit was shattered by pain, “I will always protect you, Irithya… even as this world continues to test us.”

  In the corner, Fitran knelt, covering his face with his palms, his breath coming in gasps. As he listened to the loud wailing in his mind, it felt as if that voice echoed the weight of all Iris's burdens, the destruction carved deep within Irithya's soul, and the sins of a world that seemed forever beyond redemption for anyone. “All of this… everything that’s happened to you…,” he whispered softly, his gentle voice resonating as tears streamed down his cheeks, “I should have done more. I should have been there for you all.”

  Fitran’s inner dialogue reverberated in his head— Why is this world never fair to those who did not ask to be born from pain?

  Iris, caught in the illusion of magic that transcended reality, turned her face and looked at Fitran sharply. Suddenly, the expression on her face grew more serious, and her voice flowed with a power that shattered the illusions surrounding her. “This is the world I must accept, Fitran. Chaos has taken everything I had; this world has made me a mere experiment, and Irithya was born from a night that refuses to give way to dawn. Yet, you must understand, love is not merely about origin. Though all of this feels unbearable, you are free to despise this world, to hate Chaos, to loathe everything that has been wrenched away from you. But… never let that hatred fall upon Irithya. Don’t allow her to bear alone the weight of sins that aren’t hers to carry.”

  Iris extended her hand, as if trying to grasp her neglected soul. “Listen to me, Fitran. Every spell we have cast, every ritual we have endured in this darkness, teaches us about strength and resilience. Anyone who feels the shadows must struggle to find the light. This is our battle!”

  Tears streamed down Fitran's cheeks, his body trembling as he absorbed the resolve in Iris’s voice. “Iris... I have kept my eyes closed for too long. I thought that as long as I was strong enough, I could atone for everything. But I was wrong. Days passed without me seeing the wounds you and others have suffered clearly… I have never felt so helpless.”

  Iris grasped Fitran's hand; the warmth of her fingers brought a soothing comfort amidst the tension that engulfed them. “Remember, Fitran,” she said with unwavering conviction, “even when you feel crushed, do not give up. We must act for Irithya. In every threat that arises, we must unite to find a way out. We are each other’s protectors in this harrowing darkness.”

  Fitran felt tears streaming down his cheeks, his body shaking uncontrollably. This moment seemed to wipe away all the burdens that had been gnawing at his heart. “Iris… I’ve been blind for too long,” he said in a hoarse voice, with regret creeping into every word spoken. “I thought that if I were strong enough, I could atone for all my mistakes. But it turns out, I was wrong. I never truly saw your wounds so deeply...”

  Iris continued to grip Fitran's hand tightly, as if she never wanted to let him go again. “I brought you here so you could feel this,” she said in a soft yet firm tone, “that even those born from darkness can radiate light, as long as there is at least one person who believes in them.” She gazed at Fitran with eyes full of hope, as if all the dreams and vulnerabilities of the world were encapsulated in her profound stare.

  The magic of dreams slowly faded around them, the air heavy with the silence that loomed over them. Irithya's voice emerged, soft and faint like the whisper of the night wind, filled with longing, “Do I… deserve to live, Father?” That question was heartbreaking, caught between despair and the hope of being acknowledged.

  Fitran nodded, his voice trembling, heavy with profound emotion. “You deserve to live, Irithya. More than just deserving. No measure could ever quantify the value of your life,” he said, his eyes shining as though striving to convey the entirety of the conviction within his heart. He fell silent for a moment, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. “I... I promise to uphold your name, even if the world seeks to judge you.” His voice resonated softly, like a spell binding that promise in layers of deep feeling.

  Fitran's awareness began to surface, slowly penetrating the painful reality surrounding them. Iris gazed at him with piercing eyes, a faint smile gracing her face, despite the wounds in her heart that had yet to fully heal. “You possess a strength greater than you realize, Fitran. Do not let history dictate the ending of Irithya's story.” Gently, she pressed her palm against Fitran's chest, as if wishing to channel her belief and hope into him. “Create a new tale, Fitran. For me... for Irithya... for all that has been lost.”

  Fitran felt the flow of energy encircling them, a binding force, as if the magic intertwined between them. Every word spoken radiated a profound strength. In that moment, Fitran was jolted back into his own body, sensing pain, tears, and a burning new promise within his heart—that love, forgiveness, and the desire to change often arise from the darkest nights, ones no soul wishes to endure. His wounds seemed to meld into the tapestry of magic connecting their spirits, an invisible bond that firmly tied their hearts and existence together.