She sank beneath the weight of the voices, spiraling until the world faded into a blinding white. When her vision cleared, she found herself in a sterile room. No windows. No doors. Just an infinite void of white and the faint ticking of a wall clock. The fluorescent flicker of a lamp overhead gave the place a cold, clinical feel.
Across from her sat a smaller version of herself—a little girl, knees tucked to chest, unmoving. There were no beds, no comforts. Just silence, broken only by the artificial sounds of the lamp and the clock. Gilly stood frozen, staring. The girl looked like a broken doll—lifeless. Her eyes were dim, ringed with deep bags, and her limbs bore the telltale bruises of neglect or worse.
She slowly sat beside the child, resting her head on her knees. When she looked up, the girl was looking back. No words were exchanged, but understanding passed between them in the silence. The only thought that rose from the depth of Gilly's heart was pain—an ache she had buried long ago. And with it, the question that never stopped haunting her: "Where is Mom?"
Moments later, men in military uniforms stormed in, faceless shadows dragging the little girl away. Gilly instinctively lunged to help, but her body didn't respond—this was a memory, not a moment she could change. All she could do was watch.
Just before being taken, the girl looked back—and smiled. A cruel, unfamiliar smile.
Then came the explosion. Blood and viscera painted the white void in red. Gilly stood stunned, staring at the smiling face of her younger self. Horror and recognition crashed over her in a wave.
"Ah... I had forgotten this part of me," she whispered.
Other memories followed. One after another—violent, broken, unbearable. The string of acts she had long locked away. In those years, she had been called something by the other children. Hell's Child.
The little version of herself reappeared, taking her hand. This time, she smiled genuinely—soft, almost forgiving and comforting.
"Remember to separate friend from foe… so you don't kill them like you killed &%$#@."
The name was garbled, blocked out—yet she felt the weight of it. Before she could respond, the white void collapsed, and she slipped into darkness, finally overtaken by sleep.
When Gilly finally succumbed to sleep, her consciousness drifted beyond dreams—beyond space, beyond time—into the stillness of the time-void, where only the echoes of primordial thought could exist.
And from that formless silence, a voice broke through.
It was one of the three that had once sounded garbled—distorted, unreadable.Now it rang with chilling clarity. A woman's voice. Ancient, steady, and filled with disdain.
$$: "It seems the child's consciousness has already been invaded by that fool. How do you intend to address this, Elarisynth?"
The void froze.
The unseen presences that drifted through the ether—beings without name or flesh—ceased their whispering.What had moments ago been an incomprehensible cacophony was now quiet. Expectant. Watching.
Then, a different voice emerged.It was soft, frayed at the edges like parchment burnt by time—but heavy, and suffused with a quiet, restrained sorrow.
+ELARISYNTH: "To think you'd recognize me... in this lowly form… MUMBI WANYORA."
A shockwave of confusion rippled through the void.
Disembodied voices stirred again—but now with unease.That name.
MUMBI WANYORA.A name long buried in the dust of collapsed epochs. Even among the transcendent, it was myth.She was said to be one of the Ancient Aeons—those who had shaped the First Convergence, who had bent galaxies into spirals and sung the first laws into being. Her presence here was not only unexpected—it was impossible.
And yet, Elarisynth had spoken the name with familiarity… with recognition.
++ : "Will someone explain what this means? That name... that entity… it hasn't been spoken in over a thousand convergences!"
+ELARISYNTH(weary, voice flickering):"There's no time. My essence is nearly depleted.""I swear—by the next convergence—I will resolve this matter. The child must be safeguarded… from what's awakening within."
A pause. Then, the original voice returned—calmer now, but with a thread of reluctant tenderness woven into it.
MUMBI WANYORA:"If not for the child... I would not have interfered. You know what my silence has cost.""But this child... she must not be lost to corruption.""Deliver results soon… my dear child.""Now… I shall perform a time reversal."
As the last word left her lips, the void began to shift.
From the edges of the space-between-realities, a brilliant white pulse ignited—soft but immense.It spread outward like a cosmic heartbeat, folding the fabric of time upon itself.
The voices faded.The Council of the Unseen—those eternal watchers, whose judgment surpassed the flow of years—had dispersed.
And reality reasserted itself.
Gilly floated in the air, suspended mid-dream, unaware of the weight of cosmic forces that had just debated her fate.
Her hair drifted gently around her like strands of shadow. Her breathing was steady, peaceful—oblivious to the storm that had passed. The air shimmered faintly around her, touched by something... divine.
Then, from the ancient array of spheres encircling her, something changed.
The sixth sphere—pure white, long dormant—began to stir.It had not responded in millennia. Not even to the others. But now, it glowed with a soft, almost mournful light—faint, but insistent.
A heartbeat. A whisper. An awakening. The sphere had been waiting.
After nearly an hour suspended in midair, Gilly's glowing form finally collapsed.
The air around her thinned, like the world itself was exhaling after holding its breath too long.
Seras had felt it—an overwhelming, suffocating pressure radiating from Gilly's display. For a moment, it had gripped her heart like a vice. But when she focused her senses, the feeling vanished as if it had never existed.
A trick of the mind?She shook her head. No. Something had happened. Something deep and ancient. But she had no proof—only a lingering hollowness, as if a truth had narrowly slipped through her fingers.
The others rushed to Gilly's side. Her eyelids fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes.
+: "Mana extremely low... now entering sleep mode."
The words came flat and mechanical—delivered in a strange, unfamiliar cadence.The voice wasn't entirely hers.
Gilly blinked. She felt… off. Her body was hers, but her mind still echoed with whispers from another place. She looked toward Seras, who offered a small, approving smile.
Valmor, ever evasive, excused himself.
"Urgent duties," he said—though the tightness in his tone suggested otherwise.Ephini gently helped Gilly to her feet and supported her up the stairs, toward Seras's room on the second floor—the same room where Valmor and his children had once received their scoldings.
Now Gilly sat upright on a cushion, facing Seras directly.Zin had just entered, panting slightly, and stood beside Ephini behind Seras's chair. The two stood like silent guardians.
Seras regarded Gilly quietly. Her eyes—faintly glowing—pierced through her like lanterns in fog.
"You know we can't keep you hidden here forever," Seras said. "You must eventually go out and experience the world."
A pause.
"For that reason—will you choose to learn magic, or swordsmanship?"
It was the Iron Rule of this world: strength commanded more respect than wealth or bloodline.
Gilly sat in silence. Her mind was still unraveling the fragments of her experience—visions, sensations, words that didn't belong to her but somehow did.
"Are you listening, child?" Seras asked sharply.
"Ah—sorry." Gilly blinked and sat up straighter. "I was just... lost in thought."
Seras's gaze narrowed, reading her. Then she softened, slightly.
"So?" she asked again.
Gilly hesitated only briefly this time. Then she drew a breath and asked:
"Can I learn both?"
The room went still.
Zin's brows lifted. Ephini's mouth opened slightly, then shut again. Seras stared—then, slowly, her lips curled into something rare: a genuine, warm smile. She let out a quiet laugh, almost wistful.
"Seems she passed down her tenacity too," she murmured.
Gilly blinked. "Passed down?"
Seras yawned suddenly and waved off the question.
"You two—don't go easy on her," she said to Ephini and Zin. Then her eyes flicked to the back of the room.
There, hanging above the fireplace, was an old portrait.Gilly hadn't noticed it before. But now it caught her attention—vivid and strange.
The figure in the painting was... her. Not exactly, but close. Older. Regal.The resemblance was uncanny.
"Who is—" she started, pointing.
But Seras snapped her fingers—and Gilly fell instantly into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Seras exhaled, rubbing her temple.
She had been watching Gilly carefully since the display. The girl's mana output far exceeded what should have been possible. The energy she released didn't match the reserves she carried.
Something—or someone—had amplified her.
Worse, she had burned through her energy so rapidly that any attempt to restore old memories might cause cognitive rupture or even spiritual collapse. Putting her to sleep had been the only safe option.
"Grandmother…" Seras's eye twitched. Ephini winced.
"I told you to call me 'Mother' when we're alone," Seras said curtly.
"Mother," Ephini corrected, trying not to sound nervous. "Are you sure she's… her child?"
Seras smirked, an amused gleam in her eyes.
"If you'd lived during the war, you'd know what it meant to live under a rock."
Ephini fell silent. Sarcasm from Seras meant she was in a good mood—too good, perhaps. She bowed slightly and exited, leaving Zin behind.
"Child," Seras said, her tone shifting. "What did you feel?"
Zin hesitated. His senses were more attuned to mana than even hers.He looked upward, expression grave.
"Unlikely... but I think she's favored by them."
Seras's expression darkened. "How so?"
Zin raised a finger and pointed to the ceiling.
She followed his gaze. At first, she saw only wood and stone.But then she activated her sight.
And gasped.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of eyes stared back at her from above. Watching. Endless.Unblinking. Eternal.
She immediately severed her vision, reeling back as blood trickled from her eyes.
Zin stepped forward, concern etched in his face.
"It seems they still don't like you, Mother."
Seras gave a tired sigh, waving him away.
Zin bowed and departed without another word.
The door shut.
Alone now, Seras swayed on her feet.
She coughed violently, spraying the polished floor with a dark clump of blood.Then her knees buckled—and she collapsed, unconscious, as the room faded to stillness.