Lyre began to dream of light.
Not the gentle light of dawn, not the warm pink flame of a candle… but a deadly, pale, penetrating light. It slipped through every gap in her brain, flowed down her spine, pierced into every acupoint and joint like a transparent acid—colorless, odorless, but full of pressure. Within that light, there was a lullaby — the voice of a familiar old man, whispering:
> "Luminis has blossomed. Now it's time for you to understand what you truly are."
When Lyre opened her eyes, her bed was soaked with sweat, her palms clenched as if holding something tightly for a long time. In her hand was a tuft of hair — her own hair, torn out with a patch of scalp.
---
Each passing day, Lyre felt herself… changing. The images flashing through her mind were no longer memories, but strange fragments, as if she were living someone else's life. Or worse — someone was living through her. Beneath her skin, she could feel it, a tiny, slippery creature with hundreds of legs and a separate beating heart — Luminis.
> "When did you implant it inside me…?" "That night." The old man's voice whispered. "When I taught you the magic of light, I gave you a small egg and told you it would help you control the light better."
---
That day, Lyre returned to her room after class, and no one looked at her the same way. There were cautious glances, whispers, murmurs about the disappearance of the fourth student. But no one dared to ask. Because from Lyre… there was a strange smell. A strong metallic stench mixed with the scent of soap she sprayed all over herself, as if trying to cover up something decomposing inside.
She locked the bathroom door, stripped off all her clothes, turned the cold water on to the maximum, and began scrubbing her body with soap. Once. Twice. Three times.
> "Not clean… still not clean… this stench… still not clean…"
Her voice was hoarse and sobbing. The skin on her hands was bleeding, peeling off in patches. But she didn't stop.
> "Not clean… not clean… You're still inside me… you're still crawling inside me…"
The mirror fogged up gradually. But through the steam, a different Lyre was reflected — a smile not hers, stretching ear to ear, revealing sharp teeth and blackened gums. Lyre stepped back and smashed the mirror.
The shards pierced her foot. Blood dripped into the water, spreading like roots. From that drop of blood, she saw something… hatching like a cocoon.
---
That night, she was called to a quiet room — used for psychological therapy of mentally affected students. But this time, there was no teacher.
Only a large mirror, a wooden chair, and a handwritten letter on the table:
> "If you no longer recognize who you are, call its name. It will answer. Luminis is the truest part that remains."
Lyre trembled as she sat down. In the mirror, she saw herself distorted — a crooked head, sunken eyes, hair matted like mud. On her shoulder… something was writhing — a worm. Bigger. About wrist-sized. It whispered a prayer in a fictional Latin, like chants calling to the otherworld.
> "This light… does not illuminate, it burns. But it's mine… the only part that hasn't abandoned me…" "Not me who is disgusting… it's this world that's wrong."
She smiled. The mirror reflected that smile. This time… it was truly hers.
---
In the west corridor, the fifth student disappeared.
No more screams, no more searching. Everything sank into silence. On the tiled floor, dried blood formed a circular symbol, twisted like roots, and in the center was the writing: LUMINIS.
The teachers began to whisper her name. Some suggested removing Lyre from the central area. But it was too late.
---
Night fell, Lyre sat by the window, her finger drawing on the fogged glass:
> "I will give them back… the light… the true light…"
Geal glanced at her quietly, but even he couldn't do anything.