The mages, standing in a solemn circle around the stone slab, raised their hands, their robes flowing like shadows in the dim light. The air around them was thick with the power of the ritual, and the gathered mourners stood silent, waiting for the words to be spoken.
One of the high mages, his voice deep and resonant, began the chant. But before the fire could be summoned, he spoke the ancient words that had been passed down through generations of mages.
"The body," he began, his tone both reverent and firm, "is but an instrument, a vessel used by the soul in its time on this earth. It has served its purpose and now, as the soul leaves, the body shall no longer hold its essence."
Another mage, her eyes closed in focus, continued the incantation. "Before the spirit departs fully, the body shall be returned to the fire, where it is set ablaze, reduced to ash, and freed of its mortal form. So shall it be with Seraphina."
With a final, synchronized gesture, the mages summoned the power within them, and the flames erupted. The heat was intense, and the body was immediately consumed by the violet-green fire, disintegrating into nothingness. The magic shimmered, like a protective barrier around the flames, until only the faintest remnants of ash remained.
"The body is but an instrument," the mage murmured once more, "and now, it has fulfilled its purpose."
The ashes, caught in the breeze, scattered into the air, carried away by the winds as if the very earth itself had taken its due. The ritual was complete, and with it, Seraphina's physical presence was gone—her spirit having long since moved on.
Allen drifted deep beneath the surface, the water pressing in on him from all sides. It was cold, the kind of cold that settled deep into the bones and refused to be shaken. Yet, it wasn't the chill of the water that made his heart heavy—it was the quiet, suffocating weight of a loss that lingered in the depths of his soul.
What is it to be loved by a mother? he thought, the question swirling like the currents around him. He felt the vastness of the world above, distant and unreachable. How could one move through a life without the warmth of that love to anchor them? How could a child grow when they had never known the cradle of that nurturing, that unwavering presence, that only a mother could give?
The silence of the water was deafening, pressing him into reflection, as if the depths themselves were questioning him. Without the love of a mother, what are we?
A child, abandoned to the tides, cast adrift in the vast sea of the world, trying to make sense of a world that had never offered the comfort of her embrace. How do we learn to stand when the ground beneath us is unsteady? How do we learn to love when we've never been shown what it means to be loved?
In that silence, he understood, perhaps for the first time, the deep, aching truth. It was not the lack of strength that made one falter—it was the absence of guidance, of that quiet, reassuring voice that said, "You are not alone. You are loved."
And so, he sank deeper, not out of despair, but to face that truth fully. To move on without that love... it's like walking in darkness, hoping you'll find the light, but never quite knowing where it lies. Yet, you walk anyway. You keep moving, even when it feels like the world is too cold to touch.
He closed his eyes, the weight of the water around him a strange comfort as he accepted the path before him—one of solitude and strength forged in the absence of what he could never have. But still, he walked. He moved forward.
And somehow, that was enough.
He saw her then—his mother, diving through the water, her hand reaching out toward him, a beacon in the depths. But the water began to spin, faster and faster, pulling her away, as though the very world was trying to swallow her whole.
"Mother!" Allen shouted, his voice breaking the surface of the water, but it was swallowed by the rush of the currents. "Don't go!"
But she vanished, her figure dissolving into the swirling darkness. The water calmed, leaving only the cold, quiet void.
With a gasp, Allen forced himself upward, breaking through the water's surface. The warmth of the steam room enveloped him, stark against the chill of the depths. He wiped his face, the vision of his mother still lingering in his mind—her love, her absence—so real, yet so unreachable.
Stepping out of the steam room, the cool air kissed his damp skin, and for a moment, he let the quiet wash over him. The pain of losing her, of never having her, weighed heavily in his chest, but he didn't know how to stop moving forward.
How could you live without a mother's love? How could you walk through life in her absence?
There were no answers, just the ache of the question. Yet still, he walked forward. He would keep moving, even if the path ahead felt uncertain, driven by the faint memory of her hand reaching for him, and the hope that somehow, he could find his way without her.
Owen's jaw tightened as he stormed up to the head of security, fury radiating from him.
"How the hell did an intruder get past everything? This castle was supposed to be airtight!" Owen's voice was low but simmering with rage.
The head of security, a seasoned veteran who'd seen his share of chaos, stood tall and unshaken. His tone was calm, but there was a seriousness to it.
"We interrogated the guest thoroughly," he began, his voice steady. "And the ladies with Seraphina, they didn't report anything unusual. According to them, the man only appeared after…"
He hesitated for a moment, as though choosing his words carefully. Owen's glare was sharp, demanding an answer.
"After a command from Allen," the security chief finished, his eyes meeting Owen's. "It's the only conclusion we could draw. The intruder didn't show himself until then. Once Allen gave the order, he simply appeared."
Owen stared at him, disbelief flashing across his face. "Allen? My son? Giving commands? That's absurd!" His voice cracked slightly, but the anger in it only deepened. "There's no way a child could have—"
The security chief cut him off with a firm but respectful gesture. "I know how it sounds, sir. But all evidence points to it. Only the leaders have the authority to issue such commands. And Allen is—"
"I know what he is!" Owen snapped, pacing away for a moment, shaking his head in frustration. "This is ridiculous."
But the head of security stood firm, his expression unwavering. "Sir, I can only report what we found. The man appeared after Allen's order. We need to look into this further."