Lumina stood barefoot on cold stone, the air heavy with the scent of ash and wilted flowers.
The world around her felt wrong, twisted, as though it had been peeled away from reality and stitched back together by grief. She could not hear her own breathing, yet her chest ached as if it might split open.
"Mother?" Her voice echoed, thin and afraid, this word she hasn't said for decades yet the first thing she was calling was mother.
A pale light flickered ahead, glowing like moonlight trapped beneath water.
As Lumina moved toward it, the ground beneath her feet began to crack, black veins spreading like rot through marble.
Every step felt heavier, as though the earth itself wished to drag her down.
Then she saw her, just like she had called out to her.
Her mother stood at the center of the light, dressed in the white robes she used to wear when she prayed at dawn.
