Mother's choice

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the dimly lit chamber, reverberating off the ancient stone walls. The sound, raw and unrelenting, carried the weight of agony and desperation. It was the kind of scream that marked the boundary between life and death.

In the heart of the room, an old man stood motionless, his lined face carved with an expression of quiet resignation. His gaze remained fixed forward, unshaken by the suffering before him. By his side, a little girl no older than six clung to his weathered hand, her small fingers digging into his palm with silent terror. Her long, dark hair fell in soft waves over her trembling shoulders, and her deep oceanic eyes—once bright with innocence—were now shadowed by fear.

Before them, on a grand yet worn bed, a woman lay writhing, her face twisted in pain. Sweat drenched her ashen skin, her breaths labored and shallow. The toll of childbirth was evident, her body barely holding onto the fragile thread of life.

The girl tightened her grip on the old man's hand. She didn't need to be told what was happening—she knew. She knew because the woman on that bed, gasping and fighting, was her mother.

Beside the laboring woman, an elderly figure in flowing robes moved with the precision of someone who had seen this many times before. Her fingers, long and practiced, pricked her own fingertip, drawing forth crimson droplets that she traced into intricate symbols across the woman's forehead. As the ancient runes took shape, they glowed faintly, and the woman's tortured expression softened just enough for her to catch her breath.

"That is all I can do for you, Diana," the elderly woman murmured, her voice laced with both wisdom and sorrow. "Now, you must push with all your strength."

Diana's lips trembled as she nodded, gathering what little strength she had left. Her body convulsed as another wave of pain seized her, and she threw her head back, a final, soul-wrenching scream ripping through her throat.

And then, another cry pierced the chamber. A newborn's wail, fragile yet defiant, breaking through the oppressive weight of suffering and sorrow.

The old woman swiftly wrapped the baby in a soft cloth, her aged fingers glowing faintly as she cleansed the room of the afterbirth with a mere wave of her hand. She then placed a gentle palm against the infant's tiny chest, a golden glow spreading from her touch.

For a moment, silence reigned. The chamber itself seemed to hold its breath.

Then the old woman turned to Diana, her expression carefully composed, though a flicker of something dark and regretful passed through her gaze. "He is healthy... for now," she said, her voice quiet. "Thanks to your sacrifice."

A faint, exhausted smile touched Diana's lips as she reached for the bundle in the old woman's arms. The infant, barely moments old, let out a soft, mewling cry as his mother's fingers brushed against his tiny lips. Instinctively, his small hand wrapped around her index finger, grasping tightly, as if anchoring himself to her presence.

Diana's breath hitched. The weight of reality bore down upon her, but she pushed past it. She turned her gaze to her daughter, who stood frozen beside the old man, her small form still shaking. With what little energy remained within her, Diana lifted a trembling hand and beckoned the girl closer.

"Lisa..." her voice, though barely a whisper, was filled with immeasurable love. "Come closer, my sweet girl."

Lisa hesitated before stepping forward, releasing her grip on the old man's hand. She climbed onto the bed, her tiny frame pressing close to her mother's side. Diana reached out, cupping Lisa's cheek, her thumb brushing away the tears streaking down her daughter's face.

"Take care of him in my stead," she murmured, her words laced with finality. "Just as I have cared for you. Remember, my love... you will never be alone. I will always be watching over you."

Lisa bit her lip, her body wracked with silent sobs. She clutched her mother's sleeve, unwilling to let go. But Diana's strength was waning. Her breathing grew shallow, her eyelids fluttering closed.

"Mama?" Lisa whimpered, shaking her mother's arm gently.

But Diana did not respond.

The room fell deathly silent, save for the quiet, hitching cries of the little girl. Lisa buried her face against her mother's lifeless body, her small shoulders trembling. Her wails filled the vast chamber, echoing off the ancient stone walls like a lament to the gods.

The elderly woman took the newborn once more, cradling him with practiced care, while the old man merely watched, his gaze heavy with something indecipherable. He stood motionless, a statue carved from wisdom and sorrow. Then, with a long exhale, he finally moved, stepping forward to peer down at the child.

The infant, still so new to the world, held within him an enigma—a mana core unlike anything recorded in the history of magic. It had been within him since the moment he was conceived, an impossibility, a phenomenon unheard of. But this power, this anomaly, had not come without consequence.

Diana's pregnancy had been torturous. Her body had fought against the unnatural force growing inside her, each passing day pushing her closer to the brink. She had been given a choice: abandon the child or accept her fate.

And she had chosen.

The old man studied the boy's sleeping face, searching for something unseen. He had long known that this birth would alter everything. It would shape the world in ways none could predict.

Finally, his eyes hardened with resolve. Whatever the future held, he would not allow this child's existence to be wasted.

Turning, he stepped toward Lisa, who was still shaking with grief. Carrying the newborn in one arm, he placed his free hand atop the girl's head, his touch firm yet not unkind.

"Cry as much as you want tonight, Lisa," he said, his voice calm but unwavering. "Let it all out. Because after today, you will no longer have the luxury to grieve. Your training begins tomorrow."

Lisa's sobs slowed as her grandfather's words sank in. Her body stiffened, but before she could respond, she felt a soft tug. Her baby brother's tiny fingers had wrapped around a few strands of her long, unkempt hair. His deep, unfocused eyes met hers.

Something stirred within her. A ripple across the surface of her grief. A quiet, unshakable realization.

She reached up, brushing away her tears, and gazed at the infant. Then, with newfound determination, she lifted her chin and turned to face the old man. She nodded, silent but resolute.

The elderly woman approached Diana's still form, hesitating for only a moment before glancing toward the old man. He met her gaze and gave a single, firm nod.

With a deep breath, the woman placed her hand upon Diana's forehead. A celestial glow of ethereal blue engulfed her body, the flames licking at the air like silent specters. Within seconds, the fire consumed everything, leaving no trace of Diana's existence behind.

Lisa and the old man watched in silence.

As the last embers flickered and died, a solemn hush fell over the chamber. It was the kind of silence that carried the weight of unspoken oaths, the kind that marked the birth of something far greater than those present could yet comprehend.

They did not yet know it, but the choices made in that moment would shape the fate of the world in ways no mortal could predict.