Chapter 1: Forged from Light
Chapter 1 - Forged from Light
My eyes, were dim—it shined at the end.
My tears, were rain—turned into the sea at the edge.
My breath, were air—breezed from a dying leaf.
My voice, was quiet—it soon filled the existing air.
My smell, were once bland because I only smelled the good—eventually I can smell both morals. But I get confused on which one is which.
I was always naive. I only got sophisticated at the end which could no longer help me no more. I saved those unsaved, and fixed those beyond repair at the expense of my being and despite it, the world hadn't really changed. But I liked it.
I still liked it.
Though, I was still afraid to die. But…
In a world of Mundus Sundus where worlds collide and characters intertwine. But let us focus on a land, set in the vastness of space—inhabited by the ones who originated from light itself—the light species known as Illuminacrotos. These subspecies of a human are living on floating islands that are traveling to nowhere—The translucent particles that mimic the pillars that made these pale terrains float are arcanes that covered the bottom of its soil, drifting like continents with no land to collide.
In these floating meadows—14 of them each, are all linked to a colossal empire that brought a sense of radiance known as the Light Empire. These lands form to look like fragments that illustrate like light rays, like how a light bulb—It lights up a world and keeps the night at bay, much like its formation, it keeps the wicked away.
Light is even the first notion to be believed that it was born in the beginning of creation—illuminating salvation. Born to be against the darkest nights. There is a reason why there is a saying 'Beacon of Light' as it breaks the chains of blight.
What encircled the empire were homes and infrastructures that have an intricate garnitures and intriguing statures that are composed of a material called Luxinum—Here, light undergoes a natural phenomena by shining past into a photonic manipulating force, like a blackhole where it will convert into a pure solid material by using artificial processes—making it a material exclusively to the ones who inherit the light and other worlds import it to their planets.
And it is the only material that built these states—its farms and every structure that inhabited the Light Empire. Over there, at the center, is a majestic, and refined palace where each masonry was constructed by the finest masons. Even the smallest hedges show classiness and even the presence of the palace is still evident from a far sight.
But amidst the beauty and aesthetics of the world—There is a blue mist that shrouded every land from the first to the fourteen, leaving no state unvaped. And for the record, there were screams—pure screams of terror at any distant point of it.
There, zooming in on its mystical ground where people of light running as they carry fear and dread, fleeing and running in circles like fishes in a small pond as if the threat was at every corner—Newsflash, it is. All they could see is a sudden burst of light that kills everyone on where it gleams.
The passing light slices anyone indiscriminately—from innocents to the guilty, from children to the eldest with an equal amount of strike like chopping the winds; you never have to put an effort into it.
The light itself does not hesitate to shine on its way—But this light is not a form of an insipid force, but a living entity for it was identified to be beyond light and the way it gleams and the trails it leaves is the light itself, not the one who assaults. The way it moves and strikes are done with such grace and everyone could only perceive it as if light is the perpetrator. But it was too expeditious for even light itself to notice.
The way it shines and the way it sheens—Is light even the symbol of benevolence if such an occurrence in the name of it commits acts like this? Either way, no one was safe, not even the children's innocent cries could save them. The families get sliced in half together as they hold onto each other.
The homes and the structures are also the victims of its strike—with perfect precision down to its molecular level and that even particles itself were cut in half—Who would have such wicked will to ruthlessly eliminate the innocents? Children? The vulnerable? Even both the light and the dark would tremble in fear in its might.
The crowd scurries—resulting in a stampede and no matter what moment, the outcome is still the same. The atop gets sliced in half so cleanly that none of them was able to know what killed them. The underneath gets stepped on countless times by the foots of their own society and drowned by the blood from the top.
Each stroke had a pause for a while—then it strikes again. The sound of an ongoing pursuit replaces the screams of the hopeless, and the scream and cries replace the fading sound of the strike like a water drop in the middle of a sea, a single tear leads to the rupture of every drop that fills the ocean.
Among the aghast crowd, was a mother carrying her child, an infant. Her eyes, dripping out tears—it mixes with the wounds on her chin, covered in dust and chaffs. She stepped on many corpses, being pushed and bumped by others also for their own life.
She tripped and fell, still holding dearly on the infant and luckily evaded the incoming strike that cut those in half who were running and she was the only one left. As she stood up, she observed her surroundings—it was reduced to ruins.
From the lifeless bodies of the people—to the demolished structures only encompassed by smoke and the blue mist that still resides. The child began crying, his very little hands trying to break free from the cloak wrapped all over his body.
And the mother cared, trying to ease the tension from her baby. She caressed her fingers at the child's lips and sang a lullaby, her tears falling on the child's face like it was ground. And with a heavy heart—the strike appeared for the last time and she finally succumbed to it. Her head, instead of half of her body, was decapitated and dropped down to her knees slowly.
The color of her pupil fades lifeless as she laid on the floor along with the dead. As the mother is now lifeless, her fingers caressing the infant's cloth involuntarily. After her death; the infant cried so loud, replacing the ruins and the cries who had already faded away.
The child continued weeping and weeping—the only sound that can be heard at any point. The ones who were sliced in half still had the energy to raise their head and stare at the bewailing child, some of them were.
The cries occured for such a long time, till everyone in the Light empire succumbed to their deaths and the child was still at the same place—he could not even cry no more as the tears are now dry.
Everything was lost, and all things were gone—However, there was someone, amidst the fading blue mist, and rain started to fall. It was the Empress of Light.
Her hair was long and white as snow, like the dawn in the darkness—her eyes composed like a blue tide with stars encompassing her very eyes that could stare back. And the bottom of her face is obscured by a mask, cold as the finest winters.
In her head, lies a beautifully structured accessory but with the composition of a diadem—like a queen with a crown, and a king with a tiara that seemed like three pointy mountains that emerged from the strands of her hair as if every light behind of her head, makes it like a rising star.
She wore not only a white, elegant dress—but also a mix of battle armory that is pervaded by indestructible aspects that makes the dress in besmirch that can participate in both parties and wars without ever changing a garment. After the conflict—one would obviously be in terror and frightened.
Her eyes at first bulged down with many tears that had already dropped but stained her eyes—drooping down in an endless symphony where it could fill the heaven's pool. Eventually, she wiped all of the tears away and flaunted that she was detached, her expression was blank, her brow did not raise nor lessen, her eyes showed no terror as if her body was not present at all but only her spirit.
Back to the plot, she was on her knees, with her sword dug deep in the ground—it was a glowing blue sword, purely crafted by light and no other materials were composed of. It is designed with convoluted elements and ornaments. She laid there emplaced for awhile—till she then heard the cries of the infant. She then stood up and grabbed her sword effortlessly, unsoiling the ground.
As she approached the infant with a raised brow—Despite the harsh conditions, dust everywhere and dead bodies all over, the infant turned out to be clean, untainted by life's cruel, there was no dust nor even wounds. The only dirt that was evident was the cloak where the finger's of the dead mother caressed.
As she stood near the child, her eyes, her eyes told a story. There was a sense of regret and grief as her blue eyes shifted into an orange pigment. Her sword, aswell as the dominating palette of her garment synchronized with her eyes.
Then, she raised her broadsword, its glowing tip pointed at the child. She contemplated the quiet child for awhile and eventually impaled her sword on the ground, barely touching the child's little presence. She began to contemplate more as she observed her surroundings with an open-ended mind, looking at each of her subject's face and lastly, the mother who was the one close to the child.
She then raised both of her hands, glaring at them both with a still grieving and regretful demeanor, her eyes shifted to many colors at a brief moment as if the spectrum was uncontrollable. She then sighed as she looked above. She then shifted her gaze to the child, her eyes back again to an original state; blue—She then knelt down and grabbed the child carefully. And nudged him on her breasts—The child cackled and began waving both of his very little arms and feets. She slowly set down her face on the child's chest, then grabbed her potent sword again and walked away, walking head to the palace which was still mighty stable, free from blood and destruction.
Then, the rainfalls began to aggro with thunderstorms, charging in a rapid pace simultaneously at every corner—the blue fog turned to teardrops from the rain. And she kept walking —even one of the drops dripped on the infant's nose, giving him a whiter glow on his nose.
But before she walked away—she turned around, looking at the distant place with a stern eye—on the area where the mist still stood, and without a word—she continued to walk in a slow march.
Her beauteous heels align with the drops of the rain that flowed smoothly synchronizing altogether— She continued to near the palace that will take a hundred footsteps. At last, as she opened the grand gates of the palace—inside of it, were just an empty chamber that only led to 2 stairs and a voluminous, esthetically ethereal throne, its part looked as if every angel took a piece from heaven to form a contribution to make the throne. The stairs extended at the second level. The room itself could fill thousands of people if put together.
The Empress of Light stares for awhile, like a daydreaming monolith—her gaze could phase through an immovable wall and would still invoke intimidation behind it. It only stopped when the child cooed, his soft, low-pitched vocalization that resembles the humming of contentment.
The Empress of Light shifted her gaze that her pupils turned into pink at the child and stroked her face that vanished her elegant mask by evaporating it into mere photons, like scattered light rays or simply, fireflies—She then proceeded to walk to the throne, dropped her sword like a resigned knight and sat on it with a gentle gesture.
She began to cradle the child who fell asleep in her arms as she continued to stare at the infant momentarily, the pink blossom eyes still stands—And then, a syringe materialized in her hand and slit her fingers with its sharp point without showing pain or discomfort.
"All things that are born, began from the dead." The Empress of Light, named Teruhikari spoke, her voice was soft, yet a deep soothing voice as if every word she breathed was a lullaby, and every end of her speech was the end of a musical—and every word she utters is a lyric. "I couldn't save you then, but let me save you now." her pupils turned to orange.
She withdraw the dripping pure red blood that dripped in her dress by using the syringe—She then was about to inject her blood to the child's finger, but she stared at him for awhile before gently grabbing the child's hand with only two of her fingers and injected her blood filled syringe.
"Welcome truly to the world, Folly." She spoke for the last time as she continued to inject the blood and it did not seem to harm the infant as he was still asleep like an unbothered rock. As she began cradling the child—another child appeared, de-escalating on the stairs. Her name was Shògenji, her pupils hold two distinctive glows as the one above her pupils shows a very deep blue hue while the bottom shows a greenish blue glowing color.
"Who is that, mommy?" Shògenji asked, her voice was soft, and adoring. Her tiny face lit up with a smile, especially in a deep sense of curiosity—She approached Teruhikari and nudged at her arms and gazed at the child's face who was still sleeping.
Teruhikari gently fondled her sweet little daughter's presence near her and amiably kissed at the top of her forehead with a comforting chuckle as she gandered at both of the children with a tired smile and a blooming eye that was replaced with a sense of regretful sorrow as her mouth saddens and her brow, and ofcourse, her eyes orange as well as her entire face structure briefly turned into a heavy burden.
She sighed like blowing a pearly whistle, her breath could turn air to ice—Adoringly, the little child named "Folly" opened his wide eyes for the first time and smiled in warmth and adorableness, his pupils showed brief, dim dark blue eyes that shifted into a glowing gaze just like Teruhikari's.
Folly began to coo and tried to reach the face of Teruhikari with his little arms, now free from his blanket like a feathered newborn dove as his widowed mother lifted him up infront of her face and she smiled again so warmly, the pinkish sight returned and kissed his little nose—Shògenji even giggled at such moment like the only thing she could felt was adoration.
And there it was; The beginning of a story, the birth of a new dawn, within the Mundus Sundus. Located in the Light realm.
Voilà. Forged in Light, shown with bright, Illuminate!
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
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Ferrell_Von_Sedigo the entire novel is just an outline for its manga.
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