Some memories do not return to be told,
but to pass judgment.
They rise from the depths of the soul without warning,
exposing what we tried to bury,
stripping away the masks we wore just to survive.
This chapter is not about the past as it was,
but about truth when seen without mercy,
when remembering becomes pain,
and awareness turns into a silent trial.
Here…
Iskara begins to see herself,
not as others shaped her to be,
but as she truly was from the very beginning.
Chapter Three: The Mask of Memories
Iskara lies sprawled on the ground, her body seemingly still, yet inside she trembles violently, as if her soul is shattering piece by piece under the weight of the memories that suddenly exploded within her mind. Her wide eyes stare into emptiness; she does not see what surrounds her, but rather what once was—and what was painfully unbearable. The world around her has lost its form, colors have faded, sounds have dulled into a distant whisper, as if she were drowning at the bottom of a lightless ocean.
Her breaths are ragged, her chest rising and falling with difficulty, and every heartbeat strikes her consciousness like a hammer, carrying with it an image, a scream, a buried feeling that was never allowed to surface. Pain, shock, anger, loss—all merge into a single moment, forging a suffocating sense of betrayal, the betrayal of the world toward her from the very first moment.
The memories surge without mercy, without warning. She finds herself returning to a time before awareness, to her late mother's womb. She feels the tightness, the darkness, the primal fear; she hears heartbeats that are not her own, senses the warmth of a body embracing her despite its weakness. Every movement, every tremor, every moment of waiting was the beginning of a long road of suffering. Her mother… that woman who loved life despite its cruelty, who tried to give life even as it was slowly being taken from her. Iskara now sees everything: her fear, her patience, her unseen tears, and her unheard pain.
Then the memory opens further, deeper. The rift of the Abyss, the return of demons, and the fear that swept through the realms. The Lord of Light's decision to restore the angelic race was not salvation, but the beginning of a new tragedy. The birth of an angel was not a miracle, but a cruel, complex ritual that required complete human sacrifice. The selection of a human virgin, forcing her to drink the sacred water—that liquid which alters both body and soul, turning her into a vessel for a life that is not her own.
The pregnancy period… three full years. Three years of inner conflict, silent pain, and isolation. A body that changes, a soul that is crushed, and emotions that are forbidden from being expressed. Patience was not a virtue—it was a prison.
One of those women lived a simple, warm life filled with laughter. She loved, and she was loved. A small home, simple dreams, and a future she believed was secure. Then the decision came, like a blade. She was asked to abandon everything: love, safety, herself. Every moment afterward was a slow tearing of her heart. Her gazes at her beloved grew heavier, her silences longer, and her former dreams turned into something painful she dared not touch.
She was taken by force to the Lands of Light. No farewell, no choice. She drank the sacred water and felt, from that very moment, that her body no longer belonged to her. Days passed heavily, and years crawled by with deadly slowness. After two years of pregnancy, something inside her completely collapsed. Longing became fire, yearning became illness, and estrangement became unbearable.
In a moment of despair, in a final act of rebellion, she fled. She returned to the arms of the one she loved, to the only place where she felt human. Those brief moments were pure, warm, real… but they did not last. The men of Light found them. They did not speak much. They killed him before her eyes. Blood, shock, the scream trapped in her chest. She was accused of defiling the lineage of the Lord of Light and was forcibly returned—broken, empty.
After that, she no longer wished to live. She attempted to end her life again and again, but even death was denied to her. Each failed attempt deepened the feeling that she was trapped inside a body that was not hers, and a fate she never chose. The final year of pregnancy was a slow hell, a painful wait for an ending she could not imagine.
Then… after three full years, the two angels were born.
Unbelievable beauty, pure light… but the mother could endure no more. She passed away, leaving behind a catastrophic shock to the Lands of Light. The twins were unexpected. The ancient legend was shattered. One was a complete angel, and the other… something else.
The men of Light quickly understood the truth. The girl was not pure. Human blood flowed through her veins. Half angel, half human. A curse. A mistake that had to be erased. They tried to kill her many times, but her sister always stood in front of them, protecting her with her body and her soul. The complete angel was named Uralin, and the half-angel was Iskara.
Iskara suddenly returns to the present. Her body jolts, her consciousness collides violently with reality. The memories still pound her mind, but now she understands. She understands everything—the reason for the cruelty, the rejection, the pain. Yet understanding brings no comfort. It brings a cold emptiness, an unbearable loneliness.
Then comes the decisive scene.
Iskara returns to the Lands of Light. Her body is surrounded by a dark aura, a cursed energy coiling around her like a living shadow, yet she walks with an innocent, steady smile, as if defying everything she carries within. Her steps are slow and heavy, and every breath bears a bitter struggle between what she is and what she is supposed to be.
Uralin was waiting for her. Standing with a cold expression, eyes devoid of warmth. No welcome, no longing—only silent tension. Her gaze pierces Iskara, as if trying to extract every hidden secret within her.
Her voice comes sharp: "Why did you return here?"
Iskara freezes. Her heart stops for a second. The world falls silent. Words clash inside her, but none emerge. Uralin continues, her voice heavier: "This is no longer your home… You are carrying dark energy. You are cursed energy. You do not belong to a pure place. Your place is the Abyss. Leave, you monster."
The words strike Iskara's soul like lightning. Cold spreads through her body. Betrayal gnaws at her heart. Then comes the slap—strong, final—driving her away as if she were something unnecessary.
Iskara leaves. Her steps falter, her breaths ache, her chest burns with anger and sorrow together. She heads toward the Abyss… but the Abyss rejects her. The angelic energy within her prevents her from belonging.
She returns to the human world. Fear in the eyes, rejection on faces. No shelter, no protection. Rejected by everything.
Finally… the forest.
Trees surround her in silence, the wind brushes her face with deceptive gentleness. She sits on an old rock and takes out the violin. Her fingers tremble at first, then she begins to play. A slow, heavy melody—each sound carrying a story, a tear, a scream that was never screamed. The forest listens, the air holds the tune, and every note reflects a soul that still smiles innocently… despite everything that has shattered within it.
The forest listened,
but it did not answer.
Iskara's fingers remained on the strings,
motionless… yet trembling,
as if the melody had not ended,
as if it was only waiting.
What she had played was not a song,
nor a farewell.
It was the echo of everything that had been taken from her,
everything that had denied her a place to belong.
And when the silence finally settled,
something within her shifted.
The next melody would not seek comfort,
nor forgiveness.
It would carry despair itself,
woven into sound,
sharp enough to wound fate.
In the coming chapter,
Iskara will not play to be heard.
She will play
the melody of despair.