Chapter 2: Light

Leticia stood on a wooden platform in the middle of the square, surrounded by a crowd. Her long black hair hung in tangled strands, her dress had turned to rags, yet her posture remained proud. She gazed at the people who had gathered to witness her execution with an icy calm in her ruby-red eyes. That look made the crowd freeze in fear yet scream even louder, as if trying to drown out their own unease.

— Dark mage! — voices shouted. — She must pay for her sins!
— Because of you, there is no peace in our Empire!
— Death to dark mages!

Leticia did not look away. She did not see faces—only a gray, formless mass. These people had not come for justice; they had come to feel righteous. Her presence was merely a way for them to hide their own weakness.

And above all of this, the sun shone.

Blindingly bright, merciless, it pierced the heavens like an executioner preparing to strike. Its rays warmed her skin, but to Leticia, that warmth felt like mockery. The world did not mourn for her, did not grieve, did not hide in the shadows. On the contrary, it shone as if celebrating her end. It was symbolic: the sun, that eternal observer, seemed to mock her, knowing that for her, this day was the last.

Memories of the past flickered before her eyes. She remembered her mother—the one she had left behind in the village. Her warm hands, the scent of herbs, her voice—always soft and soothing.

— You are strong, Leticia, — her mother had said, embracing her before her father took her to the capital. — You will endure, but remember: your strength is not a curse, but a gift. Never let anyone convince you otherwise.

Back then, Leticia had not understood those words.

She was only fifteen when her father, a wealthy aristocrat, came to their home. His voice was cold, and his words were a command:

— The magic in your blood is an ancient, forgotten power. You are my daughter, and it is your duty to serve your family.

— But why do people fear it? — Leticia asked, feeling her hands grow cold.

Her father hesitated before sighing and finally explaining:

— Shadow magic is not just rare. It has nearly disappeared because so little is known about it. Ignorance breeds fear. There were those in history who used it for destruction, but there were also those who sought to understand its true nature. However, those in power decided it was easier to label it as dangerous rather than try to control it.

Since childhood, she had been told that this magic was a threat. When she first used it, the people she once considered close recoiled in fear. Their eyes were filled with disgust and horror, as if she had become a monster. Every time she called upon the shadows, even to protect, whispers of fear surrounded her. 

"It’s evil," 

"She is cursed," 

"She must not be allowed to live."

Her magic—her shadows, which had become her only defense—was a forgotten fear from legends. Her gift evoked only panic in others. Even those who once smiled at her began to avoid her gaze and, eventually, betrayed her.

When soldiers burst into her room, accusing her of treason, no one stood up for her—not even her father. At her trial, he spoke only one sentence:

— I renounce her.

Those words still echoed in her mind.

— Leticia Murray, you are accused of colluding with dark mages and betraying the crown! — the herald's voice rang across the square.

For a brief moment, bitterness touched her, but she quickly suppressed the feeling. Leticia raised her gaze to the herald.

— Lies, — she said, her voice colder than ice. — You have no proof. Your accusations are nothing but fear of what you do not understand.

The crowd fell silent. Some began to whisper among themselves, the herald frowned. Her words had cut through their self-deception.

— I did not betray the crown. You betrayed justice, — Leticia continued. — You fear power because it reminds you of your own weakness. You refuse to accept the truth because it terrifies you.

Her voice was weary, yet every word struck precisely where it needed to. The executioner standing beside her involuntarily tensed. Leticia’s ruby eyes met his, and he saw no fear in them—only defiance.

The herald gave a sharp gesture.

— Executioner, proceed.

The crowd hushed. All sounds of the square seemed to vanish. Leticia lifted her eyes to the sky. It was as clear as the day she had lost everything.

"This world has always feared me," she thought. "And it broke me. But this is not the end."

— Any last words? — the herald asked.

Leticia exhaled. Her voice was calm, almost gentle:

— This world will get what it deserves.

The executioner slowly raised the axe. The blade gleamed under the sun, its shadow falling across Leticia’s face. A faint smile touched her lips. The crowd held its breath.

Time seemed to slow. The sun continued to shine mercilessly above the square, as if savoring the moment. She heard the muffled murmur of the crowd one last time, as if from a distance. A gust of wind brushed against her skin, rustling her hair as if bidding farewell. Her breathing was steady, her heartbeat calm.

The axe whistled through the air. The last thing she saw was the sun’s rays piercing through the clouds.

She hoped that in the next life, she would receive the warmth she had denied herself.

She did not yet know that this ending would mark the beginning of a new story—one where she would meet another lost soul who would bring her the light she had been missing.