The fragments of the shattered mirror faded into nothingness, swallowed by the void they had briefly revealed. The chamber stood in utter silence, the elders frozen in shock, their faces pale with disbelief.
The woman held her son tightly against her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The gatekeeper slowly stepped forward, his eyes lingering on the empty space where the Soul Mirror had once been. "It is gone," he murmured. "Erased."
Elder Liang swallowed hard. "That has never happened before."
One of the younger elders, his voice trembling, whispered, "What… what is he?"
The gatekeeper turned to the woman. "You must leave."
She stiffened. "What?"
He met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "You asked for answers. Now you have them. This child is not meant to exist, and the world will not accept him. You must leave before word spreads."
She clenched her jaw. "And if I refuse?"
Elder Liang spoke this time, his voice edged with rare emotion. "Then you risk bringing disaster upon yourself—and upon him."
Her grip around her son tightened. He still slept peacefully, unaware of the storm raging around him.
The elders continued whispering among themselves.
"We should not interfere."
"But if others discover him—"
"His presence alone shattered an ancient artifact. This is beyond us."
The gatekeeper raised a hand, silencing them all.
Then he looked at her, his voice firm. "Leave. Now."
A sharp chill ran through her.
They were afraid.
Not of her. Not even of her son.
They were afraid of what his existence meant.
She took a slow breath, steadying herself.
"…I understand."
Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode toward the entrance.
No one stopped her.
The doors groaned as they swung open, revealing the darkened sky beyond. The wind howled, carrying the scent of rain.
She stepped out into the cold night, her child held close to her heart.
And behind her, the doors of the Heavenly Pavilion slammed shut—sealing away the echoes of a judgment that had already been made.
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