In Lumina, the city where life is a ritual miracle and the gods shape every breath, the perfect order hides cracks. Under the golden light of the temples and the watchful eye of priests, a young insurgent, Maya, questions what everyone accepts as sacred. Why do demons haunt the borders? Why do births only occur at the altar of the gods? And why do the exiles, those who defied the rules, insist that the truth is darker than faith allows?

The narrative intertwines myth and revolution, exploring the boundaries between devotion and oppression. Maya, a child of contradictions—neither wholly of the city nor of the shadows—challenges hierarchies as she searches for answers in the temple’s forbidden labyrinths. Her path crosses with enigmas and a past buried under centuries of dogma. Meanwhile, Zephira, the guardian goddess, watches silently, her face carved in stone bearing secrets that threaten to crumble the world she built.

The strength of the story lies in its atmosphere: a utopia that breathes like a living organism, where each rite hides a mechanism, and each demon can be a mirror of rejected humanity. The prose, lyrical and visceral, navigates between scenes of brutal battles in sacred arenas and dialogues charged with duality — faith versus reason, community versus individual, light versus darkness that cries out for recognition.

Without revealing the central veils, the book invites reflection: how far does a creator's love for his creation go? And when does the search for answers become an act of divine rebellion? Lumina is not only a journey of discovery, but a manifesto on the price of truth in societies built on secrets.