He lay on the ground, his back against soft grass, eyes fixed on the clear blue sky as if it didn't belong to this world. His vision was blurred, and the sounds around him overlapped: children's laughter, running footsteps, a street vendor's shout, and birds chirping. Everything felt distant… hazy, like it was streaming from a far-off dream.
A blue butterfly fluttered above his head, circling lightly as if it knew him, then gently landed on his nose. He shook it off irritably and said in a tired, rough voice:
"Ah, what a nuisance… Let me rest a little. I'm exhausted today."
The butterfly settled again on his nose, seemingly determined to stay. He gave in, slowly closed his eyes, and took a deep breath…
Minutes passed…
Suddenly, a sharp white flash split the horizon, brighter than any sunlight. The light lasted only seconds, but it was enough to burn the image into his eyes even if he closed them. Everything went dull afterward, as if a layer of temporary blindness covered his sight. The sky lost its color for a moment, then everything returned soaked in faded gray shadows.
Moments later came the sound. A heavy, deep roar, like a distant mountain collapsing. It wasn't a single noise but a series of consecutive vibrations; with each, the ground beneath his feet trembled as if losing its balance. The sound was far, yet clearly coming from something larger than imagination.
Then the earth shook violently. A terrifying roar, as if the sky fell upon the city. Buildings crumbled, glass shattered loudly, tongues of fire rose. People ran and screamed; the air filled with dust and ash. He coughed hard, raised his hand to cover his mouth, but saw his palm completely covered in blood.
"What… happened?"
He looked up. The sky that had been blue was now suffocatingly black, as if something crushed the light and extinguished life. The heat was unbearable. Sounds of impact, burning bodies, faceless faces, scalded skin, children screaming, men crying.
He turned frantically and whispered barely audible from his throat:
"Mary… where are you?"
He started running heavily, seeing nothing… everything was smoke, dust, and flames. He stumbled, fell, got up, and shouted in a thick, harsh voice:
"Mary!!"
Her name echoed between the ruins… and no one answered.
He searched among the corpses, burned faces, twisted limbs, others crushed by rubble. Moving from one body to another, clearing debris, lifting dead heads, shouting:
"No… it can't be! Not a single survivor?!"
He sank to his knees, gasping, screaming into the void, eyes filling with tears:
"Please… someone answer me!"
Every face was dead… every body deformed… Impossible, this is impossible… Mary can't be here. Where are you? Where are you hiding? I promised you… I promised I'd protect you! No one answers… no one answers… why does no one answer?! I can't be the only survivor… I can't!
…
He woke up startled, staring at his small hands, then rubbed his eyes and wiped his tears.
He raised his hand again to wipe his face and closed his eyes for a moment. He looked at his delicate fingers—fingertips that never held a weapon or carried anything heavier than a cup of water. He stared at them for a long time.
Suddenly he stopped, panting. He began to realize… it wasn't real. He said to himself, voice heavy with fatigue:
"Hah… just a nightmare."
He lay back on his small bed, his head heavy, body burning with fever. The room was dimly lit, its walls cracked old wood, smelling of ash and dried herbs.
He slowly turned his head to the other side.
A second bed, unmade, with a thin blanket carelessly stretched over it. The bed was empty.
Between the beds, a window covered with a dark curtain—light, but thick enough to block out all sunlight.
The door opened slowly, and a faint light spilled in, brightening the room a little.
He squinted against the glare from outside.
A woman with light gray hair tied tightly entered, holding a lit candle in one hand and a clay bowl in the other. She dipped a cloth in water, then bent over him and placed it on his forehead.
She said with kindness and worry:
"Moner, my love… why are you crying? Did you have a nightmare? Ah, your fever hasn't gone down yet. Stay lying down and don't move."
He muttered weakly:
"Mom… when will I get better from this fever?"
She answered calmly and confidently:
"You'll be fine soon, don't worry. Just rest. Your father is going to the Lifeline now… he'll bring you some herbs."
He didn't reply, his clear blue eyes staring at the ceiling like the sea in a storm's heart. But in their gaze was something strange… something not fitting a child his age. He didn't understand what he saw, but he felt it was real.
He looked around the room. Everything was familiar… but it didn't feel like his own, as if placed there suddenly.
His face was covered with sweat, and his light pink hair stuck to his fever-drenched forehead. His body was thin, no older than five… but inside? Something heavy. Something unlike this body at all.
His mother rose quietly, lifted the cover slightly from his body, then walked cautiously to the door.
She looked at him one last time, then left, closing the door slowly but leaving it ajar… a small slit letting in some light.
Darkness filled the room again, except for a thin line of light creeping in at the door.
Outside, the hall was lit by sunlight streaming through tall windows. Gentle rays spilled on the wooden floor, breaking the chill with a faint warm touch. The walls were the same wood, and the floor was covered by a faded handmade rug.
Opposite them stood three simple wooden doors: one leading to the shared bedroom with her husband, the second to a narrow kitchen emanating the scent of old bread, and the third to the bathroom, half off its hinges from heavy use.
She sat on a sturdy wooden chair before a table marred by small scratches and stains from frequent use. She took a slow breath, staring at a patch of light on the floor. Silence was heavy, as if the walls knew more than they said.
The father emerged from the kitchen, followed by a small child, both well-fed and laughing as if they had no worries in the world.
The father was a man in his early fifties, his face carrying signs of both fatigue and kindness. His hair was streaked with gray, bald at the front, but short neat strands remained at the back of his head. His warm brown eyes held fatherly tenderness despite the visible lines around them. He stood straight, broad shoulders a remnant of a once strong body.
The child was like a small flower walking beside him. A five-year-old girl with messy pink hair falling over her shoulders and wide green eyes that seemed to discover everything for the first time. She walked lightly, clutching the hem of her loose brown dress she had just put on as her mother ordered.
The mother said, rising from her seat and brushing her hands:
"Veneras, go quickly to the Lifeline and bring medicine. Moner's fever is still high."
He covered his head with his brown cloak, then bent down to put a small hat on Novamelle's head, gently tousling her hair as he smiled:
"I'm going now, Nana, and I'm taking Novamelle with me for the first time. Novamelle, come on… let's find medicine for your twin brother."
Novamelle's eyes sparkled with excitement as she said:
"Finally, I'll go to the Lifeline, Dad!"
The father responded seriously:
"Yes, but we won't get too close. There are very dangerous wild animals. We'll stick to gathering herbs and plants only, okay?"
She nodded eagerly:
"Yes."
The father smiled, then walked to the window and opened it. A gentle breeze rushed in, moving the curtains and reviving the stuffy air in the hall.
Then he headed to the front door and opened it. The fresh air came in again, stirring their cloaks and gently touching their faces.
Together they stepped toward the threshold, the air playing with their first steps on a new morning.
After an hour of walking through the plain, Veneras stopped and pointed ahead:
"Look, Novamelle… that is the kingdom."
He lifted her to sit on his shoulders, her legs dangling over his chest. She held his head and looked where he pointed.
In the distance, the kingdom was surrounded by high mountains twisting around it like silent guards. Among the mountains rose its gray walls and towers, as if they had grown from the rocks.
The father said, gazing far away:
"That is our kingdom… Zency."
A cold breeze blew between the mountains, carrying the scent of earth.
Novamelle stayed sitting on his shoulders as he walked until the sun reached the middle of the sky, its heat falling straight down.
They entered a dense forest, its trees tall and intertwined, the shade beneath cold and heavy. Veneras walked slowly until he reached the edge of a cliff several meters high, overlooking the forest below.
Beneath them, the trees stretched like an endless forest. Among the thick branches, animals moved like fleeting shadows.
Novamelle noticed his stop and tilted her head to look at him. He pointed with his finger into the distance and said softly:
"Do you see those red ribbons tied to the trees?"
She squinted toward the direction he pointed and saw red ribbons tied to branches and leaves like boundary markers.
"That is the Lifeline boundary."
She turned to him in surprise:
"Why is it called that?"
He answered without raising his eyes:
"Whoever crosses it… will never survive. And if they return, they won't be themselves."
Novamelle felt a chill and heavy fear she couldn't explain, clutching her father's head tightly.
Veneras smiled and said:
"Don't be afraid… we won't cross it. We'll only go down to gather herbs."
He pointed to a knotted rope on a tree trunk and said:
"Hold on tight now."
He grabbed the rope and began to descend, while Novamelle clung to his neck, her eyes fixed on the red ribbons far away.
Veneras wandered among the plants, bending occasionally to pick certain herbs, their leaves dark green or pale purple, some with serrated edges.
Novamelle watched silently, seeing him choose with confidence, though their shapes looked similar to other plants.
She picked a plant with her hand and asked:
"And this one? Is it good?"
He looked at her and laughed:
"No… that one is poisonous. Don't touch it too much."
Veneras took a small cloth bag from his pocket, bending to collect herbs one by one. He chose carefully, checking the leaf shape and smell before putting them inside.
Novamelle stayed close, looking around nervously, glancing between the trees as if expecting something to appear any moment.
Time passed slowly, and when the bag was nearly full, the sun began to set. The light turned warm orange, and the shadows stretched long like claws among the trees.
Veneras said:
"That's enough for today, let's go up before dark."
They returned to the rope. Veneras carried Novamelle again and climbed with difficulty while distant animal sounds grew louder. Heavy roars, intermittent howls, and snapping branches breaking.
Novamelle whispered fearfully, holding her father tightly:
"Dad… something is coming."
He answered softly:
"I know… don't worry. We'll be fine if we hurry."
They reached the top, and as soon as his feet touched the ground, he pulled the rope quickly, as if closing a door behind him he didn't want anyone to cross.
—
When they returned to their small cabin in the woods, the orange sunset light slipped between the trees and painted lines on the wooden walls. The smell of dinner reached their noses before they even got to the door.
The moment they stood at the threshold, Novamelle spotted a blue butterfly flying nearby. She pointed joyfully:
"Dad! Look… a butterfly! How beautiful."
Veneras watched silently while the butterfly followed its path and entered the cabin before them.
He went into the small kitchen; its dark wooden walls smelled of burnt wood and simmering broth. In the corner was a simple stove, and on the shelves, some old stained pots arranged carelessly.
Novamelle kept following the butterfly with her eyes until it disappeared inside the room where Moner lay.
They all entered Moner's room, and the butterfly settled on his nose, motionless… as if watching his fragile breaths.
The mother gently touched Moner, waking him quietly, gave him some drink; he drank slowly and then fell back asleep.
Novamelle said in surprise:
"Dad… it's not afraid. What a beautiful butterfly."
Veneras looked closely at the butterfly and said in a mysterious tone:
"Don't be fooled by the beauty of things, Novamelle… I'll tell you the butterfly theory."
She looked at him puzzled:
"What's that?"
He said coldly:
"The flutter of a butterfly's wings might cause a hurricane on the other side of the world… and maybe end in great destruction."
Novamelle was silent, staring at him… his words were heavy, yet they stuck in her mind without her understanding why.
Novamelle suddenly sneezed quietly. Veneras approached her, put his hand on her forehead, and said with a worried smile:
"Oh God… you're sick too."
Then he sneezed as well, making Novamelle laugh. The mother looked at him surprised, touched him, and said:
"You're sick too!"
Veneras laughed, wiping his nose, but the mother suddenly sneezed. Novamelle raised her small hand, put it on her mother's forehead, and said gently:
"Mom… you're sick too."
They were silent for a few seconds, then all laughed together, filling the room with warmth and joy.