Hearing the end of the story, Serik started clapping and cheering.
"That was amazing!" he said, his eyes shining. "He didn't give up at all, and it worked!"
Sera laughed softly and pulled him a little closer. "No, he didn't. And that's what made the difference."
Serik looked toward the garden, thinking. "So… the earth wasn't dead?"
"No," Sera replied, shaking her head. "It was just tired."
She brushed a strand of hair from his face and smiled. "Sometimes things don't need to be fixed, Serik. They just need time—and someone who doesn't walk away."
"I want to be like that man," he said quietly as he looked into his mother's eyes.
Sera's expression turned gentle but serious. "Then remember this—"
She stopped.
Cough.Cough.Cough.
In the real world, Serik could be seen squirming slightly, as if he were in pain. But this was only the start. Back in his dreams, everything changed again.
Now Serik was on the ground, slightly wounded. Standing before him was Elaria, his stepmother, dressed in a long purple gown adorned with jewels. She bent down and tilted Serik's chin upward and said with a grin, "Your stupid mother is dead. There is nobody left to take care of you. Nobody to love you."
"You are wrong," Serik said, turning his head away. "I still have Father. He will protect me."
Elaria started laughing. "Hahahahaha. You stupid child."
She abruptly grabbed Serik by the hair and forced his head up, pointing him toward the mansion—toward the study where Ardan, Serik's father, stood. Ardan was holding the window with one hand, looking in their direction. His expression could not be seen. All Serik saw was his father doing nothing.
"Father…" he whispered.
"Father, please help me." He started screaming.
"She is hurting me."
"Why are you not coming?" he screamed with all the might his lungs could muster, but to no avail.
Serik started crying, his pleas went unanswered. Besides his sobbing, all that could be heard was Elaria's laughter.
She pulled him closer and whispered, "Take a good look, you bastard. Your father does not care about you. You are unwanted by everyone."
Then she threw Serik aside with all her strength.
Thump.
Serik lay on the ground, unmoving. Tears continued to stream down his face, but his expression was utterly blank, his eyes staring into nothingness.
Seeing this, Elaria lost interest. Like a child discarding a broken toy, she no longer deigned to acknowledge his presence. She glanced once toward Ardan's study and thought, From now on, you are all mine.
Unhurried, she walked back toward the mansion with a slight spring in her step.
Serik slowly came out of his daze. He stood up, but he did not dare approach the mansion. Instead, he turned and walked in the opposite direction, wandering aimlessly.
He walked and walked until he reached the forest below the mansion. There stood an old hunter's house. His mother used to bring him there to play.
As he approached, he began to hear the sounds of insects, wolves, and other creatures.
Chir… chir… chir…
Awoooo...
I don't want to be here, Serik thought, tears filling his eyes.
The house was small and old, covered in vines and riddled with holes. He still remembered how much fun it had been to play here with his mother. He always used the holes to escape.
Thump.
He took his first step inside. The house had no floor—only bare dirt. Slowly, he moved to the back of the house, where the bedroom was supposed to be, or at least that was what his mother had told him.
There wasn't even a bed.
He opened the door to an empty room, then closed it behind him. He sat down on the ground and stared at the dirt in a daze.
Why is this happening to me? Why didn't Father help me? Does he think Mother's death is my fault? Did he abandon me for that witch?
His mind became weary, thinking became harder, and his body was craving some rest.
He tried to sleep, but the cold ground made it impossible. He tried to think of happy memories. At first, all that came to mind were the events of today. Slowly, he pushed them aside, and memories of his mother began to surface.
He didn't have many memories of his father. Ardan was always busy. Men dressed in black constantly came and went from his office. Sometimes his father left with them and didn't return for days—once even for weeks.
All Serik truly had were the moments he spent with his mother.
At first, only fragments came.
His mother's laughter—light and warm—carried by the wind as she chased him through the garden. He remembered tripping over a root and skinning his knee, and how she had knelt beside him, blowing softly on the wound before wrapping it in a clean cloth.
"Strong boys cry too," she had said with a smile.
He remembered muddy hands and dirt-stained clothes. His mother scolding him in a gentle voice while failing to hide her amusement as she cleaned him up. There was no anger.
He remembered sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, watching her cook. The smell of warm bread filled the room. She let him taste everything, even when it was too hot, laughing when he burned his tongue and rushed for water.
He remembered rainy afternoons spent indoors. She read stories while he leaned against her side, half-listening, comforted by the steady rhythm of her voice. Sometimes she fell asleep first, the book slipping from her hand.
Then came the last memory.
They were outside, wrapped in blankets in the garden. The night air was cool, and the sky stretched endlessly above them, filled with stars. Serik lay beside her, small hands clutching her sleeve, afraid that if he let go, she might disappear.
"Good night, Mommy," he whispered.
She pulled him closer, one arm around him, the other pointing toward the sky. "Good night," she said softly. "My little bear."
Serik rested his head against her chest, listening to her heartbeat—slow and steady.
A smile formed on Serik's face. Ever since his mother died, remembering her made it feel as though she were right behind him, ready to embrace him.
Unaware, the ground beneath Serik began to change.
Grass sprouted from the dirt, spreading outward, wrapping gently around him. Blade by blade, the grass embraced the sleeping boy, holding him close. Serik started to feel warmer. The cold was not as biting as before, and the ground felt softer to the touch.
The sounds of the forest faded into a distant murmur. The wind no longer reached him, and even the earth seemed to settle, as if it were breathing with him.
Serik shifted slightly in his sleep, curling inward. His breathing grew slow and steady.
And right before sleep could fully take him away, he heard.
My little bear... I am here.