ivan
Summer Village: Kingdom of Volksland:
The summer sun descended upon the southern lands, and from its intensity, the pale blue sky blazed brightly at the heart of the heavens, spreading its rays to every inch of land, including the village of Summer, which saw this season as a blessing.
The village of Summer lies in the southeast, in the region of the Lower Plains. It was an agricultural area with many buildings, surrounded by a blanket of land that changed color with every season. This season, it was dyed the color of summer — the golden hue of ripe wheat waiting to be harvested.
Through its narrow and wide alleys, a twelve-year-old boy named Ivan darted across the streets and passages of the village, seemingly being chased by someone. In his right hand, he carried a bag containing medicine bottles, and behind him was a man with a bloated face whose neck was barely visible. His sun-reddened, sweaty face screamed, "Catch that son of a bitch! He stole things!" But no one paid him any attention.
After a continuous chase, Ivan managed to escape the grasp of the puff-faced old man, thanks to the man's poor fitness and large belly that led the way before his body, then headed through the alleys toward his home.
His modest house stood apart from the other homes, small in size, with a tin roof covering part of it, and cracks spreading across the outer walls. In one corner of the room, a woman lay on her bed. She called out to Ivan, and as he approached her, he said, "I'm back, Mom. I brought the medicine. " He spoke in a childlike tone, showing her the bottle.
Mother Yasni said, as she coughed and stared at the object in his hand, "Is that a medicine bottle?"
Ivan nodded, indicating that she was right. A look of seriousness formed on her face as she said: "Where did you get the money? Don't tell me you stole it." He turned his gaze to the right and replied, "No, I didn't."
Yasni held her son's hand, looked into his eyes, and said, "Then why won't you look me in the eye? You can't lie to me. I'm your mother , I know you well." Ivan answered, defeated, "Yes, I stole it. But I had no choice. That foolish old man refused to give it to me, and I don't have the money to buy it right now. You need it badly. " Ivan turned his back to her, heading toward the kitchen, saying, "Don't worry. I'll pay for it later."
Yasni tried to hold back her tears, but the sorrow crushing her heart was too powerful to conceal. She never imagined becoming a burden on her son at such a young age. For the past three years, the illness had been eating away at her body from the inside, leaving her unable to perform the simplest tasks. She felt guilty for not being able to provide a better life for Ivan, who had been carrying the weight of responsibility too early in life.
Ivan entered the room carrying a glass of water, his eyes reflecting worry and love. He walked toward his mother's bed, where she lay, and placed a small bowl on the table beside her. Gently, he lifted her slightly so she could sit upright, then gave her the medicine, trying to ease her suffering.
"Please, Mom, you need to eat something too," Ivan said insistently, despite her repeated refusals. Yasni averted her eyes, unable to face her reality, but Ivan refused to give in. "I need you, and you need strength to recover," he added, gently squeezing her hands.
Finally, with her son's insistence and determination, Yasni gave in. She had no choice but to surrender to his love and care.
As night fell, the dark summer sky was adorned with stars twinkling like millions of shining emeralds. In the distance, the night crickets began to play their usual tune, while the air was dry, devoid of any breeze to refresh the atmosphere. The lamps, wherever they were found, were surrounded by a halo of insects dancing around them.
Yasni felt a terrible pain in her chest, as if sharp swords were piercing deep within her. Coughing fits followed, staining her wrinkled hands and delicate skin with blood, through which veins and bone shapes could be seen. She tried her best to hide her suffering from her son, not wanting to frighten him, for he was still just a small child. But deep down, she knew her end was near, and what saddened her most was the thought of leaving her son in this harsh world at such a young age. This was not the life she had wished for him.
Yasni was a woman in her forties, and her face, which had once been extraordinarily beautiful and delicate like a rose, had now become dry and wrinkled. Her slanted blue eyes, which resembled the clear sky, had lost their sparkle, and her golden hair, which used to cascade over her shoulders like threads of silk, had fallen out in clumps, making her look like a half-dead corpse. She reflected on her past, on those days when she was full of life, realizing that everything had changed, and now she stood on the brink of parting.
Yasni called out to Ivan, her eyes appearing tired, as if she bore the weight of the world. He approached her and knelt by her bedside, where she was breathing heavily. "What is it, Mom?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
Yasni hesitated for a moment, then whispered in a barely audible voice, her face pale and sweaty as if she had just emerged from a nightmare. "I want to tell you something..." Her voice was weak, but Ivan focused his gaze on her eyes, trying to discern what she was hiding. "I'm listening, Mom. Go ahead."
Yasni placed her trembling hand over his, gently squeezing it. "Ivan, I'm sorry... I couldn't give you the happiness you deserve. I've made you suffer at such a young age. I'm sorry that you've had to pay for my mistakes; I'm so very sorry."
Tears welled up in Ivan's eyes, but he tried to be strong. He looked at his mother with a sad expression, then rested his head on her belly, as if trying to comfort her. "You've done what you could, Mom. You didn't choose to be sick. Here I am, healthy, and that's thanks to you. You've worked hard over the past ten years, so don't blame yourself."
A moment of silence filled the room as Yasni stared at the ceiling, remembering the day her son was born. That day was filled with pain, but she was alone, facing everything by herself. Yet, just one look at her little child was enough to make her forget all that she had endured. She felt the return of the happiness that had vanished from her life, as if a new light had shone in her heart.
But soon, Yasni returned to her bitter reality, gently placing her hand on Ivan's head, stroking his soft black hair. "Listen, my dear, I don't want to say this, but... I don't have much time left. I won't be able to stay with you forever, so you will have to continue life on your own and protect yourself alone." The words came out with difficulty, her heart aching with pain, but it was an unavoidable truth.
Ivan lifted his head from his mother's belly, trying to hide the childish features from his face, as if striving to appear like an adult. His eyes were filled with tears, but he struggled to hold himself together. "You don't need to worry about me, Mom. I know how to manage. You just need to take care of your health." His words carried a false confidence, as he forced a smile on his face, trying to conceal his deep fear of losing the only person he loved.
Despite his young age, Ivan possessed a mature mind, and his emotional side only showed in front of his mother. In front of others, he appeared as a calm child, unshaken by anything.
Ivan headed toward the stairs after Yasni asked him to bring her a small box hidden inside. He tried to open it but discovered it was locked. "It's locked, Mom. Is there a key somewhere?" he asked anxiously.
Yasni replied in a weak voice, barely audible, pointing her finger toward the ground. "It's in a hole under the rug."
Ivan moved a part of the rug to find a small hole the size of two fingers. Carefully, he retrieved the key from it and returned to the box. He unlocked it to find a small brown box adorned with a black crow-shaped lock. The engravings on the box bore phrases in an ancient language, saying: "We are the guardians of the extinct life. With the edge of the filled blade, we will sever your heads. The Coming Ones, advance. You will burn by your own flames."
Ivan was intrigued by those phrases, even though he didn't fully understand their meaning. They seemed to him like an expression of courage and defiance, as if calling him to fight for what mattered.
He slowly opened the box to find a golden necklace adorned with pearls, illuminating the space with its brilliance. It looked like a piece of the sky.
Yasni said with an emotional voice, "That box and necklace belonged to your grandmother. It was all she had when she came to this village."
Ivan looked at his mother, then returned his gaze to the necklace, as if he had fallen under its spell. He snapped out of his trance after a few moments and said as he closed the box, "I've never seen anything this shiny in our village. This necklace looks expensive. Where did Grandma get it from?"
Yasni replied, after a wave of continuous coughing shook her body, "You'll know in due time. Tomorrow, I'll introduce you to someone."
Ivan replied with curiosity, "Is it that man who brings you medicine?"
Yasni nodded, confirming. Ivan then added playfully, "A guy who helps people he doesn't even know. I think he's a good person."
But Yasni's expression suddenly changed, and a look of discomfort appeared on her face. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder and said in a serious tone, "Don't be fooled by appearances. The truth is always hidden beneath the surface. Even if you're standing before an angel, consider the possibility it might be a disguised devil."
Ivan felt that his mother's words were like warning chants, ones he had heard many times in their talks.
He never really understood why she feared others so much. She was always secretive about the past, as if she carried a heavy burden she refused to share.
Ivan said, looking at Yasni with concern, "So… you don't trust that man?"
Yasni moved her hands off his shoulders and folded them over her chest. Her heartbeat was racing, and her eyes watched the window, as if searching for answers outside.
After a moment of silence, she let out a deep sigh and said, "I don't know. I feel like I'm caught in a whirlpool. There's no clear truth in front of me."
Then she smiled gently, as if a ray of hope had slipped into her heart, and added, "But to me, you are the only complete truth. You're the one I can trust. You were a gift from the heavens. you pulled me out of the darkness of my misery."
Ivan felt deeply embarrassed, and his cheeks turned rosy. His words got stuck in his mouth, as if they were no longer able to come out.
He glanced at the necklace that sparkled on the table, then carefully placed it back into the drawer, as if he were hiding something precious. "Alright, let's forget about that," he said, trying to change the subject. "What matters now is your health. You need to rest, it's getting late."
Gently, Ivan covered his mother with a warm blanket, then walked toward his bed.
He collapsed onto it as if overcome with exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep, as if all the world's worries had vanished in a single moment.
The next morning, sunlight crept in through the small window in the wall, bathing the house in warm light. The rays gently touched Ivan's face, causing him to wake slowly, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to shake off the remnants of sleep. Sunlight had always been his natural alarm clock.
He headed to the bathroom to wash his face, but his eyes were still blurry, and he nearly bumped into the wall due to his lack of focus. He called out to his mother, but there was no response. He looked around anxiously and discovered that she was still asleep. That wasn't usual, she was always awake before him.
Fear crept across Ivan's face, and his mother's words echoed in his mind—those words she had once said: "You'll only wake up before me when I'm dead."
He walked toward her slowly, his heart pounding, a strange pressure filling his chest. He wished with all his heart that what he feared wasn't true.
Yasni's blue eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling, empty and void of life's spark. Her pale face looked ghostly, and dried blood had drawn red trails down her white skin from her mouth to the base of her neck. Her hands, hidden under the blanket, were stained with blood.
Ivan was horrified by what he saw. His legs could no longer hold him. It was the first time he had seen a dead person.
He moved closer and placed his hand on her forehead, he felt as though he were touching a block of ice. Her body was so cold, and her skin had turned bluish.
He began shaking her body as tears streamed uncontrollably from his eyes, calling her name, again and again, but no answer came.
Ivan collapsed to his knees. His sky colored eyes were veiled by storm clouds, and deep inside, there was only one wish: that this was just a nightmare, that he was still asleep, and that he would wake up any moment to find his mother beside him.
His memory replayed the happy days they had shared before she fell ill, how they used to laugh despite the harsh circumstances they lived through, and how simple moments were enough to make them feel joy.
Ivan ran out of the house barefoot. His eyes were red from crying, and snot was dripping from his nose. He was screaming for help, but the people around him were busy with their lives, and no one paid him any attention, except for an older man in his fifties, whose hair was mostly gray, with a thick white beard covering half his face, brown eyes surrounded by wrinkles, and wearing a black coat.
The man approached Ivan, holding one of his arms, and asked in a calm voice, "What's wrong, little one?"
Ivan pulled his arm free from the man's grip, wiped his tears with his trembling hand, and said in a broken voice, "My mother is sick… Her body is so cold. Please… help her!"
The old man replied immediately, his tone serious, "Take me to your mother, child."
The old man entered the house quickly, heading toward where Ivan's mother had been sleeping. The room was dark, filled with the scent of sorrow. He examined her with his eyes, then placed his hand on her pulse. As he had expected, she had passed away hours ago. He closed his eyes for a moment, saddened, as he thought about how to deliver this heartbreaking news to Ivan.
Slowly, he gently closed her eyes and pulled the blanket up to cover her face. Then he turned toward Ivan with a look full of sorrow, tears nearly spilling from his eyes. He knelt to be at eye level with the boy, his face full of compassion. He gently placed a hand on Ivan's shoulder and said in a calm voice: "Listen, little kid … your mother has gone to a beautiful place, a place we will all go to when our time comes. She'll be happy there, so don't cry for her. You'll see her again when the time is right."
Ivan looked into the old man's eyes, then pushed his hands away from his shoulders and took two steps back, his eyes fixed on the ground. With a raised voice, choked by sobs, he said: "Don't treat me like a little kid! Don't try to protect my feelings. I knew she was dead from the beginning. I... I just wanted to lie to myself and not believe it."
Ivan collapsed to his knees, punching the ground with his fists, screaming and crying in anguish. The old man looked at him with deep sorrow, pitying him, wondering how words could possibly ease such a loss, but he knew that pain only heals with time.
Ivan stood before his mother's body, taking one last look at the face that would soon be buried in the earth—one he would never see again. His gaze was sorrowful, his eyes dry from all the tears he had shed.
Beside him, the old man with the thick white beard was praying for her soul to rest in peace.
As Ivan was lost in thoughts and memories of his mother, he hadn't expected things to change this quickly. A feeling of guilt gripped his heart, guilt for not noticing that she had been silently suffering. She had hidden everything from him, while he had remained unaware.
The old man's voice brought Ivan back to his harsh reality, as he called out to him. Ivan slowly turned his face toward him with a blank look. The old man, staring ahead, asked: "What will you do now?"
Ivan, returning his gaze to his mother's grave, replied: "I don't know. My mind is completely empty… the only thing in it is my mom."
The old man stepped a little closer and said: "Don't you have anyone? Any family or someone you know?"
Ivan, kneeling down to place some flowers on his mother's grave, replied: "I don't know anyone. I have no one. My mom was the only person I had, and now she's gone too."
Ivan stood up, looking at his mother's grave with a farewell gaze, then turned to leave the place. But the old man grabbed him from behind, causing him to stop.
Ivan turned and looked up, due to the height difference between them, and said, "Thank you, old man. You helped me a lot. Without you, I wouldn't have been able to bury my mother. You can go your own way now."
But the old man interrupted him, saying, "But where will you go? How will you manage?"
Ivan replied confidently, "I'm used to relying on myself, so I'll manage. Besides, I'm not the only orphan, there are dozens like me."
The old man sighed slightly, took out a cigarette and placed it in his mouth, then said, "Listen, since you have no one to go to, would you like to live with me? I'm alone too, so maybe we could keep each other company."
Ivan looked at the old man with a suspicious gaze and said with irritation, l "What's your aim in this, old man? Why would you ask someone to live with you when you've only just met them hours ago?"
The old man gave a sad smile that hid much behind it, and slipped his hand into his coat pocket.
He said, "Maybe you're right ... any sane person would question this. I have no way to convince you my intentions are good. It's up to you. But let's just say I see potential in you… and an interesting future."
Ivan asked curiously, "What do you mean?"
The old man stayed silent for a moment, then turned toward Yasny's grave and placed a purple hair clip on it. The clip had two separate bridges that only connected when pressed at the back.
Ivan didn't like that the old man ignored his question. When he saw him place the clip on his mother's grave, he thought to himself that the dead don't enjoy gifts, maybe she would have been happy if he had given it to her while she was alive.
After a few moments of silence, the old man spoke with a question Ivan didn't expect to hear: "Don't you have a dream? Are you planning to spend your whole life in this village where no one likes you? You've lost the only tie that connected you to it. I'd wager you've never even crossed the threshold of this place. You know nothing about this world."
Ivan couldn't find anything to say, the old man's words described him as if he'd lived with him all these years.
He had lived twelve years in this village, where the days repeated as if they were one and the same.
His mother always used to say that pleasure and peace don't coexist, if you want peace, you have to accept boredom.
And she was right, this village was peaceful to the point of boredom. The last monster attack had been ten years ago.
The old man said, gently ruffling Ivan's hair, "I'm not asking you to trust me. You can doubt me until you're sure. But you need to trust your own decisions and give yourself a chance."
Then he left, leaving Ivan surrounded by sadness and confusion, watching the old man's back as he waved. Before disappearing from sight, the old man added a final few words: "I'll come back tomorrow to hear your answer. Think about it carefully, think about the future. The past is gone and won't return. See life through your own eyes instead of borrowing others'."
Ivan returned to the house he used to enter to find his mother greeting him, but this time, there was only silence and a bleak void as he opened the door.
Every corner of the house reminded him of moments he had lived with his mother, making him realize the value of the happiness he had been living in, something he hadn't appreciated until he lost it.
He headed toward his mother's bed and embraced some of her clothes, inhaling her unique fragrant scent.
That scent was light, teasing his nose and making him want to inhale more without ever feeling satisfied. His mother had a knack for choosing perfumes—in fact, she made her own.
Ivan feared that time would make him forget everything about her—especially her name, as he had trouble remembering names.
He collapsed on the bed and began to cry silently, until he fell into a deep sleep on his mother's mattress, clutching her clothes.
After emptying his grief through tears, he promised himself to accept reality and continue his life. Life doesn't stop for anyone, it's people who stop when they fail to keep up with it.