Summer Village: Kingdom of Volksland:
The summer sun had settled over the southern lands, its intensity illuminating the pale blue sky with a radiant glow that spread its rays across every inch of the land, including Summer Village, which had high hopes for this season.
Located in the southeastern part of the Lower Plains, Summer Village was a densely built agricultural area, surrounded by a tapestry of land that changed color with each season. This season, it was adorned in the hues of summer, the golden yellow of ripe wheat waiting to be harvested.
In its narrow and wide alleys, Ivan, a twelve-year-old boy, was darting through the streets, seemingly being chased by someone. In his right hand, he clutched a bag filled with vials of medicine, while behind him, a man with a swollen face, whose neck was barely visible, shouted, "Catch that son of a harlot! He stole something!" However, no one paid him any mind. After a frantic chase, Ivan managed to escape the grasp of the old man, whose poor fitness and large belly hindered his pursuit, and he dashed through the alleys toward his home.
His modest house stood apart from the others, small in size with a tin roof covering part of it, while cracks marred the exterior walls. In one corner of the room lay a woman resting in her bed. She called out to Ivan, and as he approached her, he said, "I'm back, Mom. I brought the medicine," speaking in a childlike tone as he held up the bottle.
His mother, Yasni, looked at the object in his hand and coughed, "Is that a bottle of medicine?"
Ivan nodded, indicating that she was correct. A serious expression crossed her face as she asked, "Where did you get the money? Don't tell me you stole it." He averted his gaze to the right and replied, "No, I didn't."
Yasni took her son's hand, looking into his eyes as she said, "Then why won't you look me in the eye? You can't lie to me; I'm your mother, and I know you well." Ivan surrendered, saying, "Yes, I stole it, but I had no choice. That foolish old man wouldn't give it to me, and I don't have the money to buy it now, and you need it badly." He turned his back to her, heading toward the kitchen, adding, "Don't worry, I'll pay for it later."
Yasni tried to hold back her tears, but the sorrow gripping her heart was too strong to conceal. She never expected to become a burden to her son at such a young age. For the past three years, illness had been gnawing at her body from within, rendering her unable to perform the simplest tasks. She felt guilty for not being able to provide a better life for Ivan, who bore the weight of responsibility at such an early age.
Ivan entered the room carrying a glass of water, his eyes reflecting both concern and love. He approached his mother's bed, where she lay, and placed the small glass on the table beside her. Gently, he lifted her slightly to help her sit up, then handed her the medicine, trying to alleviate her suffering.
"Please, Mom, you need to eat something too," Ivan insisted, despite her repeated refusals. Yasni turned her gaze away, unable to face her reality, but Ivan was not one to give up easily.
"I need you, and you need the strength to recover," he added, gently squeezing her hands.
Finally, with her son's persistence and determination, Yasni relented. She had no choice but to yield 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 filled sword, we shall sever your heads. You who come, advance, you shall burn in 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 refocused his gaze on the necklace, as if he had fallen under its spell. After a moment of distraction, he said while closing the box, "I've never seen anything so shiny in this village. This necklace looks expensive. Where did Grandma get it?"
Yasni replied, after a wave of persistent coughing swept through her body, "You will know in due time. Tomorrow, I will introduce you to someone."
Ivan asked curiously, "Is it that person who brings you the medicine?"
Yasni nodded in affirmation. Then Ivan added jokingly, "Madam helps people she doesn't know. I think she's a good person."
But Yasni's expression suddenly changed, and signs of discomfort appeared on her face. She gently placed her hand on his shoulders and said in a serious voice, "You must not be deceived by people's appearances. The truth is always hidden beneath the surface. Even if you see an angel before you, consider the possibility that it might be a disguised devil."
Ivan felt that his mother's words were like warning chants, recurring in their conversations. He never understood why she was afraid of others; she was someone who kept her past to herself, as if she carried a heavy burden she did not wish to share.
Ivan said, looking at Yasni with concern, "So, you don't trust that man?" Yasni moved her hands from his shoulders and hugged them to her chest. Her heart was racing, and her eyes were fixed on the window, as if searching for answers outside. After a moment of silence, she sighed deeply and said, "I don't know, I feel like I'm in a whirlwind; there is 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 for me, you are the only complete truth. You are the person I can trust. You have been a gift from heaven, pulling me out of the darkness of my misery."
Ivan felt a deep blush, and his cheeks turned rosy. His words got lost in his mouth, as if they could no longer come out. He glanced at the necklace that was sparkling on the table, then carefully returned it to the drawer, as if hiding something precious. "Well, let's forget about that," he said, trying to change the subject, "the most important thing now is your health. You need to rest; it's getting late."
Tenderly, Ivan covered his mother with a warm blanket, then headed toward his bed. He collapsed onto it as if he had fainted from exhaustion, falling into a deep sleep, as if all the worries of the world had vanished in an instant.
The next morning, rays of sunlight crept through the small window in the wall, flooding the house with warm light. Those rays gently caressed Ivan's face, causing him to wake slowly, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to dispel the remnants of sleep. The 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 collided with the wall due to his lack of focus. He called out for his mother, but there was no response. Looking around anxiously, he discovered that she was still asleep. This was unusual; he always found her awake before him.
A look of fear crept onto Ivan's face, and his mother's words echoed in his mind, those words she had said one day: "You will only wake up before me when I die." He approached her slowly, his heart racing, feeling a strange pressure filling his chest. He wished with all his heart that his fears were not true.
Yasni's blue eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, empty and devoid of the sparkle of life. Her pale face looked ghostly, and dried blood traced red paths on her white skin from her mouth down to her neck, while her hands, which were under the blanket, were stained with blood.
Ivan felt a wave of horror at what he saw, and he felt his legs could no longer support him. This was the first time he had seen someone dead. He approached her and placed his hand on her forehead, feeling as if he had placed it on a block of ice; her body was so cold, and her skin was bluish. He began to shake her, tears streaming from his eyes involuntarily as he called out to her, but there was no response.
Ivan fell to his knees, his sky-blue eyes covered by rain clouds, and deep within himself was a single wish: that this was just a nightmare, that he was still asleep, and that he would soon wake up to find his mother beside him. Memories of the happy days they had spent together before she fell ill flooded back to him, how they had laughed despite the harsh circumstances they lived in, and how simple moments were enough to make them feel happy.
Ivan ran out of the house barefoot, his eyes red from crying, and mucus hanging 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 old man in his fifties, whose hair was mostly gray, with a thick white beard covering half his face and brown eyes surrounded by wrinkles, wearing a black coat.
Ivan pulled his arm from the man's grip, wiping his tears with his trembling hand, and said in a broken voice, "My mom is sick, and her body is very cold. Please, help her!"
The old man entered the house with hurried steps, heading toward the place where Ivan's mother slept. The room was dark, and the scent of sorrow filled the air. He examined her with his eyes, then placed his hand on her pulse, and as he expected, she had passed away hours ago. He closed his eyes for a moment, saddened, thinking about how to tell Ivan this heartbreaking news.
Slowly, he gently closed her eyes and lifted the blanket to cover her face, then turned to Ivan with a look full of sorrow, tears almost spilling from his eyes. He knelt down to be at eye level with her face, his own filled with compassion. He gently grasped one of Ivan's shoulders and said in a calm voice, "Listen, little one, your mother has gone to a beautiful place, a place we will all go to when our time comes. She will be happy there, so don't cry for her. You will meet her 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 directed toward the ground. In a loud voice, accompanied by sobs, he said, "Don't treat me like a little child! There's no need to try to spare my feelings. I know she has been dead all along. I... I just wanted to lie to myself and not believe it."
Ivan fell to his knees and began to pound the ground with his fists, screaming and crying bitterly. The old man looked at him with deep sadness, feeling pity for his condition, contemplating how words could ease the burden of loss, but he knew that pain needed time to heal.
Ivan stood before his mother's corpse, taking one last look at the face that would soon be buried in the ground, a face he would never see again. His gaze was sorrowful, and his eyes were dry from the many tears he had shed. Beside him, the old man with the thick white beard was praying for her soul to rest in peace. While Ivan was lost in his thoughts and memories with his mother, he did not expect things to change so quickly. A feeling of guilt was squeezing his heart because he had not noticed that she was suffering in silence; she had shown him nothing while he was oblivious to it all.
The old man's voice brought Ivan back to the harsh reality as he called out to him. Ivan slowly turned his face toward him, with an indifferent look, as the old man, looking ahead, asked, "What will you do now?"
The old man moved a little closer and said, "Don't you have any family or acquaintances?"
Ivan stood on his feet, 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 at him due to the height difference between them, and said, "Thank you, old man. You have helped me a lot; without you, I wouldn't have been able to bury my mother. You can go on your way now."
But the old man interrupted him, saying, "But where will you go? How will you manage?"
The old man sighed a little, 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 am also alone, so we can keep each other company."
Ivan looked at the old man with a skeptical gaze and said, annoyed, "What do you want from this, old man? Why would you invite someone to live with you when you just met me a few hours ago?"
The old man smiled a sad smile, hiding much behind it, and put his hand in his coat pocket. He said, "Perhaps with you, any rational person would question this. I have no way to convince you that my intentions are good; it's up to you. But let's say I see potential in you and an exciting future."
Ivan asked curiously, "What do you mean?"
The old man remained silent for a moment, then turned toward Yasni's grave and placed a purple hairpin on it. The pin had two separate bridges that only connected when the back of the pin was pressed.
Ivan was not pleased that the old man ignored his question, and when he saw him placing the pin on his mother's grave, he thought to himself that the dead do not find joy in gifts; perhaps she would have been happy if he had given it to her while she was alive. After a moment of silence, the old man spoke a question that Ivan did not expect to hear: "Don't you have a dream? Do you intend to spend your whole life in this village where no one loves you? You have lost the anchor that ties you to it. I can almost guarantee that you have not stepped beyond the threshold of this village. You know nothing about this world."
Ivan found himself at a loss for words, as the old man's words described him as if he had lived with him all these years. He had spent twelve years in this village, where the days repeated as if they were one single image. His mother always said that pleasure and tranquility do not coexist; if you want peace, you must accept boredom. She was right; this village was so quiet that it was boring, to the point that the last monster that attacked it was ten years ago.
The old man said, gently ruffling Ivan's hair, "I am not asking you to trust me; you can doubt me until you reach certainty. But you must trust your decisions and give yourself a chance." He then left the place, leaving Ivan surrounded by feelings of sadness and confusion, watching the old man's back as he waved goodbye.
Before disappearing from sight, the old man added some final words: "I will come back to you tomorrow to hear your answer. Think about it well, and think about the future. The past is gone and will not return. Look at life through your own eyes, instead of borrowing the eyes of others."
Here's the accurate translation of the provided text into English:
Ivan returned to the home he was accustomed to entering, expecting to find his mother welcoming him. However, this time, all he encountered was the haunting silence and emptiness when he opened the door. Every corner of the house reminded him of moments he had shared with his mother, making him realize the value of the happiness he had lived—happiness he had never truly appreciated until he lost it.
He moved toward his mother's bed and took some of her clothes in an embrace, inhaling her unique, fragrant scent. It was a light scent that teased his nose and made him want to inhale more without ever feeling satisfied. His mother had a talent for choosing perfumes; she even made her own. Ivan feared that time would make him forget everything about her, especially her name, as he struggled to remember names.
He fell onto the bed and began to cry silently, eventually drifting into a deep sleep on his mother's mattress, holding her clothes close. After emptying his sorrow through tears, he promised himself to accept reality and continue with his life. Life does not stop for anyone; rather, it is people who stop when they cannot keep up with it.