After a relatively long sleep, Lioran slowly opened his eyes. The room was still shrouded in darkness, with only a faint sliver of light slipping through the narrow crack in the window.
For a moment, his gaze lingered on the old ceiling above him. Then he shut his eyes tightly, as if trying to bury the last traces of sleep—memories, or perhaps the pain inside him—back into the darkness. A few seconds later, he opened them again.
With a slow movement, he pushed the blanket aside. The cool air brushed against his skin, sharpening his senses. His feet touched the cold floor as he stepped down from the bed. The old wooden planks creaked faintly beneath his weight.
He walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside slightly.
The sky was still dark. The night was in its final breaths. No sun, not even the faintest hint of dawn—only a deep, quiet blackness, like an endless sea.
Lioran stood there for a moment. His shoulders rose as he took a deep breath, then slowly released it, as if trying to let the weight of his thoughts escape with it.
After a while, he stepped away from the window and returned to the center of the room. He sat down on the floor and crossed his legs, keeping his back straight.
He placed his hands on his knees, palms facing upward…
And closed his eyes.
Time passed slowly. The silence in the room deepened, as if even the walls were holding their breath. Lioran had completely immersed himself in meditation—somewhere between sleep and awareness, between the darkness outside and the quiet light within.
Nearly two hours passed.
A strip of golden sunlight slipped through the window and gently fell across his face. The gentle warmth of the sun touched his skin. His eyelids fluttered, and Lioran slowly opened his eyes. His gaze drifted toward the window without him even realizing it.
For a brief moment, his breath caught in his chest.
He saw his mother standing by the window, the frame open to the morning air. A soft breeze stirred the curtain and played gently with her hair. She took a deep breath and slowly released it, looking completely at peace.
A bright smile appeared on her lips, and she spoke with cheerful enthusiasm.
"God, thank You for a new day… thank You for this fresh opportunity. I'm going to make the most of this day too."
Then she lifted her gaze toward the bright sky and the rising sun. Light shimmered softly in her eyes. With a warm smile and a softer voice, she added,
"And you… as always, you shine beautifully."
Suddenly, a five-year-old boy walked past Lioran.
A small child, moving with slow, unhurried steps.
His eyes were two different colors—one crimson, one blue. Clear and beautiful… yet cold and empty of emotion.
Lioran saw himself.
A five-year-old child taking small, curious steps as he walked straight toward his mother. She stood by the open window, the morning light falling softly across her face.
Little Lioran tilted his head up and asked in wonder,
"Mom, why do you always open the window and say those things?"
His mother slowly turned toward him. For a moment, she placed a finger on her lips, lost in thought.
"Hmm…"
Then she spoke in a warm, gentle voice.
"When I was little, just like you, I used to see my mother standing by an open window every morning, saying the exact same words. She was thanking God… for the chance she'd been given."
She paused for a moment before continuing.
"One day, I asked her why she did that. Do you know what she told me?"
Little Lioran shook his head.
"No."
A gentle smile appeared on his mother's lips. Her gaze softened, drifting far away as if she were reliving that moment.
"She said life is like standing at the top of a mountain. Whatever you shout, the echo always comes back… whether it's good or bad."
She gently placed her hand on little Lioran's shoulder and continued,
"If you face life with a smile, trust it, and treat it like a friend, it will smile back at you and guide you toward the best path.
But if you look at it with anger… it will return that same anger."
Then she turned toward the bright sky again, took a deep breath, and said softly,
"Since that day, every morning I say those words…
to show life that I trust it completely."
Little Lioran listened to his mother's words and stared at her for a moment with those same cold, mismatched eyes. Then he quietly walked over and stood beside her.
He placed his small hands on the window sill and rose onto his tiptoes to look at the bright, clear sky.
Taking a deep breath, he shouted toward the heavens,
"God, thank You for giving me such a beautiful and kind mommy.
Please protect her until I become a man…
Can You hear me?"
His mother's lips trembled at his words. Tears silently gathered in her eyes.
She wrapped her arms around Lioran's waist, lifted him up, and held him tightly against her chest. Her voice trembled with emotion.
"My little one… what would I do without you?"
Then she looked up at the bright sky again, took a deep breath, and said loudly,
"God, thank You for such a gentle and kind son. His heart is so small and fragile… please watch over him until he grows into a great man. Can You hear me?"
Lioran sat in the middle of the room, his legs crossed. His gaze remained fixed on the scene before him—
his mother's smiling face turned toward the sky,
and beside her, a five-year-old child with cold eyes… himself.
A child resting in his mother's arms, staring silently at her smiling face.
Time seemed to stand still.
Suddenly, Anahita's voice broke the silence beside him.
"Lioran… well, well, you finally opened your eyes. Come on, it's time for breakfast. Hey, can you hear me? Lioran… Lioran…"
Hearing her voice, the image before Lioran's eyes slowly faded.
His mother's smile, the bright sky, and that cold child… all dissolved like a thin mist. Lioran came back to himself. The room was quiet, morning light streamed through the window, and he was still sitting there. He understood that what he had seen had appeared only because he had been thinking too much about his mother.
Still, he didn't break his silence. His gaze remained fixed on the window.
His lips didn't move, but a cold voice whispered in his heart.
'I told You to protect my mother until I became a man…
That's so unfair, God.'
Suddenly, a hard punch landed on Lioran's head. Her angry voice snapped at him immediately.
"Are you ignoring me, you bastard?!"
Lioran slowly turned his head.
His gaze settled on Anahita, who stood right beside him—one eyebrow raised, her sharp eyes glaring at him with pure irritation.
"Well, well, finally snapped out of it…" she mocked. "Were you ignoring the great spirit Anahita, huh? Get up already, you stupid idiot. It's breakfast time."
Lioran, who had wished to see his mother's face for just one more moment, slowly rose without saying a word. Because of Anahita, the memory had faded too quickly before his eyes.
His gaze was cold and empty. His eyes lingered on Anahita for a moment.
Anahita froze.
The color drained from her face, and her lips trembled slightly. In a voice that had lost all its sharpness, she asked,
"Wh-what's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that? This isn't… the first time I've… hit you like this…"
Lioran placed his hand on her shoulder.
"I was just reliving a good memory with my mother. But because of your noise, the memory disappeared… and I couldn't see her face for more than a few seconds."
The color drained from Anahita's face even more.
Cold sweat ran down her cheeks as she spoke in a trembling voice.
"I'm sorry… I really didn't know…"
Lioran slowly shook his head.
Not out of forgiveness, but out of indifference.
In a calm voice, completely devoid of warmth, he said,
"I don't want your apology.
You'll go back inside my body now, and you won't come out until I call you. Otherwise… you know better than anyone what will happen. Right?"
Anahita held her breath.
She knew well that when Lioran spoke this calmly—this coldly—instead of hitting her or shouting, it meant she had made a serious mistake.
This silence… this cold tone…
It was always the prelude to something bad. Something from which there was no turning back.
Without daring to say another word, she slowly nodded.
Seeing her reaction, Lioran slowly withdrew his hand from her shoulder and walked toward the door. He was about to leave the room when Anahita's voice came from behind him.
"Breakfast—can I still eat—"
Her sentence died before it could be completed.
Lioran turned his head slightly.
A brief glance—
Cold—
Piercing.
That was enough.
Cold sweat trickled down Anahita's forehead, and in a voice barely audible, she muttered,
"…I guess not… I can't."
Lioran, puzzled by a reaction he could never understand, simply shook his head without saying a word.
He took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped outside.
Anahita immediately slipped back into his body in silence.