Sylas opened his eyes. He felt that everything was different. The weight of his body felt heavy, as if it could not fit into another body. But there was a strange familiarity about this body. Even though it was not his body, it was as if he had somehow managed to enter into these feelings. A child's body... Beneath all these muscles, bones, hairs, everything that had once carried someone else's feelings, there was a feeling. Echoes of another life were meeting with another child inside him.
Sylas noticed that child. It was like reliving his own memories, another life. Memories collided with each other. Suddenly, thoughts of another soul began to appear in his mind. The owner of the body had once existed, but he could not understand how difficult it was to carry this body's past.
"Is this your body?" Sylas thought. No, this child is now me. But he should not be me... There was a devastation inside him, like a stranger taking over the body. As a Sylas who was a photographer and artist of nature, having this child… was strange. His body was small, naive; his eyes were looking at this world with new eyes. Being a child was stuck inside Sylas like a sadness.
He closed his eyes, trying to feel every muscle, every movement in his body, he drew it in. It was as if he were trapped in another body. My body does not belong to me, but it also belongs to me… He felt that every moment, every movement belonged to another soul. He felt the child's fears, his pains, his past losses, his heartbreaks.
"Sylas," he thought, "**what is happening to you? This is a child, a body… And will it be yours?" Every part, every feeling, was familiar and yet foreign. The old memories of this soul were merging, but the body of a child still did not accept this new existence.
Sylas took a deep breath. This was a difficult transition to accept. "My body? My soul? A place where these two lives meet?" There was an emptiness inside him, a kind of incompleteness. He could neither be like this child nor remain as whole as his old soul. The loss of another life mixed with the pain of another.
Sylas thought of his own memories, of the times once spent in nature, of the minutes spent in front of the brushes and cameras, of that deep connection of inner peace with nature. "But I am here… This is my place in this life. What will I do with those memories?"
The two worlds of the soul were coming together. On one side, there was the peace of an artist seeking the serenity of nature. On the other, there was the sense of loss of a young child. This was a journey that brought together life and death, body and soul. For Sylas, time was not a place where everything came together, but a passage of the soul.
"A lost child of mine," he thought. "Forever lost… But maybe I need to take a journey." Having the memories of a little boy reminded him of the losses in the past. Along with all the lost dreams of a person who once lived. Accepting this body meant facing not only his past, but also the pain of this boy.
When Sylas looked into the eyes of that little boy through his own eyes, he realized something. The two coexisted. They were a bridge between the lost stories of the past and the future. "Once upon a time, I was in this body," he thought. "Once upon a time, that boy was alive. But now I am. We are."
The confusion and the feeling of loss inside him began to fade. He began to accept his body, to make peace with the past. "Maybe this means something," he thought. "Life is just a temporary touch. Sometimes we find life in another body."
And in that moment, Sylas accepted. He would accept this new body and soul as his own. "This is my journey," he said, "and having this body was a gift to me." This transition, which combined both pain and hope, was the beginning of his journey. He accepted this moment where both old memories and new dreams met and felt the serenity within him.
In this new life where body and soul merged, there was only Sylas now.