As the nights grew longer, the curiosity swelling inside Xenon turned into a whisper that bounced off the walls. Months had passed, yet every morning the same light filtered in, the same meals arrived, and the same silence filled the room. But that morning… something was different.
His mother was not sitting by the window as usual.
The velvet curtains were slightly parted; the wind carried rose petals inside, scattering them across the carpet. Xenon pushed himself up as much as his small body allowed.
His mother was gone. From the sound of running water, Xenon realized she was in the bath. They usually bathed together, but this time, she seemed to be bathing alone.
Xenon could already walk now. In fact, when his mother had first seen him walk earlier than any child should, she had cried with joy.
He was also beginning to slowly understand the language his mother spoke, though he had yet to utter a single word. He was quiet, so quiet it was almost unnatural.
His mother was singing a heartfelt song at that moment. Her voice drifted through the walls, carried on the echo of splashing water. Xenon couldn't grasp the meaning of her words, but he sensed from her tone that something was off.
Her voice, normally soft and melodic, full of warmth, now carried weariness and perhaps sorrow.
Xenon stood up silently. His tiny feet sank into the carpet without a sound. He knew the room by heart now: the red bed, the silver table and the long chest beneath the window. They were the boundaries of his small world. Yet today, the desire to go beyond those boundaries began to stir within him.
He made his way to the window, climbed onto the chest with the help of a few pillows, and finally managed to peek outside, standing on his tiptoes.
Beyond the glass stretched a world Xenon had only glimpsed in dreams. The gardens unfurled like a mist-covered fairyland; stone paths strewn with rose petals wound past small ponds where lilies floated serenely.
The sky was the palest shade of morning blue, and even that faint hue seemed to whisper of another world beyond these walls.
Farther out, a cluster of white domes rose, linked by graceful arches. Silken veils hung from them, swaying in the morning breeze, mingling with the distant chime of bells.
He saw women walking slowly in the distance, their silk garments shimmered like silver in the sunlight. Tiny jewels woven into their hair glinted with every step, scattering light like stardust.
It was the first time Xenon had seen this view. Until now, he had only noticed the dim glow of spring light or the fleeting shadow of a bird beyond the glass.
But this morning, it felt as though the pages of a long-closed storybook were opening one by one.
From the height of his window, it was clear that their room was on the second or perhaps third floor.
The massive structure visible in the distance looked ancient in design, yet beautiful, its architecture precise and elegant. The grotesque, chaotic buildings of the world he once knew were nowhere to be seen. This place, without a doubt, was not the modern world.
Xenon's small hands clung to the marble window frame. The cold surface stung his fingers, yet the sight outside numbed every other feeling. Everything he saw was too harmonious, too deliberate and too old to be ordinary.
In front of the domed building, he noticed two figures standing guard. The glare of the sun made it hard to see, but their armor gleamed like silver, and they each held a long spear.
That was enough to confirm it. Wherever this was, it was not the modern world.
But where exactly was he? Had he traveled through time or been reborn into another world altogether?
As these half-formed thoughts stirred in his still-developing mind, Xenon suddenly noticed a pair of eyes staring up at him from below.
He blinked. Down in the garden stood a plump woman who looked to be in her fifties. Her face, harsh and joyless, looked as though it had forgotten how to smile decades ago.
Every woman Xenon had seen from afar had been beautiful, but this one was anything but. Her features hinted that she might once have been fair, but now the only word that fit her was frightening.
Her gaze struck him like a weight; he could feel it, even through the glass. The wrinkles on her face were like deep, dark ravines, and in her pale amber eyes burned something calculating, something sharp… and faintly contemptuous.
Xenon instinctively ducked, his tiny body folding down. His heart fluttered wildly in his chest like a trapped bird. That single moment, those cold eyes meeting his, etched itself into his mind.
Her hands were large and bony, fingers adorned with rings set with different stones, each one like a seal. The veil over her head shimmered in a dark violet hue beneath the sun, though it looked less like purple and more like the color of frozen blood.
When Xenon dared to look again, she was gone. The women in silk were still gliding across the garden, but the heavyset woman had disappeared as if she had never been there.
Just then, the bathroom door swung open sharply. A wave of steam rolled into the room, followed by the soft sound of footsteps. His mother…
Her long golden hair was still wet; droplets slid down her shoulders, glinting like crystals in the morning light. She wore a thin white robe, but the expression on her face was grave enough to make even Xenon sense that something was wrong.
Her gaze immediately darted to the window. When she saw him there, her face froze fear flashed across her eyes, followed by a sudden, trembling panic.
"Xenon!"
Before he could react, she rushed to him. In a few swift steps she reached the window, stretched out her arms, and carefully pulled him into her embrace. Her heart was pounding; Xenon could feel its frantic rhythm against his cheek.
Then she looked outside. Her eyes went to the spot where Xenon had been staring moments before. It was empty. No woman in the violet veil. No trace of movement. As if that figure had been nothing more than a phantom.
For a moment, she stood still. Her pupils widened; worry spread across her face. Then she took a deep breath, clutched Xenon tightly, and pulled the curtains shut. The velvet fabric collided with a heavy rustle, plunging the room into half-darkness.
Xenon rested his head against her neck. Her heart was still racing. He didn't understand what was happening. He had only seen a woman looking at him, but his mother's hands were trembling.
She moved away from the window, pacing the room. Her eyes seemed to linger on something unseen, as if she could still sense movement in the garden beyond.
Finally, she set Xenon down on the bed. She cupped his small face in her hands, studying him closely.
"Don't go near the window again, all right? Out there… there are monsters,"
She said, exaggerating her face and hands into a playful growl to scare him gently.
Xenon only nodded. His mother smiled faintly, but that smile was wilted like a flower shadowed by fear.
She turned toward the window once more, her lips moving faintly. It was either a prayer or a warning; Xenon couldn't tell which.
But one thing was certain now: this place was dangerous.