The sounds of the market spread through the village square, mingling with the cries of children and the gentle trickle of water from a small fountain in the center.
Karl walked two steps behind his sister, as he always did, watching her more closely than he watched the path ahead.
"My mother isn't here," Maia said cautiously as she pushed the door open. "Maybe she went out."
He didn't answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the object in her hand—the strange stone. He didn't know what it was, yet its weight pressed on his chest far heavier than its size.
"Maia."
"What?"
"Put it down."
She lifted the jewel slightly between her fingers, as if daring him.
He stepped closer, his fingers hovering near her wrist. He wasn't harsh… but he wasn't gentle either.
"I said, put it down."
She hesitated for a moment before leaving the stone on the table.
"Alright… alright. Let's clean your scratches now."
She smiled lightly but moved reluctantly, as if feeling his watchful presence.
The two children headed toward the bathhouse—or what passed for one: a small room with a wooden barrel filled with water.
Karl took a cloth and dipped it in water, then began wiping the dirt from her arm.
As usual, he expected her to pull away or struggle—but she didn't.
"Aren't you in pain?"
"No."
He paused for a moment, nodding slowly, though he didn't fully believe her.
He squeezed the cloth harder until his fingers paled, his gaze fixed not on the wound itself, but on his own hand.
His heart raced, and his fingers trembled slightly, as if trying to comprehend something hidden inside him.
After he finished cleaning her, he heard the door open.
"Karl… it's Mother!" he whispered to himself, quickly bending to grab the stone before she could see it. Fortunately, she didn't notice.
"Hello, Maia!" Maia greeted their mother with a smile.
"Hello, my child."
The rest of the day passed quietly. Every movement, every glance, was heavy with awareness of each other.
They sat down to eat, their words few… yet enough to feel together despite everything.
Afterward, they went to bed. Sleep hovered nearby, but Karl's eyes would not close easily; every time he recalled her dirt-stained hand, a shiver ran through his heart.
Maia ignored the pain as if it did not exist, though she could feel that someone was always watching her.
When Karl felt his mother asleep, he went to the place where he had hidden the stone.
He watched it for a moment, then grasped it in his hand. His heart beat faster for no apparent reason, as if the stone carried a weight far greater than its size.
He placed it into the small cabinet in his room, his fingers still trembling.
He closed the cabinet door and lay down on his bed. He had no idea that this night would mark the end of the life he had known.
Everything familiar around him began to fade… and there would be no turning back.
The sun had risen, and Karl woke up quickly.
He went to wash his face and clean himself, then sat down to have breakfast.
His mother quietly placed the food in front of him and returned to her chores.
He watched her for a moment, noting every movement, then focused on eating.
Each bite felt heavy on his heart, as if his eyes were observing it more than his mouth.
After a while, his mother calmly told him to fetch some vegetables.
"Alright," he replied, and set off.
He turned to his sister and said, "I'll be back."
He expected her to follow, but to his surprise, she ignored him.
His eyes widened. Something was happening with her… he couldn't explain it yet.
He hurried to the market, weaving through the passersby with quick steps.
He bought what his mother had asked for, but something in the air felt off.
The people were acting… strange.
They bought and sold as if everything were perfectly in order—no shouting, no chaos, nothing out of place.
The silence was not just silence… it was heavy, pressing against his chest, devouring a feeling he couldn't yet understand.
He returned home quickly and handed the vegetables to his mother.
Then he approached the stone, his heart beating fast.
"Yes… everything is as it should be," he said to himself as he moved closer.
He opened his cabinet and picked up the stone.
It was warm, its weight almost imperceptible, yet it carried something… something strange.
He paused for a moment; his fingers trembled, his hand hesitated before fully touching the stone.
He didn't know what to do with it, as if the stone was watching him now.
He lay down on his bed after closing the cabinet, but sleep didn't come easily.
Every time he remembered the stone in his hand, a fleeting shiver ran through his heart.
Everything familiar began to fade… and he no longer knew what would come next.
Karl hadn't felt any sleep, but he woke up with a strange sensation.
He clutched his chest, in shock.
"What… what is this pain?"
It was a feeling that crept deep inside him.
"I feel as if my chest is burning…"
The bedroom door opened
"Karl, are you okay?"
His mother was there, standing with a cold smile, eyes void of any warmth.
A shiver ran through his heart.
"Nothing, Mom…"
"Why are you awake now?"
"Nothing… I just thought you might need help."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. His heart skipped a beat.
"Why?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"Nothing… sleep well."
Karl tried to push the thought aside, but the days passed, and the burning sensation in his chest didn't fade—it grew stronger.
The feeling that something strange was happening in the village also grew.
His mother's emotions grew colder, so did his sister's, and the villagers themselves became… unusual.
Some villagers walked slowly through the narrow streets, their movements unnaturally calm. A woman swept the dirt from her doorstep with meticulous precision, pausing now and then to stare blankly at the sky. A pair of children played nearby, their laughter hollow, echoing without warmth. Even the dogs in the alleys moved quietly, tails low, avoiding anyone's gaze. Nothing seemed rushed, nothing felt alive—yet nothing seemed truly dead either. It was as if the village itself had paused, holding its breath.
Karl went back to the place where he had found the stone, trying to understand what had happened.
"What are you doing here, child?"
His thoughts were interrupted by a man returning from the same place.
He looked to be in his forties, mysterious, wearing a black hood, a leather tunic, and metal shoulder guards.
But what caught karl's attention most was the rose with thorns emblazoned on the man's chest.
"Nothing, sir…"
The man smiled faintly, enigmatically. "Take my advice… this place is dangerous. You shouldn't play here alone."
He paused for a moment, then added: "But… I fear it's too late."
Karl didn't understand, stunned by the emptiness of the place.
When he returned and opened the door, a strange warmth seeped from the room.
What he saw planted in his heart a surreal, almost maddening feeling.
"Maia! What are you doing?" he shouted.
His sister's hand was bleeding.
"I don't feel anything, karl…"
She had placed her hand in the stove, and the smoke and burnt scent filled his nose.
He could hear his own heartbeat accelerating, almost losing his balance.
Step by step, his sister approached, extending her hand.
"I want to feel something… karl…"
Her tiny fingers wrapped around his neck, as if holding his entire world.
"I want to feel something… karl…"
He whispered in a choked voice, "You hurt me… you hurt me…"
The air around them grew heavy, charged with an invisible, mysterious presence…