Elestar

All of it… had begun with the dream that morning.

In my dream, I was five or six years old, lying under a blanket with my hands peeking out, listening to my father tell me a bedtime story.

"Long, long ago, in a time when people hadn't even discovered who they truly were, a giant star lit up the sky on a dark night and began to fall to Earth. As if showing off its beauty, it shattered into pieces across the heavens.

Thousands, even millions of years later, strange phenomena began occurring around the fragments of that star. Creatures emerged—beings that started attacking humans. To stop them, people awakened a power hidden deep within themselves. Later, they called it magic."

As always, my father told the story with heartfelt emotion and passion.

"Magic?" I asked, eyes wide with wonder.

"Yes, magic. Magic could do many things. Those who learned to control it were called 'Mages.' One such mage eventually united everyone and built a great kingdom."

"Wow, mages must have been really strong!" I couldn't hold back my amazement.

"Of course. They weren't just strong—they were wise, too."

At that moment, the door creaked open and my mother entered the room. She was always gentle, always smiling, always trying to find the bright side of even the worst situations. But despite her kindness, she was also very strict when it came to raising me.

"Are you telling him scary stories instead of a proper bedtime tale again?"

"No, not at all. I'm just telling him a story," my father replied.

"Yeah! Dad told me about monsters and mages!" I added excitedly.

My mother looked at my father with a serious expression.

"What are you doing? He's only five. Don't you think these scary stories might haunt his dreams?"

"It's nothing. My son isn't afraid of anything, right?"

"I'm not scared of anything!" I shouted confidently.

"Well then, that's enough for tonight. Kids should already be asleep by now."

"Alright, let's not upset your mom. We'll end the story here for today. I'll tell you another one tomorrow. Good night, Attu. Sleep well."

—

I sat on my bed the next morning, thinking about the dream I had just seen. [What kind of dream was that? It all felt too real.]

I didn't want to believe it was just a dream. My father's story… my mother's words… it all felt like a deep memory pulled from within me. These thoughts held me still for a while—I couldn't bring myself to get up. As I kept thinking about the dream, something caught my attention. [Why couldn't I see my father's face? What did he even look like?]

Eventually, I realized I wouldn't find answers just sitting there, so I decided to get up. "It's time to move."

I stood, dressed myself, and then noticed a long piece of cloth lying on my bed. I stared at it for a moment, then tied it around my eyes.

That cloth… had long since become part of me.

Because ever since I was born, my red eyes were unlike any human's. In this world, eyes came in many colors—but never red. Red eyes were associated with demons… or vampires. And people didn't like those with such eyes.

They didn't like me either.

Whenever I tried to play with other children, their parents would stop them after seeing my eyes. Little by little, that led to me becoming isolated from everyone. But despite all of that, my mother was always by my side—my friend, my confidant.

She was an intelligent woman who taught me how to read, write, and do math. She was also the one who suggested I wear the cloth over my eyes around other people.

Even with my eyes covered, it didn't stop me from functioning. I could still see the world around me.

But this wasn't the only thing that made me different. Neither of my parents had hair like mine—silver-white. No one in our family line did… at least according to what they told me.

Sometimes I wondered…

[Maybe my father left us because of that.]

What would people think of a child who didn't resemble his ancestors in the slightest? In the end, it didn't matter anymore. It had been nearly six years since my father left us. Not a single letter, not a single trace. And yet… my mother's feelings for him never died.

—

After getting dressed, I stepped out of my room. A sweet aroma reached my nose—that familiar smell of my mother's breakfast.

[Did Mom already finish making breakfast? It smells so good.]

I followed the scent through the house. When I entered the kitchen, I saw the food already laid out on the table.

My mother, sensing me behind her, turned with her usual smile.

"Good morning!"

My mother's name was Aurora. She was thirty-two years old. She had met my father when she was eighteen. After falling in love and dating for some time, they got married. When she turned twenty, I was born.

To be honest, she never told me much about how they fell in love or how they met. That part of their past was always a mystery.

As always, she was in a good mood.

"Good morning to you too!"

"What are you waiting for? Come eat, silly."

I sat down at the table and we began eating. While we ate, I kept thinking about the dream. It reminded me of my father. And whenever I thought about him, a dull sadness came over me.

Noticing the change in me, my mother asked gently:

"What's wrong? You seem down. Are you feeling okay?"

I looked at the spoon in my hand for a moment, then replied:

"I'm fine. I just had a bad dream."

She looked like she wanted to ask me more, especially about the dream.

[If I say it was about Dad, it'll just make her sad too. Better to say nothing.]

When I stayed silent, she began to speak herself.

"Was it your father again? I've told you, he didn't abandon you. He just got too busy with work and couldn't come back yet."

She had said that same thing for almost six years now. It had become like a rehearsed phrase. But hearing the same excuse again and again… it was wearing me down. And for some reason, today, I wanted to speak the truth.

"Then why hasn't he sent a single letter?" "He's just really busy…" "You don't even know if he's alive or dead! Or if he's really working or not! Stop lying to yourself!" I shouted.

Tears suddenly welled up in my mother's eyes.

[What did I just do?! I'm such an idiot. Why did I yell at her?]

I got up and approached her. She turned away from me, trying to hide her tears, wiping at them with the back of her hand. Seeing that tore at my heart.

"Mom! I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I wasn't thinking…" I whispered, trying to apologize.

She stayed silent for a while, then finally turned to me, her eyes filled with tears. Longing. Sorrow. All mixed in her gaze.

Then she spoke:

"You think I don't know? Of course I do. I don't know if he's alive or dead. I don't know where he is or who he's with… But I still wait for him—because I love him. Right here—" she placed her hand on her chest, over her heart, "—this place refuses to accept the truth."

Hearing her say that made my own chest ache.

"I'm so sorry…"