The night was vast, a boundless ocean of darkness stretched overhead, punctuated by stars scattered like glittering fragments of some ancient, forgotten dream. The air was cool, carrying the sharp, briny scent of the sea—a constant reminder of the immense abyss that lay below.
Elias Valtor, perched on the jagged edge of a cliff, was a silhouette against the glowing heavens. His legs dangled precariously over the yawning void. His dark, expressive eyes gleamed with an intensity that contrasted sharply against the gentle flow of his messy, dark hair, which caught the wind and fluttered about his face.
Though only twelve, his sharp features held an unusual gravity, his gaze sharp and fixated on the stars above. He was slight and wiry, his clothes worn, simple, and weathered, fitting a boy who spent more time lost in thought than engaging with the world around him. He wasn't afraid of the height, nor was he captivated by the beauty of the night like most might be. No, Elias's mind was elsewhere, dissecting the universe as though it held the key to an answer only he could uncover.
The ocean roared beneath him, but it did little to distract him from the overwhelming question that consumed him: Why does life have to end?
---
Beside him, his mother crouched on the grass, lighting a lantern. She was a gentle figure, her face softly illuminated by the lantern's glow, revealing the concern etched into her features. Her hair, dark but streaked with gray, was pulled back loosely, strands escaping in the evening breeze.
She was slender and graceful, though the lines of age and worry were visible around her eyes and mouth, showing the weight of years spent caring for Elias. Her hands, delicate yet steady, worked with precision despite the cold. She had grown used to her son's peculiarities, yet tonight, his silence unsettled her more than usual.
"Why do we die?" Elias's voice broke through the ambient roar of the sea. It was quiet but deliberate, a whisper carried by the wind.
His mother froze, her hand halting mid-air as she struck the match. For a moment, the question hung in the air between them, heavy and impossible to ignore. She turned her gaze toward her son, his dark eyes unwavering, and for a moment, she saw the restless hunger for answers in his gaze—answers that she herself couldn't fully provide.
When the match finally sparked to life, she lit the lantern, but her hesitation was clear. She looked at her son, the flame casting flickering shadows across his pale face, his features sharpened by the dim light.
---
"We don't really die, Elias," she said, her voice soft but unsure. "We become part of the stars."
Elias frowned, his young brow furrowing deeply as he turned back to the heavens, his gaze sharpening with renewed determination. "How do you know?"
His mother hesitated again, the weight of the question catching her off guard. She glanced at the stars, as if searching for an answer among their endless light. Her expression softened, a tender sadness in her eyes as she searched for words to comfort him.
"Because it's what I believe," she finally said, her words almost fading into the wind.
But belief wasn't enough for Elias. His young mind, so hungry for answers, rejected the comfort of vague assurances. His dark eyes, filled with questions too immense for most minds to comprehend, turned back to his mother with a resolve that set him apart from other children. She could see the restlessness in him, the longing for something more—something tangible.
---
Elias tore his eyes away from the stars to look at her. She smiled faintly, her expression tinged with sadness. The lines on her face seemed deeper tonight, worn by worry for the boy she could never quite reach.
"Come inside, Elias," she said gently, rising to her feet, her slight form bending gracefully. "It's too cold."
"I'll come soon," he replied, his voice distant, his gaze already returning to the sky. "Just a little longer."
The cottage behind him, with its warm fire and familiar comforts, felt like a prison to him in that moment. It was too small, too finite, for the questions that weighed on him. Out here, on the edge of the world, beneath the infinite expanse of the stars, Elias felt alive—alive with the hunger for knowledge that no comfort could quell.
---
In the days that followed, Elias's questions only grew louder, their weight pressing on him like a tide he couldn't escape. He sought answers in the adults around him, but their responses left him unsatisfied.
His father, a stoic man with a face weathered by years of labor, barely looked up from his work when Elias posed his questions. His features were rough-hewn and strong, as if shaped by the relentless force of hard work. His eyes were a dull, worn brown, betraying little of the depth Elias sought. His voice, when he spoke, was flat and unyielding.
"It's just the way of things, son," he said dismissively, his voice tired from the weight of years spent in labor. "You live, and then you die. That's life."
The simplicity of the answer frustrated Elias. It felt like a dismissal, a refusal to engage with the depth of his inquiry. Life couldn't just be a series of events that ended in oblivion. There had to be more to it than that.
---
Father Reynard, the village priest, offered a different perspective.
When Elias asked about death, the old man's eyes softened, and his voice took on a solemn tone. The priest's weathered face was framed by a thick beard, his ancient eyes filled with the quiet wisdom of years spent in contemplation.
"When death comes," Father Reynard said, "the soul leaves the body. It returns to the Creator, to the heavens above, where it finds peace."
For a moment, Elias clung to the priest's words, hoping they might hold the key to his understanding. But when he asked, "Where does the soul go?" the priest merely sighed, stroking his long, gray beard.
"That is a mystery," Father Reynard replied, his voice heavy with finality.
The answer left Elias feeling hollow. A mystery? Was that all there was? The adults around him seemed content with their vague explanations and incomplete truths, but Elias was not.
---
The other children in the village didn't understand Elias's obsession with such questions. They teased him for spending so much time alone, staring at the sky or wandering the cliffs. They whispered behind his back, calling him strange and peculiar. They didn't see the hunger in his eyes, the burning need for answers that defined him.
"Ghosts are real," they told him, their voices tinged with a mix of fear and excitement. "They come out at night and walk in the dark."
But Elias wasn't interested in ghost stories or superstitions. He wanted answers grounded in reality, truths he could touch and understand. The children's games and stories felt trivial to him, distractions from the deeper mysteries that consumed his thoughts.
---
One day, while wandering the village in search of answers, Elias stumbled upon the town library.
It was a modest building, tucked away on a quiet street, but to Elias, it felt like a portal to another world. The moment he stepped inside, the scent of old paper and ink enveloped him, and he felt an immediate sense of calm. The shelves stretched high, filled with books of every size and color, their spines bearing titles that hinted at worlds of knowledge.
Elias began to spend every free moment in the library. He devoured books on science, philosophy, and history, his young mind absorbing information at an astonishing rate. He learned about the vastness of the universe, the birth and death of stars, and the intricate workings of the human body. He read of ancient civilizations and their beliefs about death, of different cultures' interpretations of the afterlife, and the ongoing search for meaning in the face of mortality.
But no matter how much he read, the ultimate question remained unanswered.
The scientific texts spoke of the laws that governed the universe, the workings of the human body, and the nature of life and death. But they never answered the question that tormented Elias's mind: Why did life end?
---
The more he read, the more desperate he became. The logical explanations didn't satisfy him. The religious perspectives, though comforting to some, felt like empty promises. There had to be more. Elias couldn't accept the idea of death being the final end. There had to be something more—something that defied the finality of mortality.
---
One evening, when the sky was painted in shades of violet and the stars began to emerge, Elias found himself drawn once again to the cliffs. His feet carried him there almost instinctively, and he stood at the edge, staring at the sea below.
The wind tugged at his clothes, pulling at him as though urging him to leap into the unknown. But Elias was not afraid of the fall. He was not afraid of death. He was determined to conquer it.
"I will not die," Elias whispered, his voice full of quiet conviction. "I will find a way. I will defy death."
The stars twinkled above him, indifferent to his resolve, but Elias didn't care. His path was clear. He would live forever, and nothing—no force, no fate, not even death itself—would stand in his way.