He didn't shine, he imposed. Darkness seemed to give way to him, as if his mere presence was enough to alter the rhythm of a storm.
Under the umbrella, his figure emitted a faint, impossible glow, like a yellow lamp lit only at night, tinting the air with a strange warmth.
His eyes, large and serene, showed no fear; they held a calm so deep that it didn't seem human, but an unbreakable certainty, as if he knew something that the rest of the world didn't yet understand.
I looked at his small body. His clothes, impeccable. Untouched by mud. Untouched by the storm. Untouched by the physical world. An irregularity in existence, as if he didn't belong here... and yet, there he was.
—What are you doing here, little one? —I asked, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand.
The boy didn't respond immediately. He observed me in silence, tilting his head with a new curiosity or doubt. As if my appearance surprised him.
Then, a smile formed on his face. For some reason, I instantly detested it. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't innocent. It was... amused. As if he knew something I didn't. And enjoyed not telling me.
—I... came because I heard your screams.
How strange. His voice was childlike, yes... but the tone with which he spoke, so casual, so comfortable, made my skin crawl. As if for him it was normal to find someone broken at the top of a mountain.
—I'm sorry, kid. I didn't mean to bother you. It's just that... —I stopped.
There was something about him that didn't fit. It wasn't just one thing, but the sum of many small details: the stillness of his posture, the way water didn't seem to touch him, and above all, the way he looked at me... as if he knew me.
The wind seemed to stop. Time too. Everything was suspended in an unnatural stillness. I felt my skin bristle even more, as the color drained from my hands as if blood was fleeing from something my mind didn't yet understand. A shiver ran down my back, slow, piercing.
—H-ho-how... how did you climb the mountain?
The boy let out a little laugh, light, almost mocking. He moved his neck slowly, raising his gaze to the gray clouds that barely held in the sky. His gaze, dim, seemed to pierce through them... as if his green eyes didn't observe the same world I did.
What did he really see?
I felt a pang of desire: I wanted to look through them.
Then, without looking at me, he said in a soft and genuinely curious tone.
—Does what they call rain bother you?
I remained inert. His way of speaking, his words, didn't sound like ramblings, they sounded real. So real, that for a moment I believed he wasn't speaking out of courtesy, but because he really wanted to know... as if he had noticed my physical discomfort and thought to help.
—Yes... a little. Do you have another umbrella?
He didn't answer, he just lowered his gaze to me and smiled, a smile that without sound told me "I'll surprise you," and at that moment, the child released his gray umbrella.
He let it fall carelessly, as if the storm didn't matter to him at all.
—No wait, you'll get sick! —I exclaimed, unable to help it.
But he didn't answer. He raised his gaze to the overcast sky, letting himself be bathed by the rain... or so I thought. But... each drop that touched him simply passed through him. As if his body was nothing more than an illusion.
The fabric of his clothes remained dry. Intact.
And at that moment, without warning... his eyes began to shine even more intensely. Around us, the drops began to stop in the air.
Not because the storm ceased, but because time and space, somehow, seemed to obey him.
That thunderous storm, suspended between us like fragments of crystal, motionless within an invisible sphere that isolated us from the world.
—Is this better? —he asked, with a naturalness that froze my blood.
Without a word, I nodded foolishly, still with my mouth half-open, trapped by what I had just witnessed.
He began to approach. But this time, his steps made no sound. The silence became so dense that I felt pressure in my ears, as if the air itself had stopped to observe.
Only then did I notice it: before I had heard his arrival.
Why not now?
Had I only heard him because he wanted me to?
As he took the last step, he stopped in front of me, so close that I could see the reflection of the storm trapped in his eyes.
—I know you called for Edgar. —he exclaimed, lowering his gaze. —But I answered.
The child extended a hand. The gesture was slow, almost lazy, as if time itself bent for him. His palm brushed my knees, leaving a green dust born from his hand floating for a second in the air. A slight, serene heat began to run through my skin.
The physical pain... vanished.
I looked down, incredulous. Seeing how my wounds closed. The blood vanished. And my skin... became mine again.
—I apologize for taking his place... Marl Stimson.
His eyes shone, deep, as if they could see every corner of my soul. I remained motionless. My breath, suspended. I couldn't look away.
Surprise disarmed me. My legs gave way. I fell to the ground, with my heart pounding in my chest as if it wanted to escape.
—I-is this... is this real...? Or have I lost my mind...?
The child looked at me with a serene smile.
—Of course it's real. Your head is still in its place.
He extended his hand to me again. I was afraid to take it, as if by doing so I could defile the figure before me. But it wasn't me who took the step. It was he who held me.
His touch was warm. Light. And, even so, with a firmness that anchored.
He lifted me with an impossible ease, as if the weight of my body... and everything I carried... meant nothing.
I stood, wobbling. The ground beneath my feet... felt new. As if I was stepping on it for the first time.
—Who... who are you? —I managed to ask, with a ragged voice, fearing the answer.
The child's smile curved. And, for an instant, his face seemed larger... older... as if behind that childish expression hid something immense.
—Me? Heh, my name is Histor and I am a god.