Weeks turned into months, and at last, Xenon began to see the surrounding colors clearly. The first thing he noticed was how enormous the room was. Of course, everything seemed larger because of his small body, but even so, the room was truly vast.
The most striking feature was the grand red bed. It was his mother's bed, draped in ornate curtains and covered in fabric so fine that its price was evident even to a child's eyes.
Xenon had his own little cradle, but most nights, nearly every night, he slept beside his mother. The rest of the room was filled with furniture that was far more luxurious than anything he had ever seen before, even in his previous life.
The ceiling stretched so high that when Xenon looked up, his vision would blur. Golden carvings and delicate ornaments traced the walls, each one seemingly telling a silent story.
A massive chandelier hung from above, its light flickering gently; the crystal reflections scattered across the room like fragments of a dream.
The windows were shrouded in thick velvet curtains, allowing only a trickle of light to enter, giving the chamber a strange kind of warmth.
In one corner stood a silver-inlaid dressing table filled with bottles, brushes and small mirrors.
Yet Xenon's eyes never sought a light or a screen among them because such things did not exist here. In this world, silence had replaced the hum of machines; the rustle of fabric and the faint scent of candles replaced the noise of time itself.
Portraits of women, warriors and perhaps kings lined the walls, painted with such reverence that one could be compelled to bow down before them without knowing their names. Sometimes Xenon felt as though their eyes followed him.
Soft rugs swallowed every footstep around the red bed. Everything was magnificent, yet somehow... cold. It was as if this beauty existed not to impress, but to make someone forget.
At night, Xenon often woke and listened to the sound of his mother's breathing. Outside, there was a silence unlike anything he had ever experienced before: no cars, no hum of electricity.
Only faint noises from afar: the call of a night bird, or the measured steps of guards on patrol.
And in those moments, Xenon understood this place was nothing like the world he came from. His mother never held a phone or any device. Even the servants who brought their meals carried nothing remotely technological.
Servants, yes, there were two of them, responsible only for his mother's meals. But that raised a question: why did his mother have servants at all? Or, more importantly, why did they have servants?
Perhaps his mother was wealthy. Or maybe his father was.
But now that he thought about it, he had never seen a single man enter this room. Not even once.
He himself was a boy, so men did exist in this world but he had yet to meet one. In truth, he hadn't even left this room. Though a baby's limits still confined his mind, Xenon was sharp enough to recognize how strange his surroundings were.
As the days blended together, his curiosity grew. Everything was too quiet. Too quiet.
Every object in the room seemed chosen with care, every corner arranged as though painted by an artist's hand.
Yet beneath the beauty lay an unsettling emptiness. Sometimes, when the wind slipped through the heavy curtains, the candle flames flickered and the portraits seemed almost alive.
Those moments sent a shiver down Xenon's spine, and he would burrow deeper under his blanket.
His mother often sat by the window, wrapped in long silken gowns, gazing outside in silence. Sometimes she would sit there for hours, saying nothing, idly brushing her golden hair before drifting back into her quiet trance. In her eyes, Xenon saw a kind of exhaustion, an unspoken waiting for something or someone he couldn't name.
The footsteps outside were always the same: slow, deliberate, cautious. The servants never spoke.
They entered only to leave trays of food, bowed, and withdrew without a sound.
Once, Xenon studied one of their faces. There was no fear there, only the deep lines of habit. Her eyes never once met his.
As time passed, Xenon began to feel that something was wrong. For instance, whenever food was brought to him, his mother always tasted it first and then waited silently for an hour. Only after nothing happened, would she feed him.
It was as though she were testing the food for poison.
Poison...
A mother testing her own child's meal... such caution could not be normal.
From that moment on, Xenon's gaze sharpened, watching the world around him with a focus far beyond his infant body. Each time his mother lifted a spoon, she bit her lip slightly and waited. Her eyes were always fixed on the door as though expecting someone to burst in.
Vague memories from his past life came to mind: movies, series, poison, palaces, games of thrones... But this was no film set.
Everything here was too real, too quiet.
Once, when a maid entered, Xenon noticed his mother's hand tremble faintly. The woman bowed, set the meal down, and didn't lift her head.
She didn't say "My lady," nor "Excuse me."
She simply shuffled backward on her knees and waited until the door closed behind her.
Only then did his mother's breathing return to normal.
"Mother is afraid," Xenon realized.
Yet when they were alone, she spent every moment with him. He still didn't know her name, but he had memorized every detail of her face. Her hair was golden, and her eyes were blue, both features being so beautiful that they were almost overwhelming.
Her features surpassed any woman he remembered from his old world. With her divine beauty and her full, graceful form, she seemed less human and more like an illusion crafted by the gods themselves.
"Where is my little Xenon hiding?" She called, her voice soft and otherworldly.
"Ha-ta!" he babbled in reply.
Her laughter blossomed as she lifted him into her arms.
Xenon looked up at her face, golden strands falling to the side, faint lines at the corners of her eyes glimmering with tired light. Yet for that moment, all weariness vanished, replaced by pure love.
She tapped his tiny nose with her finger.
"Oh my, and who did you get this little nose from?" She said, her tone as tender as a lullaby.
Then, all of a sudden, she scrunched her face, widened her eyes, tossed her hair back, and made a growling sound.
"Grrr! The dragon's coming!"
At first, Xenon didn't understand. To him, her face was just changing shapes. But her laughter, that full, unguarded, vibrant laughter, was so alive, so bright, that Xenon couldn't help but laugh too.
She froze in delighted surprise, her eyes lighting up.
"Oh! He laughed! My little prince laughed!"
She tried again, this time placing her hands beside her ears, making a silly face.
"Look, am I a bunny now?"
Xenon looked for a moment and then laughed again. The laugh was forced, really; not from amusement, but to make her happy. After all, even with his fragmented memories, he was still an adult inside. He didn't truly find silly faces funny.
But when he saw the joy in her eyes, he knew he had done the right thing. She laughed and kissed his cheek over and over, lifting him in small playful bounces.
Then she paused. Her gaze drifted to the great window. The smile on her lips froze, as if something had just returned to her mind. For a heartbeat, sorrow stirred beneath the joy.
Xenon noticed it. Her eyes were far away now, her fingers absently stroking his hair.
Her voice came out as a whisper.
"I wish... you could always laugh like this."