After the lively conversations about the new year, and after we finished releasing the lanterns, my mother decided it was time for bed. She took us home. Evelyn, reluctant but already heavy-eyed with sleep, gave in first, after saying she didn’t want to sleep and wanted to continue at the party with the adults.

“It’s already past two in the morning, Eve,” my mother said, tucking the blanket over my sister. “Zénite will rise soon. You both need to rest.”

I nodded, but sleep was still far from conquering me. The excitement from my thoughts that night, the reflections on the universe, and the sight of the sky full of lanterns still buzzed in my mind.

I lay down next to Evelyn, who was almost asleep. She turned toward me, blinking slowly, fighting to keep her eyes open.

“Kiel... it was a nice night, wasn’t it?” she murmured, her voice soft and filled with drowsiness.

“Yes, it was decent,” I replied, staring at the ceiling, where the faint light from the lamps seeped through the cracks, creating patterns on the wooden beams until it was turned off by Aidam seconds later.

“I loved the party, every year it’s always amazing,” she affirmed, her voice faltering.

The low creak of the door drew my eyes directly to Ari.

“Alright, sleep well, mommy loves you,” Ari said, still watching us from the doorway, pleased to hear our positive feedback before giving a final farewell like a bow.

I found this attitude strange... it's a formality she has with us, Aidam, and the Elder.

I stayed silent for a few moments, listening to Evelyn’s soft breathing beside me. The night had been long and full of meaning for the people of this world.

“Have you ever wondered, Eve, where the lanterns go?” I asked, looking at the gap in the ceiling, where the almost invisible silhouettes of faint lantern lights drifted away into the beyond.

Evelyn, still fighting sleep, opened one curious eye and murmured, “They... go up and disappear, right? But where to?”

“To space,” I said, trying to keep my voice low so my mother wouldn’t hear. “They go so high that they end up reaching where there’s nothing... only darkness and stars.”

Evelyn frowned, trying to understand, a mixture of curiosity and sleep on her face. “Space? Like... the sky? Space is there? What is it?”

“Farther than the sky. Space is where the stars live, where everything seems so small we can barely see it, where suns, planets, and many grand things exist—unreachable infinities. When the lanterns get there, they’re filled with all our wishes. It’s like sending them directly to the cosmos so it can hear and grant them.” Even though I don’t believe in this, it’s what the people here believe.

“And the cosmos... listens? What is the cosmos?” she asked, her eyes closed.

“I like to think so. That somehow, out there, where the stars shine, our wishes find a place to be seen by someone. Maybe by an Entity who just wants our well-being, with the power to accomplish feats beyond conceivable reality.” I explained, merely seeking to grasp at a comfort, in which maybe the entity still listened to me from some ethereal place.

She was quiet for a moment, reflecting. “So... when I make a wish to the lantern every year... it goes to space? For God to hear, like mommy says?” she asked, opening her eyes slightly.

“That’s right. It goes to a place where all grand things are stored. Maybe that’s why we feel so good making wishes because they’re going to a place where someone else might see them, to relieve the weight of maybe being alone in the vastness of the cosmos.”

Evelyn smiled, her eyes closing again. “I liked that, Kiel... I... I’m going to dream... about my lanterns...”

“It will be a meaningful dream,” I replied, but I realized she was already asleep, her words turning into soft murmurs.

I kept talking, even knowing she wasn’t listening anymore. “I think, deep down, we all have wishes. We carry dreams and desires, waiting for the right moment to shine in the sky and in the cosmos...”

How do I know all this? All these cosmic concepts that seem so distant from our world?

Evelyn, you don’t know, but I’m not just the little brother you’ve always known, the one who’s always by your side, laughing at the same jokes and running through the fields.

The truth is that there’s a much darker story behind this smile, something I never wanted for myself, much less for you.

I’m sorry, Evelyn, I never asked for this... I never wished for things to be this way.

Inside me, there’s a cruel truth I’ve been carrying, a truth that haunts me every moment. The thing is... I’m not who you think.

I’m not truly your little brother, the one who should be here, living a simple and happy life by your side. That being, the real Kiel, he... he might have been destroyed, erased, by my existence. His soul, so pure and innocent, was consumed by mine, which is ancient and loaded with a darkness you can’t even imagine. Probably, there’s no concrete certainty about this.

You didn’t deserve this, Evelyn. You never did. You deserved a real brother, someone genuine, who shared your joy without the burden of this terrible secret. I... I am an imposter, a false brother, condemned to occupy the place of the one who should be here, by your side.

The truth is, I am a very ancient creature, so ancient that I’ve lost count of the eras that have passed. There is no clear memory of a distant past, only fragments of memories that haunt me. I am a being condemned to reincarnate, life after life.

As a punishment for the horrible acts committed in unimaginable times. Each reincarnation is a painful agony of having my soul fragmented into pieces and reshaped for a new perishable body.

I’ve seen a vast and different universe, a place of wonders and horrors you can’t even imagine. I’ve seen black holes devouring stars, galaxies colliding in a spectacle of destruction, nebulae shining with the light of a thousand suns, worlds beyond count, inhabited by beings that defy comprehension.

And here... here I don’t see those things. Where is the universe in the sky, Evelyn? Where are the stars that should light up our nights? All we have are four suns, burning mercilessly, and countless worlds trapped in a tangle of nebulas. What does it mean? What is the purpose of this place, this world? Are we in some forgotten corner of the cosmos, where the light of the stars cannot reach? In the dead universe? Where life cannot reach the darkness?

Once again, I ask your forgiveness.

Evelyn, I will continue lying, hiding the truth from you, from our mother, from everyone. I don’t want to destroy what I’ve gained here, this fragment of peace that, even fragile and based on lies, is still all I have.

I am needy, needy of love, of belonging. After a thousand lives of suffering and loneliness, all I needed was a family, a family that could, for an instant:

Lift the weight of a thousand lives from my shoulders.”

The thoughts dragged me into the void of my past lives, each one marked by a suffering that still throbbed in memory. I fell from a spiral of optimism into an abyss of silence, which brought to mind everything that had terrified me for an uncountable number of cycles.

The first trauma that assaulted me was that of parasites, small and relentless creatures on a jungle world difficult to endure, they infested my body. A small being, with thin, warm skin, whose sole purpose was to survive. But the parasites... They burrowed under the skin, tunneling through flesh, sucking every drop of vital energy. The pain was constant, as if my flesh were on fire, but the worst part was the despair. Feeling yourself being devoured, knowing there was no escape or cure, no solution, was a terror that only grew, minute by minute, until everything in me begged for the end.

But the end brought no relief. Dying and being cast into the afterlife was an experience of indescribable agony. Every time I crossed the border between life and death, it was like being torn to pieces. The consciousness fought to remain whole while being pulled out of the body, a process so painful it felt as though every thread of my existence was being forcibly ripped out. The void of the afterlife, a place where time and space lost all meaning, was an extension of this pain, an eternity where hope could not penetrate, and where the only company was the echo of my own anguish.

In another life, I was an animal raised for slaughter, on a meat farm. I remember the waiting, the smell of blood hanging in the air, the sound of chains clinking as we were led, one by one, to our fate. The feeling of knowing death was near but being powerless to avoid it was suffocating. Fear permeated every cell of my being, and when it was finally my turn, the pain of being cut, of feeling life drain away, was almost a relief. But even that relief was fleeting, for the consciousness remained, watching as my body was torn apart.

In another life, I was a pet on a planet far from the center of the galaxy, a domestic being trapped at the will of its owners. It was a life of confinement and abuse, where each day was a new torture. I was used for entertainment, for work, without respect or compassion. Hunger was constant, the cold cut to the bone, and the beatings were frequent. Every scar on my body told a story of pain, and the feeling of helplessness ate away at me inside. There was no way to fight, no way to escape. I was a prisoner in my own body, condemned to a life of suffering.

And there were also those times when I was hunted, running through unfamiliar forests, feeling the scent of death approaching. Or when I was devoured alive by stronger predators, feeling their jaws tear through my flesh, the warm blood flowing as life slipped away. In other times, painful diseases consumed my body slowly, each breath a struggle, each movement a torment.

These experiences mixed, intertwining in my mind, like a fabric of pain that never unraveled. Each life, each body I inhabited, brought with it a new form of suffering, a new cruel lesson about the fragility of existence. And deep down, I knew that all of this was a part of me, that these horrors shaped my soul, turning me into what I am now. A creature almost empty, with little attachment to life.

The quiet of the night, which should bring peace, became a battlefield, where these memories fought to emerge, to suffocate me.

I tried to push them away, tried to anchor myself in the present, but they always returned, relentless, like hungry ghosts that could never be satisfied.

Just thinking that I might still feel all that again kept me clinging to this comfortable life as an inalienable scarcity, calm that I had witnessed in few existences. I trust the entity, but I don’t cling to absolute certainties about what will happen to me.

These cosmological and philosophical themes have weakened and will disappear as time passes.

To be honest, I like this world.

Minutes dragged by, and later, hours. I remained awake, feeling the stillness of the house around me. The nighttime silence was so deep that I could hear the wind outside without any trace of the previous celebration, and nothing else (an absolute contrast to the incessant noise of Parrios during the day), passing between the trees and softly whistling through the cracks in the house. Time seemed to stretch, and sleep, usually so easy to reach, evaded me.

I shifted on the mattress, trying to find a comfortable position. The ropes creaked under the weight of my body, and the rough fabric of the sheets didn’t help calm the restlessness that gripped me. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind filled with loose thoughts, as if the night’s silence amplified the internal voices that normally got lost in the daytime noise.

When I’m not alone... It’s as if being alone hurts me, a desire to be interacting with my new family was all I was feeling at that moment.

I sighed, frustrated. Sleep wouldn’t come. The feeling of being trapped in an endless cycle of thoughts was suffocating, as if the air was too heavy to breathe. I felt the heat in the room rise, even though the cold wind outside tried to invade through the cracks in the window.

My mind hammered: I need to heal this dependence on others!

My emotions and opinions were very unstable, that was the truth. From issues tied to my childhood to a clash of personal instability: I left my coldness toward others and ended up becoming, to some extent, dependent on my ‘parents.’

Balance would be ideal, and for that, I can raise a mental shield. This personality I’ve created stands in stark contrast to what I’ve lived, as if my consciousness is still embittered, but now with a new way of seeing the world.

Finally, I threw the covers aside and sat on the edge of the lowered bed. My feet touched the cold wooden floor, sending a shiver down my spine. The dimness of the room was familiar, yet at the same time, it felt strange that night.

I stood up slowly, careful not to make any noise and wake Evelyn or my mother. The creaking of the door was a challenge, but I managed to open it without much incident. I stepped into the hallway, where the darkness seemed thicker, almost tangible.

The porch was small, with wooden planks that creaked slightly under my bare feet. The night was quiet, with only the whispers of the wind and the occasional distant sound of a Cuvulim, a nocturnal avian creature that howls at night, being active at this time. The sky was still dark, but a faint blue glow was beginning to appear on the horizon, heralding the rise of Zénite.

As I leaned over the railing, trying to absorb the tranquility of that moment, a slight movement inside the house caught my attention. I turned my head in the direction of the sound and noticed a faint light coming from within, a soft blue glow pulsing in contrast to the standard yellow lamps of our home.

Curious, I went back inside, moving as quietly as possible, afraid of breaking the stillness of the house.

I followed the light to the small living room, where my mother was sitting at the table. She seemed absorbed in what she was doing, her eyes fixed on something I couldn’t immediately identify. Her expression was serious, focused, as if she was dealing with something very important. I approached a little more, careful not to make any sound that might alert her to my presence.

What could she be doing?