Chapter 5: The Light That Doesn’t Belong to This World

That afternoon seemed perfectly ordinary.

The sky was clear. No rain, no wind. I took my son to the nearby park, where we usually rode our bikes and talked about random things.

However, on the way home, Long was oddly quiet. When I asked if he was tired, he just shook his head. But his eyes… they were following something invisible, something far away.

I still can’t forget that look.

Later in the evening, he didn’t reach for his tablet or ask to watch cartoons. Instead, he sat on the floor, drawing on a piece of paper while mumbling under his breath. I couldn’t make out the words clearly, but they didn’t sound like anything I’d taught him. They were strange — almost like fragments of another language, spoken as if in a dream with his eyes still open.

I moved closer and asked gently,

“What are you drawing?”

He replied without hesitation,

“A door. But it won’t open unless it gets light from the dragon’s heart.”

My chest tightened.

“Where did you hear that?”

“I don’t remember… Maybe in a dream. Or maybe not a dream at all.”

Then he lowered his head and touched a silver necklace on his chest.

I blinked. I had never seen him wear anything like that before.

“Where did that necklace come from?”

He hesitated for a second, then said,

“It came to me. When I was at the red field…”

I froze. I didn’t ask more. Somehow, my instincts told me not to.

The next morning, I woke up early to prepare breakfast. But Long still hadn’t come out of his room. I knocked and called his name. There was no answer. I knocked louder.

The door wasn’t locked, so I pushed it open.

Still nothing.

His bed was messy, pillows scattered, the blanket half-fallen to the floor. The window was slightly ajar. Yet the room was silent — too silent. No signs of struggle. No open drawers. No footprints. Only one thing remained in plain sight. The silver necklace. It lay in the center of the bed, softly glowing as if it were breathing.

I rushed out of the room. Called for Long in every corner of the house, in the garden, out to the street. There was no sound. No trace. No laughter. No small feet running away.

This wasn’t a child playing hide-and-seek. It felt like the world had simply… taken him.

I collapsed to the ground, clutching the cold pendant in my hand.

And then, as if someone had tuned a forgotten radio channel inside my mind, I heard her voice again — the girl from the mirrored field:

“If you truly want to know, then go where the heart of this planet still beats — where the light never sleeps.”

I looked up.

Outside the window, the morning light had just vanished.