Its was night, colder than the nights before, the kind of cold where the air itself felt sharp againts the skin. A dark haired boy sat on a swing in a forgotten park, one that had long been claimed by ice, so lifeless it looked as though no one had set foot there in years. His skin, pale from the cold, stood out against the blue boots on his feet and the heavy coat wrapped arouond his small body, made from rough fur, almost like a bear's hide, far too large for him.
The swing barely moved, creaking now and then, as if the place itself were still breathing. He wasn't looking at anything in particular. His eyes were fixed on nothing at all, lost somewhere for away, while thoughts he couldn't put into words piled up inside his mind. Tears slipped silently from his small eyes, trailing down his cheeks before vanishing into the cold.
Why, Mommy...?
Why did you have to do this to me...?
Mathew lowered his head slightly, pressing his lips together as the cold burned at the tip of his nose.
Why did you leave me like this...?
What did i do wrong?
What did i do to you...?
The tears kept coming, no matter how hard he tried to stop them.
Was the only reason you left me alone with Dad... because i was a mistake...?
That thought hurt more than the cold. More than he had ever imagined it could.
Believing that makes me feel worse than i thought i ever could...
He lifted the heavy sleeve of his coat and clumsily wiped his face, leaving the fabric damp and icy.
But even so... I don't hate u.
His breathing trembeld.
Even if u were only with me for six years... i'll keepp loving u.
He clenched his fists inside the sleeves that were far too long.
I don't care about the reasons u had.
It doesn't matter if i was a mistake... or if Dad drinks every day... if he's a complete alcoholic...
The swing shifted slighty.
I'll keep loving u.
"Mat! Mat! Where the hell are u, you damn spoiled brat!"
The hoarse, slurred, trembling voice cut through the frozen trees surrounding the park, shattering the silence like a blunt blow. It came from far away, but Mathew recognized it instanly.
His body reacted before his mind could.
Mathew flinched and opened his eyes wide, as if waking from a nightmare. His heart began pounding violently, so hard it hurt his chest. His legs started to shake uncontrollably, and fear ran through him bri head to toe.
Then it happened.
A warm, wet sensation spread through his clothes before he could stop it.
Mathew froze, completely still, as the tears returned even stronger.
It's Dad...
No... no...
He lowered his gaze in horror.
Why did i wet my self...?
Dad hates when i dot that...
He's going to hit me...
His breathing grew short and uneven, as if the air refused to enter his lungs.
"M-Mommy..." he whispered, his voice broke. "P-please..."
His shoulders instinctively curled inward, as if the were trying to make himself smaller, to disappear. To him, that voice wasn't a man's voice, it was the voice of something that came to hurt him.
A sob tore out of his throat in a choked cry, full of fear, as he wrapped his arms around himself on the swing, trembling, hoping that this night, like so many others, would not end worse than the last.
Seconds later, a large, heavy figure emerged through the falling snow at the edge of the park.
it was his father.
A tall man with broad shoulders, his face marked by old scards that crossed his skin like poorly healed memories of past fights. His dark hair hung long and unkempt over his shoulders, as if he hadn't cut it in years. He wore a thick coat similar to Mathew's and black boots that crunched against the ice with every step.
"Mat!" he roared again, this time even angrier. "Mat!"
He entered the park without care, shoving the rusted gate aside as his eyes scanned the area. He knew this place well, the boy often hid here.
And then he saw him.
"So you're here again, you little brat..."
He stopped abruptly.
His brow furrowed as he noticed the dark stain beneath the swing.
"Wait..." he muttered, his voice filing with contempt. "What's that puddle under your feed...?"
He aprproached immediately, long, aggressive strides closing the distance until he stood over the trembling child.
"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT PISSING YOURSELF, YOU DAMN KID!? he shouted, leaning down. "THAT'S WHAT WEAKLINGS DO!"
Mathew didn't have time to react.
The first slap snapped his head to the side, the sound echoing throught the frozen park. Before he could even breathe, another slap struck his other cheek.
"Learn!" the man spat. "This is how u become a real man!"
His hands moved fast and hard, without pause. Each blow made the boy's head jerk, filled his eyes with tears, turned the world blurry.
Mathew didn't scream.
He only sobbed silently, shrinkking in on himself, wishing with all his strength that it would end soon, that the cold would swallow him, that someone, anyone, would take him away from there.
But no one came.
And the nigth continued to fall, slow and indifferent.
At last, the man stopped.
He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling beneath the thick coat. He looked down at the child curled in front of him, face red, lips trembling, eyes swollen with tears.
"That's enough" he growled.
Mathew continued to sob quietly, teeth clenched, unable to stop.
His father frowned.
"Stop crying"
Mathew couldn't.
The hand rose again, not to strike, but point at him with disgust.
"When u cry like that," he spat, "you remind me of ur mother's bitch."
Mathew went still. He didn't fully understand the words, but he understood the tone. He understood that something inside him was being compared to something filthy, something worthless.
"Your very exitence suffocates me," the man continued, turning away to spit onto the snow. "Just like hers"
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out some coins, tossing them at the ground without looking. They clinked against the ice.
"Go to town," he ordered. "The one i always go to. Ten minutes away," he added, almost like a joke. "It's nothing"
Mathew lowered his head and picked up the coins with clumsy hands, his fingers numb.
"I want beed," his father said. "And don't take long"
The boy nodded immediately, again and again, his movements quick and desperate.
"Y-yes... Dad..."
The man wasn't looking at him anymore. He had already turned away, lighting a cigarette with steady hands, as if nothing had happened.
Mathew climbed down from the swing with difficulty. His legs hurt, but he didn't dare complain. He walked out of the park, past the rusted gate, heading toward the road that led to town.
The road was completely frozen.
Every step was dangerous. Ice cracked beneath his blue boots, and the wind struck his face without mercy. The heavy coat didn't warm him, it only made him feel smaller. Cold seeped in through his wet clothes, his knees, his chest.
He walked slowly, carefully, clutching the coins in his fist as if they were the only real thing left.
Ten minutes.
For an adult, it was nothing.
For him, its was an eternity.
He walked with his eyes fixed on the ground, focused only on not falling, on not crying again, on not thinking. Each step took him farther from the park, but not from fear. That followed him closely, pressed against his back, reminding him he would have to return.
Because he always did.
The road stretched out before him, an endless line of ice and shadow. With every step, the crunch beneath his boots reminded him he was still there, still moving forward, even if he didn't know where he was going. The river ran beside him, barely visible beneath an uneven layer of dark ice, murmuring softly, constantly, almost like a voice that asked for nothing.
Without realizing it, his thoughts returned to her.
His mother.
He didn't remember her clearly through the pain his father caused him, but in his mind she was always warm. Always crouched at his height. Always speaking softly. In those blurred memories, she would fix his hair or wipe his face with her hand, and for a moment, everything would stop hurting.
She was kind…
She was kind to me…
Mathew clenched his teeth.
Then why didn't you take me with you…?
His steps grew unsteady. A different pain bloomed in his chest, deeper than before.
If you knew how I would live…
If you knew what Dad was like…
His breath suddenly caught.
Why did you leave me…?
He stopped.
The wind struck his face hard, but that wasn't what made him shake. His shoulders began to tremble on their own, without permission. The tears returned, hotter, more desperate.
"I hate…" he murmured, his voice breaking. "I hate living…"
The words came out without thought, as if they had always been there.
"I hate being born," he continued, raising his voice slightly. "I hate not having a real family…"
The cry finally shattered.
He grabbed his head, pressing his hands over his ears, as if he could force everything to go silent.
If I stop feeling…
If all of this ends…
He looked at the river.
He didn't think about the cold.
He didn't think about the pain.
He only thought about the silence that might come afterward. About the almost childish idea that maybe, on the other side, there was something more beautiful. Somewhere he wouldn't have to obey. Somewhere no one shouted his name in anger.
Maybe… maybe it would stop hurting…
He took a step toward the edge, completely absorbed in his thoughts, so lost in them that he didn't hear the sound growing behind him.
The roar of an engine.
Blurry lights rushing down the frozen road at full speed.
The truck driver could barely make out the road; his hands clutched the wheel without control, an empty bottle rolling at his feet. Everything blended together, lights and shadows warped by alcohol.
Mathew didn't turn around.
He didn't sense the danger.
At that moment, his world was only the river… and the idea of disappearing.
The sound came too late.
A deep, distorted roar tore through the wind and the cracking ice like a beast out of control. The lights appeared suddenly, white and twisted, growing far too fast, warped by speed and the slippery road. The truck lost stability in a split second. The wheels skidded, the steering wheel spun uselessly, and the entire vehicle tilted sideways.
Mathew barely had time to react.
There was no scream.
No attempt to run.
Only a brutal force that hurled him forward, tearing him from where he stood, as if the world itself had rejected him. The impact was chaotic and violent, and his small body was thrown together with the metal, both dragged toward the edge of the road.
The truck smashed through the guardrail with a hollow crash and plunged into the frozen river. The ice gave way under its weight, shattering into jagged pieces as dark water opened to swallow everything.
In that instant, while absolute cold wrapped around him and the noise cut off all at once, one single thought crossed Mathew's mind, strangely clear, without fear or anger.
So this is how my life ends…
And then, nothing.
He awoke in darkness.
Not a threatening darkness, but a complete absence of sensation. He felt no cold. No pain. He did not feel the wetness of his clothes, the trembling, the weight of fabric against his skin, nor the shame that had followed him for so long. There was no fear either. No sadness. Not even relief.
Everything was… neutral.
As if the person he had been had been left behind, dissolving along with the snow, the river, and the night. The urine in his pants, the burning on his face, the shouting, the rough hands. everything had vanished, like a memory that no longer hurt.
For an undefined span of time, he simply existed.
Then, the darkness began to give way.
A pure white light slowly spread from an invisible point, illuminating everything without hurting his eyes. It had no clear source or direction; it was everywhere at once. Mathew felt as though he were floating, though he could not see his own body. The space before him opened like an infinite canvas—no ground, no sky, no boundaries.
He did not understand what he was seeing.
With a childlike disbelief, he wondered if he was still dreaming.
That was when it appeared.
A black point, small at first, suspended before him. It neither absorbed the light nor reflected it. It simply existed, slowly expanding until it formed a perfect, deep circle, like a hole torn open in the fabric of space itself.
From within it, a hand emerged.
White. Delicate. Reaching out calmly, without urgency.
Then an arm. Then a full silhouette.
A young woman stepped out of the dark circle and stopped in front of him. She wore a white dress of soft fabric, adorned with golden sparkles that shimmered with even the smallest movement, as though light itself had been woven into it. Her hair was white, so pure it seemed unreal. Her presence was serene, quietly imposing, like someone accustomed to being observed without needing to assert herself.
Her features felt strangely familiar.
She was not his mother.
And yet there was something about her, about the way she held herself, about the gentleness in her gaze, that made Mathew's chest tighten for reasons he could not explain. Like a memory that had never been his, but which his heart recognized all the same.
The young woman watched him in silence.
And for the first time since everything had ended, Mathew felt something different in that endless place.
Awe.
She did not speak right away.
She simply observed him with a patience untouched by time. Her expression was calm, almost warm, as though nothing before her could truly surprise her anymore. The infinite light seemed to obey her, softening around her form, drawing a delicate contrast between the absolute white of the space and the golden glimmers of her dress.
For her, this was nothing new.
She had guided countless souls, some broken, some furious, others so empty they barely remembered who they had been. She had witnessed suffering in countless forms: truncated lives, twisted destinies. Over the centuries, she had learned to accept it all as part of her role. As something necessary.
But this child…
Mathew could not stop looking at her.
Not with fear. Not with distrust.
He looked at her the way one looks at something lost far too soon.
She noticed immediately.
And for the first time in a span of time she herself could no longer measure, something stirred within her. It was not guilt. Nor fatigue. It was a soft, deep, unexpected sorrow, a quiet sadness at seeing a soul that had not turned bitter despite everything it had endured.
So small. So intact.
Without a word, the goddess allowed her appearance to change, just enough. It was not a sudden or obvious transformation, but a subtle adjustment, almost imperceptible. The curve of her smile softened. Warmth settled into her eyes. Her features, without copying anyone in particular, began to evoke something Mathew's heart recognized instantly.
An echo.
A memory.
The boy felt a knot tighten in his throat.
"…Mom…?"
The word slipped from his lips before he could stop it, a fragile, broken whisper, filled with a hope that hurt simply to voice.
The young woman tilted her head slightly.
"Mom…?" she repeated gently, as though she did not quite understand. "No, little one. I think you are mistaken."
There was no mockery in her voice. No harshness. Only a patient, enveloping calm.
Mathew lowered his gaze, embarrassed. His hands, now clearly visible, closed timidly against his chest.
"I'm sorry…" he murmured. "You look a lot like someone…"
She did not correct him.
Instead, she knelt down in front of him, lowering herself to his height. She did not invade his space. She did not touch him. She was simply there, closing the distance in a way that felt safe.
"I understand," she said with a gentle smile. "When we are very tired, we sometimes see what we need most."
Her words explained nothing, and yet, they comforted him.
"My name is not important right now," she continued. "What matters is that I would like… to know you a little better."
Mathew slowly looked up.
"Know me…?"
"Yes," she nodded. "Tell me about yourself. About who you are. About what you like… or what hurts you. There is no rush."
He hesitated.
No one had ever asked him that before. No one had ever shown interest in listening without demanding something in return. Without shouting. Without hitting. Without orders.
"I…" he swallowed. "I'm not strong. Dad says I cry too much."
The goddess did not interrupt him.
"He says I have to be like him. That's how you survive…" His eyes began to glisten. "But I just wanted… Mom to stay."
His voice broke, but he did not stop. Something inside him, soothed by that quiet presence, opened without his realizing it.
"She was good to me," he continued. "She hugged me when I was cold… she told me everything would be okay. I thought one day she would come back for me."
The goddess closed her eyes for a brief moment.
She knew everything. Every memory, every thought that had crossed that small mind. But hearing it in his own voice gave it a different weight.
"Thank you for telling me," she said as she opened her eyes. "You were very brave."
Mathew blinked.
"Brave…?"
"Yes," she replied softly. "You remained kind, even when the world was not kind to you."
He did not answer. Tears fell again, silently, but this time there was no fear in them. Only exhaustion.
The goddess slowly extended her hand, stopping just short of touching him.
"Mathew," she said his name with care, "there are souls that do not belong to the place where they are born. And when they suffer too much… they are given another chance."
He looked up, confused.
"Another… chance?"
She smiled.
"A new world. A new life. It will not be the same as the one you knew," she admitted. "But it will be different. Wider. More alive. More… interesting."
She did not promise happiness.
She promised possibility.
"And… will I be alone?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
The goddess looked at him with a tenderness she no longer tried to hide.
"No," she answered. "Not this time."
And in that endless space, for the first time since he was born, Mathew felt that someone was telling him the truth.
"Will I be… with my mom…?"
Mathew lifted his gaze and held the goddess's eyes. There was no demand in his voice, no desperation, only a fragile, timid hope, as though even asking might shatter something.
The goddess did not answer right away.
For the first time since she had appeared before him, her expression darkened, not abruptly, but with a gentle sadness that slid across her features like a shadow at dusk. That question was the one she could never answer as she wished. The one that, no matter how many times she heard it, always left a quiet ache in her chest.
"That… is not possible," she finally said, her voice low and careful. "You must understand something, my dear child. You no longer belong to the world you came from."
Mathew did not look away.
"Your body remains there," she continued, "in that cold river. But your soul is here, with me. And your mother… remains in that world."
The light around them seemed to dim slightly.
"To reach happiness," she added, "there is always something that must be left behind."
That was the part that hurt her the most to say. Always.
Mathew fell silent. His lips trembled faintly, but he did not cry. He nodded slowly, as though each movement of his head were a conscious act of acceptance. He understood. Even at his young age, he understood that insisting would be selfish, that asking for this would be like wishing death upon someone else. And he had never wanted to cause more pain.
"I'm sorry…" he murmured, more to himself than to her.
Then, as if he had decided to move forward, he looked up again.
"Then…" he said hesitantly, "what will my new life be like?"
The goddess blinked, surprised by the sudden shift.
"Will I have… good parents?" he asked. "A dad who won't hit me? A mom who won't leave me alone? Will I be big again… or will I still be six… almost seven?"
The questions poured out one after another, rushed and clumsy, filled with a longing so simple it hurt to hear. The goddess could not help herself.
She let out a small laugh.
Not mocking.
Not ironic.
A sweet, light laugh, like a warm breath.
"For such a little boy," she said gently, "you ask an awful lot of questions."
Mathew stayed still, waiting.
"But there are always answers," she continued. "You will not be reborn at your current age. You will be a baby again."
His eyes widened in surprise.
"Although…" she added, leaning closer, "you already are one to me. And besides…"
She reached out with both hands and gently squeezed his cheeks.
"You're quite handsome."
Mathew blushed instantly.
"A-ah… thank you for the compliment…" he replied, embarrassed, lowering his gaze.
The goddess withdrew her hands with a satisfied smile and resumed a calmer tone.
"As for your memories…" she said, "normally, they would be erased completely. So that you could live without fear. Without trauma. Without the terrors that haunted your past life."
Mathew tensed.
"The world you are going to will be very different," she continued. "I do not know it in detail. I see too many worlds at once; too many souls arrive every day. But I know one thing for certain."
She looked straight at him.
"Your life will be better."
She paused.
"Once I send you there… our communication will end forever."
Silence fell between them.
"Before that," she finally said with a smile, "there is something you may ask of me. Anything you wish. With complete trust. I will grant it."
Mathew swallowed. His hands clenched tightly.
"Yes…" he whispered. "Please…"
He lifted his face, eyes shining.
"Don't erase my memories," he asked. "I want to keep them… like a life I once wanted. I don't want to forget my mom."
His voice broke at the end.
"I'm asking you…"
The goddess watched him for a long moment.
And then, she smiled.
"Very well, my child," she replied with absolute gentleness. "I will do as you ask. After all, I told you that you could ask for anything you wished."
She extended her hand toward him.
"All right," she said. "Are you ready?"
The light began to intensify.