The mural shifted.
The stone beneath Felix's feet rippled like water, and for a moment, the world dissolved. The cold chamber faded. The still air, the cracked floor, even the trembling statue—all vanished.
He blinked.
And when he opened his eyes, he was standing in a different place entirely.
The sky above was grey, thick with smoke. Ash drifted like snow. Before him stood a crumbling house, walls cracked and windows blackened with soot. The scent of burning wood choked the air. Everything was small—the yard, the gate, the garden. Like a child's world.
And in the center of it all… a little boy.
No older than six. Clothes torn and soot-stained. Knees scraped. He stood alone on a stone floor inside the dim room, staring at something no one else could see. Tears streaked his face, carving lines through the dirt on his cheeks.
His name echoed faintly through the air.
Jim.
Felix tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond. He was watching, not participating. Like looking into someone else's soul.
A sharp voice broke the silence.
"Useless boy!"
A man, large and red-faced, loomed in the doorway. His eyes were cruel, his voice louder than the walls could contain. Jim flinched at the sound and backed away, arms rising to shield himself. The man didn't strike him, not this time. But his words hit harder.
"Stop wasting time drawing on the damn walls! You'll never be worth anything!"
Felix's breath caught.
Jim looked down at his chalk, a dull white stub clutched tightly in his fist. Behind him, the wall was covered in scribbles. But not meaningless ones. Little figures—birds, clouds, a smiling sun, people holding hands. A dream the child dared to draw.
The man turned and left.
A moment later, the mother entered. Her face was tired, her gaze blank.
"Why can't you be normal?" she muttered, brushing ash off the windowsill. "Just stop making trouble. Please."
Jim opened his mouth, maybe to ask for help, maybe to say sorry. But she left before a word escaped.
The room fell silent.
Felix's knees buckled. He knelt, unable to stop the wave of pain rising in his chest. This wasn't just loneliness.
This was abandonment.
More memories danced through the smoky air.
Jim sat at the edge of a broken bed, its springs poking through the mattress. He cradled a small toy rabbit in his hands—burned, one ear missing. He whispered to it.
"You're still here, right? You didn't leave, too."
The toy didn't answer. But Jim smiled anyway, as if that silence was kinder than the words he usually heard.
Later, he was outside. Trying to use a talisman.
He copied what he had seen the others do—his older brother, the disciples from town. His small fingers clumsily followed the lines. The paper trembled as he pressed his hand against it.
Nothing.
The talisman crumbled into ash.
He blinked at the remains.
Laughter exploded nearby.
"Did you really think you could use that?"
A group of boys pointed and mocked him from across the yard. Jim turned away, his face hidden beneath his fringe.
That night, he curled beneath a tree behind the house. Its bark was scorched. Its leaves were gone. The ground was hard and cold. He pressed his toy rabbit to his chest.
"I don't want to be alone," he whispered.
Felix's tears fell freely now. He felt them, hot against his skin, cutting trails down his cheeks.
"You were trapped here... not by choice," he said aloud, voice breaking, "but by pain."
The memory-world flickered, and more scenes spilled forth.
Jim was at the dinner table. His plate was empty. No one noticed.
Jim draws pictures of a family—laughing, eating together, hugging—and hiding them beneath his bed. They were all smudged with soot, faded.
Jim is trying again with a talisman, alone in the rain.
Jim was sleeping in the corner, while laughter echoed from another room.
And then—the fire.
It was late. He had crept inside the house, shivering from the cold. The lantern in the corner had tipped. Flames licked the walls before anyone noticed. Jim screamed for help.
No one came.
He ran through the smoke, trying to wake them. He pulled at his mother's sleeve. She slapped his hand away, half-asleep, half-aware.
He found himself alone in the fire.
It swallowed him.
The smoke consumed everything. The house. The tree. The boy.
Felix gasped as the vision ended.
The stone chamber returned—but it felt different. The air was heavy with silence. Not the silence of stillness, but the silence of sorrow too deep to speak.
The statue stood before him again.
But it was trembling.
Small cracks lined its arms, glowing faintly. It wasn't attacking. It wasn't defending.
It was remembering.
Felix wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. His throat was tight.
"You're not a monster," he whispered, stepping closer. "You're a memory that wanted to be seen."
The statue's head tilted, ever so slightly.
He moved forward slowly.
"You tried to hold on to something. Anything. Even pain. Because it was all you had left."
The air shimmered with energy—but not violently. It pulsed like a heartbeat.
The statue's eyes, once glowing blue, now seemed gentler. Faint. Human.
Felix took another step.
"I've been alone before, too."
He placed his hand over his heart.
"It hurts. Doesn't it? When no one sees you."
The statue's hand twitched. A fracture split across its chest. Light spilled through it—warm and golden.
Images appeared again—this time projected into the air.
Jim, laughing softly as he built towers from stones.
Jim, offering a flower to a bird.
Jim, singing to himself as he painted the inside of a broken box.
Little moments of joy—flickers of a child who still dreamed.
"You held on," Felix said. "Even when everything told you to give up."
He knelt again.
"Jim, it's okay. You don't have to fight anymore. You don't have to be alone anymore."
The statue let out a low, echoing sound. Like a sigh—or a sob.
More cracks appeared. Light poured from within.
Felix stood.
"Come back to yourself. You're more than stone. You're more than pain. You're a boy who deserves love."
The statue stepped forward—slowly, haltingly.
Felix extended a hand.
The statue looked at it.
Then, as gently as a falling leaf, it reached out.
Their fingers met.
A surge of light exploded from the contact. The chamber filled with golden warmth. The carvings on the walls glowed brightly, as if acknowledging the truth.
Felix smiled through his tears.
"Welcome back, Jim."
The statue's shape began to change. Stone melted away like snow. Beneath it, a child emerged.
The same boy.
Six years old. Messy hair. Tear-streaked cheeks. But this time—he was smiling.
And for the first time, the chamber felt alive.