The Girl Who Lived

In Moon Seongjae's vast room, toys formed piles stretching as far as the eye could see. However, the joy that once filled the lively space had disappeared, a silent echo of the past.

That morning, Moon was curled up in his blankets. The five-year-old boy could hear voices through his bedroom door, discussing what to do with him.

The tears had long dried on his face after streaming incessantly down his small cheeks for what seemed like years. It wasn’t his fault, and Seongjae knew his father knew this too.

His parents were a couple of wizards who undeniably loved each other very much. Some might have thought they married just to keep their bloodlines pure, but the boy knew better; the couple would kill and die for their love and family.

Well, that was until a tragedy struck the family.

His mother was a skilled player in her school days, she had told him when she decided to share her passion for flying with her beloved son. Together, they embarked on an impromptu broomstick adventure, with the mother sharing her stories as they challenged the skies.

Moon was honestly quite scared, but Ari's presence was comforting, making him feel as if nothing could touch them. A sweet illusion, he would later realize.

“Hmm... I think dad showed an old picture of you...” mentioned the boy after listening attentively to the older woman's words. “But do you still remember?” Moon teased, leaving a subtle insinuation about his mother’s age in the air.

“You cheeky brat... I’m not old; the thirties are the best phase of a woman’s life.”

“But you’re almost forty, mom,” the boy retorted, his sharp words striking his mother’s ego, though she laughed.

Despite their exchange, Jae’s courage was put to the test, holding the broomstick firmly, but his mother’s support was his source of comfort. However, when they reached heights, Moon Ari’s composure seemed to crumble. Her vision blurred, and she lost her balance.

The fall was inevitable.

The tragedy claimed the mother’s life, leaving Moon as the only survivor, a child marked by a miracle.

The once laughter-filled room now bore a sorrowful silence, where the piled toys stood as lonely monuments to a lost joy.

Following the matriarch's accident, rumors arose. One, in particular, was gaining alarming proportions; they said Moon Seongjae was to blame, that being so young, he had caused a magical accident.

The Korean wizarding society feared the innocent child, some arguing that the boy lacked the self-control he should have.

Meanwhile, his father, Moon Hyunmin, tried to remain calm, but his heart was utterly shattered by his beloved wife’s death, and now, with his son being supervised by the Ministry, which was divided over what to do with the boy; they deemed him dangerous, both to himself and to those around him.

With his health compromised by grief and worry burning in his chest, Hyunmin took action and sent a raven to longtime friends.

“Dear Markus and Helena Mulciber,

Thank you for your condolences regarding my wife’s passing. It’s a shame her life ended without your wife having the chance to play a wizard’s chess rematch with her.

However, I must be honest and say I am extremely worried about my son, who, in addition to dealing with grief, is far from my care. The ministry wishes to take his custody from me, wanting to raise him in one of the hospital’s wings, believing my boy is dangerous. An utter absurdity.

Currently, I lack the strength to fight for his custody again, but I do not want him to be raised in such an inhumane way. What happened was an accident, unrelated to magical imbalance.

Sincerely,

Moon Hyunmin.”

[...]

The Mulciber couple, who had never been able to have a child, could not pass up the opportunity to take Moon Seongjae into their home.

The boy was introspective but sharp, and Markus and Helena thought he might become more communicative over time.

What Seongjae never told them, however, was a bittersweet memory that would accompany him forever.

The stinging sensation in his scraped knee felt like a small phantom pain when he remembered that day.

The scarlet blood drew trails on his pale legs, while the boy’s chest heaved with stifled sobs and stubborn tears.

Hating to cry had become a mere fact; his eyes burned, and his breath seemed to escape him. At four and a half, Moon Seongjae had no experience with frustration and hated to cry.

“Jae? Why are you here crying?” His mother’s sweet voice enveloped him like a comforting blanket, but Seongjae’s eyes did not miss the sharp look of resentment.

She crouched down to his height, waiting for the boy’s willingness to face her.

“I fell,” he said, his voice hoarse and whiny. “You left me alone,” the accusation of abandonment broke out, but the mother, undaunted, responded with a long sigh before tending to her son’s wounds with her delicate wand; her hands were warm and gentle.

“Do you think I abandoned you?” Ari asked, while examining the injuries.

“I do,” Seongjae replied, firm in his conviction.

“But I’m here now, so I didn’t abandon you, right?”

After a brief hesitation, the boy nodded.

“And does your pain go away now that I’m here?”

Still without making a sound, apart from the sobs, the boy shook his head without thinking twice.

“Then… What difference does it make if I’m here or not?”

Some might think it harsh to say this to a child, but Ari only wanted to protect her boy, even if it meant preparing him for the cruel world of adults, those who arrogantly claimed to know everything about the world, giving too much importance to their own purposeless existence.

“Your wounds still hurt, but I can heal them with a simple spell.” Then, with a simple wave of her wand, Jae’s wounds were healed, leaving no mark or pain. “But I’m not the only one capable of this. Sooner than you think, you’ll learn too, and then you can heal your own wounds. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“No,” he replied honestly. His mother smiled, that tender and serene smile, though it carried a slight misanthropy, but the boy was too young to notice.

“You might be too young to fully understand now, but remember what I’m about to teach you, dear. At all moments in our life, we are alone, and that’s okay. Don’t worry about trying to fit in with others,” she began to explain, helping the boy to his feet and then picking him up, walking through the beautiful garden. “Don’t be afraid to be alone because regardless of the people around you, you will still suffer and feel alone. When you fall, there might be someone to extend a hand, but the pain of the fall will be yours alone. When you are happy, there might be someone by your side to celebrate, but the happiness will be yours.

The youngest continued to stare at his mother, a small wrinkle on his forehead, trying to absorb her words.

“When you die, there might be people crying for you, but it’s still you who will be dead. You will be alone there, in the coffin,” Ari sighed, falling silent for a few moments, seeming lost in her thoughts. “We are alone, and that’s okay. We don’t need to tolerate embarrassing situations, we don’t need to silently accept what harms us; that’s... violence against ourselves. We start alone, end alone, and denying that is... violence. Not belonging to a group, feeling out of place, is a problem. But when we accept our company, when we learn to appreciate our solitude... Then, we start to be happier. It’s okay to be alone because we have our own company.”

Her wisdom, although beyond Jae’s immediate comprehension, was etched into the boy’s memory.

Years later, during a social event, Moon Jae, now nine years old, finally understood the practical application of these teachings, at least partially. Immersed in a crowd that made him feel out of place, he finally appreciated the beauty of his own company.