The Silent Room
Night had fallen in Puebla under an absolute silence. Outside, the streets slept beneath the dim glow of streetlamps, while inside the hospital, in Room 312, time seemed frozen. Everything was still, except for the steady beep of the cardiac monitor marking the fragile life of a small being.
Sofía sat in the chair by the crib, her eyes fixed on the delicate face of her newborn, Roberto. Her trembling fingertips traced the curve of his cheek, as she struggled to absorb the invisible weight pressing on her chest.
Roberto's eyes were unusual. They were not the innocent, shining eyes of a typical baby. They held a dark depth, a glimmer that seemed to harbor ancient secrets—something not aligned with his fragile body.
"How is this possible?" Sofía murmured, her voice cracked by fatigue and strange unease. "How can you see so much… understand everything with just hours of life?"
A soft sigh escaped her lips—a blend of love, fear, and resolve.
The room was steeped in the essence of life and death, of beginnings and ends. Sofía felt it in every corner: her son's future hung by a fragile, invisible thread—one sealed long before he had even opened his eyes.
In that moment, a chilling cold swept through the room, like a harbinger. Sofía gripped the blanket covering Roberto, feeling the vulnerability of the small being who nevertheless carried a strength beyond her comprehension.
"You're all I have left, little one," she whispered, silent tears spilling. "The light I still have—to protect you."
Her lips brushed the baby's forehead in a tender kiss, laden with promises.
In her heart, a quiet voice reminded her the path ahead would not be easy, that darkness lurked, but as long as their light burned, nothing could defeat them.
With that certainty, Sofía closed her eyes, resolved to face whatever came—for Roberto's sake and for the destiny they shared.
A Cold That Pierces the Soul
The silence enveloping Room 312 shattered suddenly with a chill that had no origin in the air or outside temperature. It was a different kind of cold—one that seeped into the very soul.
Sofía felt as though a frigid breath grazed her nape, an invisible wind slipping through every crack. Instinctively, she drew Roberto closer to her chest, determined to shield him with every fiber of herself.
Her eyes, still fixed on the window, caught a subtle movement. The full moon, high in the sky, poured silvery light onto the city, but just beyond the pane, a figure hovered in shadow, seeming to absorb all clarity.
A tall silhouette stood, draped in dark, dense mist that swirled like smoke in a breeze. No features were discernible—except for two red gleaming embers where its face should have been.
Sofía felt her blood freeze, yet she held her gaze steady."Who are you?" she asked, voice trembling but determined, as if the question anchored her in reality.
No reply came vocally. Instead, a deep, ancestral voice echoed inside her mind, as if crossing time and space:
"The blood is marked.The balance is broken.The child is the bridge between two worlds.He is the beginning and the end."
The words reverberated within her, striking her like a blow that stole her breath.
Her heart pounded violently, and for a moment the room seemed filled with invisible, potent energy—as if destiny itself had left its stamp at that moment.
But Sofía did not step back. Fear tangled with fierce maternal protection, and though doubt threatened to overwhelm her, an unknown strength held her firm.
Holding Roberto to her chest, she whispered:
"I will not let them take you, little one. No matter who you are, or what destiny has written for you. I will protect you."
The figure behind the glass watched silently, its red eyes intense against the dark backdrop. Then, slowly, it retreated, dissipating in a cloud of smoke swallowed by the night.
The hospital lights hummed back to normal, calm returning—though the atmosphere remained surcharged with inscrutable mystery.
Sofía remained still for a long moment, feeling Roberto's steady pulse against her. She closed her eyes, letting out a sigh that carried a promise—not just to her son, but to herself.
"Together we will be light in this darkness," she murmured.
A Mother's Strength
The weight of night did not lighten with the figure's departure. Instead, Sofía felt that presence linger in every corner—a silent reminder that the battle was only beginning.
Her hands shook slightly as she looked back at Roberto, whose chest rose and fell softly but steadily—life itself.
"You are stronger than you seem," she whispered softly, full of tenderness and conviction. "I will not let you fall. I will not allow them to steal the future you deserve."
An impulse compelled her to embrace the baby with her whole body, as if to form an invisible shield. She closed her eyes and pictured dark paths, lurking shadows—and above it all, a light that would never go out.
Deep within her, something stirred—a primitive, ancient strength, perhaps dormant for generations, now demanding to be heard.
"I am your mother," she whispered. "And as long as I have breath, I will be your guardian."
She felt a wave of warmth sweep through her body, dispelling the chill and uncertainty that had accompanied her through the night.
Time seemed to freeze, as if this moment sealed a silent pact between mother and child.
At that moment, the lights flickered briefly, and a whisper, barely audible, brushed through her mind:
"The path will be arduous, but you are not alone."
Sofía opened her eyes and offered a small, knowing smile—feeling not only her own love, but a greater force guiding her.
She knew she would have to fight against shadows she didn't fully understand—but she also knew that within Roberto pulsed a power that could change everything.
"I will protect you," she vowed. "No matter the cost."
Settling beside the crib, she resolved to be the guiding light for her son in the darkness to come.