Far From Earth

San Marino was slowly sliding into evening. The sun had not fully set yet, but its last rays were gently scattering a soft golden glow over the city. The sky was gradually shifting from reddish tones into violet, a transition almost unnoticeable, yet it gave everything a calm, quiet mood. The city was located on a height, and in the distance the sea spread out clearly visible. The surface of the water caught the final rays of the sun-sometimes shining like gold, sometimes shimmering in reddish tones. The waves rhythmically hit the shore, producing a deep and soothing sound that could be heard even from afar. Along the coastline, evening life had already awakened. Rows of lights were turned on, their reflections trembling on the water's surface. People were walking on the sand; some stopped to stare at the sea, while in other places small gatherings had already begun, where laughter and music blended into the air.Farther inside the sea stood a huge lighthouse. It was not just a structure made of stone and light, but rather a silent observer that had been living with the sea for years. It had seen many things-strong storms, waves crashing into the sky, boats losing their way in the rain, sailors wandering in the dark searching for direction. And every time, it seemed to call them home with its calm but reliable light. Whether it rained or snowed, whether wind shook it or storms surrounded it, the lighthouse stood in its place-tireless, unbroken, as if its purpose would never end. The light at its top slowly rotated, and with each turn it illuminated the sea surface, as if guiding the way. It watched both the life on the shore and the movement in the sea-the coastal lights, people's laughter, boats returning from afar, yachts drifting quietly. It observed everything in silence. It was alone, but this loneliness was not unfamiliar to it. On the contrary, it felt as if in that solitude it could sense the entire sea. Every morning it met the sun first, receiving its earliest rays, and by evening it said goodbye to the sun, slowly merging into darkness. Yet it never fully disappeared-its light always remained. It was the road home. Seagulls were constantly flying above the shore. Their white wings were clearly visible against the evening sky. They would fly close to the water, then rise again, sometimes climbing against the wind and drawing wide circles. The humid air coming from the sea made their movements lighter, freer, faster. Their voices spread along the shore. Sometimes several seagulls would cry at once, and sometimes a single voice could be heard from far away. These sounds blended with the calm noise of the sea, giving life to the coastal atmosphere. They flew close to the water and rose again, as if living freely between two worlds. When the coastal lights were turned on, their white wings became even more visible. As darkness deepened, their movements were felt through light and shape. On the sand, pale shadows kept moving. They would walk slowly, sometimes stopping for a moment to stare at the sea. The small footprints they left behind were gradually washed away by the waves, and the shore returned to its smooth, quiet state. Their movements were not as light as flight, but rather careful and thoughtful. Some would approach the place where the water had just receded and stare long at the wet sand, as if trying to understand the silent traces left by the sea. Then suddenly they would spread their wings and rise into the air, leaving only silence behind. Along this stretch of the coast, both the earth and the air seemed to submit to the same silence - only their movements appeared as living traces within it. In the distance, small dots began to appear over the sea - gradually they turned into silhouettes of boats. They were fishermen returning home. The day was ending, and the sea seemed to be guiding them back toward the shore. The boats cut gently through the water, leaving behind trails that briefly shimmered under the lighthouse beam before dissolving again into darkness. There was heaviness in their movement - not only the weight of the boats, but the weight of the entire day. The fishermen were tired; their hands and shoulders carried the marks of a long struggle with the sea, and their faces were hardened by sun, wind, and salty water. Yet there was calm in their eyes - the calm of a finished day, of work completed, of returning home at last. From some boats, low laughter could be heard. It was different in tone: some light and joyful, others mixed with exhaustion but still carrying satisfaction. From those voices, one could sense how the fishing day had gone - for some, excitement and success; for others, silence and short words, meaning the day had not been fruitful. But in every case, they were returning. The lighthouse beam passed over them, as if inspecting, recognizing, and then releasing them back into the sea. Soon, they began to see the shore lights. Houses, the port, and the quiet city slowly drew closer, while the sea remained behind. Ahead waited warm lights, dry land, and a peaceful night. The city stood quietly above this scene. Its houses resembled medieval architecture - built of brick, slightly rough in texture but strong. The windows were small and deep, and warm light spilling from inside gave life to the streets. In front of the houses, people gathered around small round tables. They drank coffee slowly and spoke in pleasant conversations. Their voices were not loud, but alive - as if every word had been chosen to fit the calm evening. Above the streets, on stretched wires, flocks of starlings gathered. Their bodies were small, their beaks slightly larger, their feathers tinted with a bluish hue that blended into the evening sky. Sometimes they would suddenly take flight and settle again, while their soft chirping mixed with the distant sound of a calm guitar. Somewhere in the city, that guitar was being played. Its sound was not loud, but deep. It echoed against the walls and returned again, as if binding the entire city with invisible threads. Between this silence, light, and sound, San Marino was alive - unhurried, quiet, yet filled with a deep sense of existence. And at that very moment, as the sun approached its final descent, another story was beginning not far from the city, inside the pine forest. The pine forest began where the city ended. A stone road slowly emerged from between the houses, leaving the last buildings behind, and then fully entered nature. This road was the only path leading from the city to the noble castle hidden within the forest. It was straight, calm, and unchanged - as if time itself had passed over it without touching it. Both sides of the road were lined with tall pines. Their shadows fell across the path, turning it into a space of half-light and half-darkness. The forest was a separate world, detached from the city. The moment one stepped inside, the air changed - the noise of the town was left behind, replaced by a humid, cool, and deep silence. The pines grew tall and straight, their tops stretching upward as if trying to reach the sky, while their lower parts were swallowed in thick shadow. Sunlight slipped through the branches in thin golden lines, slowly moving with the wind, as if the forest itself was breathing. The ground was soft - layers of pine needles had accumulated over years, forming a thick carpet. Every step produced a gentle rustling sound. It was not loud, but very close, very alive. Sometimes when the wind passed through the forest, it didn't feel like ordinary wind - it sounded like a distant whisper between the trees, as if they were speaking to each other. The scent of the pines carried a mixture of moisture, wood, and living greenery - a smell impossible to forget once experienced. As the forest deepened, the light faded. The trees grew denser, the path narrowed, and everything became quieter. But this silence was not empty - it was full. It felt as if it contained forgotten times, unseen lives, and untold stories. Sometimes distant bird calls could be heard. Sometimes nothing at all - only absolute stillness. The pine forest was not just an ordinary woodland. It felt like a living being hiding behind the city, following its own rules, not always welcoming those who entered. It could embrace someone gently, or silently send them back. And when children ran into it, it seemed to watch them carefully, listening to their footsteps with patience. Mark and Tomas ran ahead. "Catch me if you can!" Tomas laughed. "You hide first!" Mark replied, disappearing between the trees. Sofia followed them, laughing. "Wait for me!" Fredrik lagged behind. He tried to run faster, but they were quicker. "Hey, wait for me!" he called out. Laughter echoed ahead. "Fredrik, come find us!" Tomas' voice came from somewhere. Mark was already out of sight. Sofia hid behind a tree, trying not to laugh. Fredrik stopped. He looked around. "Where are you?.." Instead of an answer, laughter echoed again - from a different direction. He walked forward. "I'll find you anyway..." Silence fell for a moment. Then noise again. "Here!" Mark's voice came, but he was not visible. Fredrik moved faster. He passed between trees. "Tomas?.." No answer. Suddenly Sofia ran out from another side. "Not here!" she said laughing and ran away again. Fredrik couldn't catch her. He was alone now. The laughter sounded farther away. "Hey... seriously, where are you?" No answer. Only echoes of earlier laughter, as if trapped between the trees. Fredrik slowed down. "Mark?.." Silence. "Tomas?.." Still nothing. He stopped. Then quietly he said: "Sofia?.." Nothing. Only himself. And suddenly he realized - the game had stopped being a game. Fredrik froze. It had been a game before. Now something had changed. He slowly looked back. The path was gone. He couldn't understand where he had come from. "This is not a joke..." he whispered. His voice came out weaker than expected. He stepped forward. Then another step. The forest was silent. Too silent. Even the wind had stopped. "Mark?.." His voice hit the trees and vanished immediately. No answer. Darkness was growing. Fredrik felt it slowly - first the light between the trees disappeared, then even the path became unclear. Everything turned into a dark, uniform shade. Crows cried again. "Craa... craa..." The sound came from everywhere. He looked up. Black shapes circled above the trees, wings beating fast and restless. An owl called out too - long and stretched. Fredrik went silent. His heart began to beat faster. He looked back. No one. He looked forward. There was a darker space between the trees. It looked different from the rest - as if it wasn't empty. He slowly stepped closer. And then he saw it. A black shape. Floating in the air. Not touching anything. Its form was unclear - like smoke, but not moving. Fredrik froze. He couldn't move. His breathing became heavy. "What is this..." he whispered. The black shape didn't move. But he felt it - as if it was looking back. Then a voice came from behind. Low, calm, strangely familiar. "Don't be afraid..." Fredrik turned instantly. No one was there. He looked forward again. The black shape was still there. He stepped back. Then another step. He wanted to run, but didn't know where. Because the path was gone. Only trees. And silence. And the black thing. Suddenly Fredrik screamed at the top of his voice: "SOFIA!"