The sky stretched like a living painting, an infinite canvas of delicate blue that vanished into the horizon. Clouds tinted in soft hues of pink, orange, and white floated like ethereal brushstrokes, decorating the firmament with a beauty suspended between dream and reality. That heavenly splendor did not end there: its reflection trembled on the surface of the sea, amplifying its majesty with each wave that whispered beneath the sunlight.
Amid that aerial paradise, drifting through the atmosphere like a relic of the past, floated a weathered yellow hot air balloon. Its silhouette stood firm against the warm tones of the sky, like a stubborn memory refusing to fade. Despite the evident wear in its fabric, it still gleamed with a persistent light, as if guarding a purpose yet to be revealed.
(The image slowly zooms in on the balloon.)
The hanging basket, made of aged wicker and ropes that creaked with every movement, held an unmoving figure. A girl lay resting there, curled on one side. She wore a yellow raincoat, the hood covering her face completely. Her yellow boots were calmly crossed. A pair of dark blue pants completed the outfit, balancing out her small, sleeping frame.
Only one detail betrayed her anonymity: a brown braid gently peeked out from under the hood, falling softly to one side. At its tip, a red bow stood out like a fallen petal—vibrant and full of life. The girl slept deeply, clutching a worn notebook in both hands. The faded letters on its cover could still be read with some effort: "Five's Diary."
Thus, without showing her face, the girl's name was silently revealed: Five.
Beside her, an oversized backpack rested in the basket. It was nearly as large as she was, hinting that in this world, everything seemed built much larger than her.
A gentle breeze began to stir at that height. At first, it was only a whisper—a light brush against the balloon's fabric. But the whisper turned into wind, and the wind into force. The balloon, which until then had drifted peacefully, began to move with increasing speed toward the northwest, as if an invisible hand was dragging it toward its fate.
The sudden motion jolted the backpack. One of its items slowly slid to the edge… and then fell with a light bounce: a shoe. The impact was precise. It struck Five's forehead with enough force to sink her further into unconsciousness. She made no sound—only a slight twitch ran through her sleeping body.
The balloon did not stop. Carried by the wind, it was dragged toward a silhouette cut against the horizon: a tall and narrow mansion, perched on a cliff rising above the ocean. Its gray walls and sharp rooftops defied the sea, resisting the passage of time like an unhealed scar.
The impact was inevitable.
The balloon crashed violently into the mansion's roof, tearing through the sky's silence. Five was hurled from the basket. Her yellow raincoat slipped from her body, fluttering away like a broken butterfly and vanishing into some dark corner of the attic. Her body hit the floor with force, amidst dust and splintered wood. In the distance, her backpack landed with a loud thud, rolling until it came to rest in a corner.
Darkness swallowed everything.
In her mind, Five's dream had turned into a nightmare. She was running endlessly through an infinite forest, chased by a faceless shadow. Her feet burned with every step, and fear kept her moving. She couldn't stop. She knew that if she did, that thing would catch her.
Through the fog of her vision, a cabin appeared. She rushed toward it without thinking. She shut the door, crawled inside… but peace was an illusion. The shadow seeped in through the cracks, stalking her from every dark corner.
Five collapsed to her knees, covering her face.
A thin stream of blood ran from her left eye.
And then she woke up.
A nearby whimper pulled her out of the abyss. She opened her eyes with a start, her body trembling as she fell again—this time next to a small creature: a gnome, writhing in pain.
Gnome 7: Mmm…
A soft whimper, barely a pained whisper.
Five: Ah! I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean—
Her voice trembled as she reached a hand toward him, but didn't touch him. From the shadows, six small figures emerged swiftly. They approached in silence, surrounded the injured one, and gently lifted him up. Without looking at Five, they vanished again into the darkness.
Five: I just wanted to say I'm sorry… and help…
Her words were lost among the attic's sighs. No one replied. Only the echo.
She tried to get up, but her legs gave out. A burning sting surged through her body. When she touched her head, she felt warm blood trailing down. A wound. She crawled until she reached a discarded stick and used it as an improvised cane.
With effort, she stood.
She moved slowly, each step a battle. It wasn't just the physical pain—it was guilt, remorse. The weight of her mistake sat heavy on her chest like a stone that refused to move.
She reached her backpack. Just before opening it, something caught her eye: a shard of broken mirror. She leaned down, picked it up, and saw her reflection.
She was a mess.
Dusty hair covered her face. Without her raincoat, her wrinkled, stained white blouse revealed a pink flower at the center.
Five: Sigh… I'm a complete mess.
Her voice cracked with a touch of sorrow. She sat on the floor, pulled out a brush, and began combing her hair slowly. Each stroke untangled more than just knots; it was a small act of rebuilding. When she finished, she carefully redid her braid. She tied the red bow at the end, like an anchor of identity in the midst of chaos.
She straightened her blouse with her hands, seeking some dignity among the creases.
Then, she turned on a flashlight.
The beam cut through the suspended dust. The attic trembled with a new silence.
She searched. For long minutes, she explored every dark corner, unable to find her raincoat. Frustrated, she returned to her spot and sat down, hugging the flashlight.
Then came the footsteps.
Soft. Slow. Real.
She lifted her head.
Seven shadows emerged from the back of the attic. It was them. The gnomes. And the last one, bandaged, walked cautiously—but upright.
Five: You're okay…!
She stood up with excitement, but her legs gave out again. She collapsed with a soft groan.
The gnomes ran to her. Even the injured one.
They helped her sit up. Surrounded her with tenderness.
Five: Thank you…
Her voice was a warm whisper. She looked at the seventh gnome.
Five: I'm glad you're okay…
He nodded silently. Nothing more was needed. In that gesture, there was forgiveness.
And a new beginning.
The silence grew dense, almost heavy, as if time itself were holding its breath. Five, sitting on the floor with the flashlight resting on her lap, began to notice something unusual. A presence. A sensation.
She slowly raised her gaze.
The seven gnomes were watching her. Not with judgment, nor anger. Just a soft, persistent curiosity, as if they were trying to decipher the whirlwind of emotions hidden behind her golden eyes.
Shame wrapped around her instantly. She lowered her gaze with shyness, letting her hair fall forward and partially cover her face once again.
She said nothing.
And yet, she didn't need to.
Without warning, one of the gnomes stepped toward her. Then another. And another. Within seconds, all seven were gathered around her. That was when something happened that Five didn't expect.
They embraced her.
Small, warm, trembling hands wrapped around her in a pure gesture. There was no reproach in their movements, only comfort. Despite the pain, the accident, the mistakes… they embraced her.
Five blinked. Her breathing grew unsteady. But slowly, still blushing, still with guilt knotted in her chest, she returned the embrace gently. She closed her eyes for just a moment and allowed that moment, however brief, to touch her deeply.
When the hug ended, the gnomes stepped back with light steps. One of them firmly took her left hand, another held her wrist, as if to make sure she wouldn't slip away. Three more approached from the side, and with solemn care, they placed the improvised cane into her right hand, gently closing her fingers around the worn wood.
Five barely had time to react.
They began to lift her, with flawless coordination, as if they had done it many times before.
Five: What's happening…?
Her voice was a confused whisper.
The gnomes didn't reply with words. But their intention was clear: they were supporting her gently, guiding her with purpose.
Five: Are you trying to take me somewhere…?
The little beings didn't nod or speak, but their movements were steady. One of them—the one who had seemed to lead the embrace—turned and began walking toward a deeper section of the attic. The others followed, and Five, held between the cane and tiny hands, took her first step without truly knowing where they were taking her.
The flashlight still lit the dusty air, tracing golden lines that danced over the aged floor. The gnomes' shadows stretched long, and the sound of their steps creaked rhythmically over the wooden boards.
And though uncertainty pulsed in her chest… something in that silent march gave her an odd sense of trust.
As if, for the first time in a long while, she wasn't walking alone.
As the tiny gnomes guided Five through the forgotten corners of the attic, her trembling steps echoed like muffled whispers on the ancient wooden floor. The flashlight in her hand cast long, flickering shadows. But despite the setting, her mind slowly began to drift away from the present. Something about the way the gnomes cared for her, the way they surrounded her, stirred a distant memory. A moment lost in time… like a flame reigniting through the smoke.
And then, she remembered.
{FLASHBACK}
The air smelled of stale incense and damp stone. The walls of the orphanage, blackened by time, rose like the remnants of a forgotten cathedral. More than a refuge, that place was a prison disguised as faith. In the middle of a dark hallway, a girl barely eight years old ran with all her might. Her bare feet pounded against the cold stone tiles, leaving trails of dust and desperation behind.
She wore a white tunic that fluttered behind her like a flag of escape. Her brown hair, tied in a braid on the left side, ended in a red bow that quivered with each stride.
That girl… was Five.
Behind her, an ominous sound thundered like a war drum. Footsteps. Gigantic. Inhuman. A guttural, distorted scream ripped through the air.
Nun: "Come back, little one! Your soul belongs to the Almighty!"
But Five didn't stop.
She turned a corner and spotted a shattered stained-glass window. The image of a decapitated saint seemed to watch her through the broken glass. She knew what lay beyond. She had studied it for weeks: a steep hill that led down to the slums. No one went there. They said it was cursed, that even light refused to enter. But right now, anywhere was better than staying.
A roar shook her from the far end of the hall. The nuns had arrived. They weren't human. They were monstrous, deformed beings with dark veils and bloodstained bandages covering their faces. They stood over forty feet tall. They walked slowly but with dreadful intent, as if the very ground surrendered to their steps.
Five didn't think twice. She ran toward the window and, without hesitation, threw herself through it.
The world spun into a spiral.
She tumbled down the hillside, through bushes and over rocks, her arms crossed over her face. Gravity devoured her, and the edges of her vision darkened. She rolled and rolled until, at last, she landed on soft earth.
Silence returned.
The nuns had not followed.
When she opened her eyes, she was covered in dirt and dry leaves. She sat up with difficulty, gasping. In front of her stretched a desolate landscape: the slums. A place without name, without law, without gods.
Five walked.
The days passed like broken dreams. She hid in abandoned houses, ate what she could find, slept under tables or behind wardrobes. Her white clothing turned gray, then brown. Years seemed to compress into weeks. She became a shadow no one saw.
Until one day, while rummaging through piles of rusted junk, she found something unexpected.
A raincoat.
Yellow. Dusty, but nearly intact. She held it in her trembling hands and noticed a crumpled note tucked in the pocket:
Note: "Whoever finds this yellow raincoat can keep it. I'm about to die, so I won't be needing it anymore… Shit, they're outside the house…"
Her eyes locked onto those words. She didn't know who that person was, but she felt as though fate had given her something important.
She put on the raincoat. And for the first time in a long time… she felt warm.
The following months were different. With scraps of fabric, wire, and metal fragments, she began to repair an abandoned hot air balloon she had found among the ruins. It was an old, crumbling structure—hard to believe it could ever fly again. But she made it hers. Day after day, she fixed it, painted it, patched it.
Until finally… it was ready.
She packed a backpack with her few belongings, tied the red bow at the end of her braid, and climbed aboard the balloon.
The world was waiting.
And at last, she decided to go find it.
{END OF FLASHBACK}
The present returned like a breath. The dark attic. The cane in her hand. The gnomes guiding her.
Five blinked, emerging from that distant corner of her mind.