The woman's face, though still familiar, was now etched with the deep marks of time—wrinkles lined her forehead and eyes.
Despite the fact that she was only thirty years old.
Her complexion was pallid and haggard, as if years of hard labor had drained all the vitality from her.
There was a hint of weariness in her gaze, yet she still looked at Raphael with that same gentle smile, lips slightly upturned in a way that brought back a flood of memories.
"Raphael, why haven't you come home yet? Your brothers and sisters are already back, and the food is getting cold."
Her voice was as tender as ever, though now tinged with a slight rasp.
Young Raphael stood frozen, a sudden wave of panic washing over him.
He knew this was an illusion, a fabrication, but seeing his mother's face made all his rationality crumble in an instant.
"This isn't real..."
He muttered under his breath, trying to force himself to remain calm.
But the familiar voice and surroundings pulled him into a deep struggle, one filled with pain.
He knew he had to break free of this illusion and return to reality.
Yet at this moment, he found himself wavering.
Everything before him felt so real—the sound of his mother's voice, even the scent in the air
It all matched his memories perfectly.
What tore at his heart the most was the appearance of the figures behind his mother: his three brothers and two sisters.
Raphael's breathing quickened, and his heart filled with dread.
"Raphael, come here."
Young Raphael felt dazed, seeing his eldest brother, the person he knew so well from his memories.
His brother's skin was tanned dark, with rough traces left by the sea breeze and saltwater, evidence of his many years spent at sea fishing with their father.
His hands were thickly calloused, a testament to his labor, and still as strong as Raphael remembered.
His brother's eyes gleamed with a hint of playfulness, just as when he used to drag Raphael to the beach, where they would frolic and play on the sands.
"Hurry up, Raphael, Mom's waiting for you to eat!"
His brother's tone was relaxed.
"I..."
Raphael's voice trembled as he responded quietly.
Young Raphael's body moved without his consent, stepping forward, his heart pounding fiercely as if each step was drawing him closer to his past self.
"I'm really back..."
He whispered, tears welling up in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks uncontrollably.
He could no longer distinguish whether this was the enemy's illusion or the truest desire buried deep within his heart.
Young Raphael entered the house, and the scene before him immediately filled his vision. It was the same broken-down home from his memories.
The rickety wooden door creaked softly, and the plaster on the walls had chipped away in many places, revealing the worn wood beneath.
Sunlight peeked through the gaps in the roof in some spots.
This home was small, and the cramped space was saturated with the feeling of life.
In one room, the six children had always shared a single wooden bed.
The bed's frame creaked under the weight of time, but it was the only place they had to rest.
The quilt was old and worn, but it was the only blanket the entire family had.
The table was a dilapidated wooden one, with legs so crooked from years of use that their mother had carefully propped it up with a stone to keep it from toppling over.
The food on the table was meager: a dried salted fish that had grown tough and hard, with barely any flesh left on its bones.
Next to it was a bowl of wilted vegetable soup, the liquid murky, with only a few fragments of green leaves floating in it—there wasn't a trace of meat.
Their mother wasn't seated; instead, she stood by the table, smiling gently as she watched her six children eat.
Her face was etched with wrinkles, her weathered hands hanging at her sides, covered in callouses and cracked skin.
"Go ahead and eat, I'm not hungry," she said softly.
The siblings all bowed their heads, quietly eating the meager food before them.
No one complained, and no one said much at all.
They were used to days like these.
Though the food was sparse, it was everything their mother and father had worked hard to provide.
Their mother always went without, watching her children eat their fill before retreating to the kitchen to nibble on whatever scraps were left.
Just as young Raphael was about to offer his portion of the fish to his mother, the creaky wooden door suddenly swung open with a groan.
A middle-aged man with weathered skin and a face full of wrinkles entered, his body clad in nothing but a thin shirt, carrying the scent of the sea.
His hands were still smeared with fish scales, evidence that he had just returned from working outside.
The man's brow was furrowed, and his face was drawn with fatigue.
"I paid the taxes, but we were still short, so I took the dried fish from outside to cover part of it."
His voice was low and hoarse, his eyes filled with weariness.
"They've raised the taxes again."
He spoke with a sense of defeat, then moved to a corner of the room, sitting down heavily, covering his face with his hands. His entire posture radiated exhaustion.
In young Raphael's memories, his father was always coming and going at odd hours, never having much time to spend with the children.
He would leave for fishing trips at dawn and wouldn't return until after dark, always carrying the scent of salt and fish with him.
He was the family's pillar, but the crushing weight of life had rendered him increasingly silent.
Their mother's face paled as she listened to him, her hands trembling as despair filled her eyes.
In the next moment, she rushed forward, grabbing her husband by the collar, her voice shaking with rage.
"How could you do this! Those dried fish were for sale! That money was for the children, we have nothing left!"
With that, her hand struck across his face, the sound of the slap echoing through the small, cramped room.
"Don't you understand, we have no more food!"
Her voice broke as she collapsed into sobs, her anguish spilling out, tears streaming down her face uncontrollably.
Life had already driven their mother to the brink, and now, the loss of those dried fish had shattered her final hope.
Their father stood stunned by the slap, then bowed his head, silently bearing her accusations.
His broad shoulders trembled slightly, and his hands hung limp at his sides.
This man who had once stood unyielding against the storms of the sea now appeared utterly helpless before his wife.
The children kept their heads down, continuing to eat in silence, as if they were used to the heavy atmosphere.
No one spoke a word.
"Those fish were our last hope..."
Their mother's voice broke again, tears dropping to the floor as she knelt, burying her face in her hands and weeping.
Seeing their mother's breakdown, the eldest brother's face hardened with resolve.
He quickly exchanged a glance with the second brother.
Without a word, the eldest brother approached their father, speaking quickly with determination.
"Father, the sun hasn't set yet.
Let's head out to sea again, maybe we can catch something to make up for today's loss."
Their father looked up at him, his eyes filled with exhaustion, but after a long pause, he nodded.
The second brother, understanding his elder brother's intentions, immediately got to his feet and began preparing the fishing gear.
In no time, the three were ready to head back out.
But just as they reached the door, young Raphael rushed forward, arms outstretched, blocking the rickety wooden entrance with all his might.
"Raphael, stop messing around.
Move aside," the eldest brother urged, his tone anxious.
But Raphael wouldn't budge.
His eyes were wide with fear and despair.
He knew that if his father and brothers went out to sea today, they would never return.
"You can't go!"
Raphael cried, his voice shaking.
"If you go, you won't come back!"
His eyes were filled with pleading and terror as he clung to the doorframe, his small body trembling violently.
Their mother, still standing off to the side, frowned at Raphael, puzzled by his sudden outburst.
The eldest brother sighed, stepping forward to gently pry Raphael's hands away.
"Don't be afraid, Raphael.
We'll be back soon, and tomorrow, we'll have food."
"You won't come back!"
Raphael's voice cracked, hoarse from shouting. His eyes were bloodshot, and silent tears streamed down his face.
"Please, don't go...
I'm begging you..."
The eldest and second brothers exchanged a troubled look, but their father remained firm.
He stepped forward, roughly pushing Raphael aside.
"Stop causing trouble.
A man has to take responsibility for his family!"
Raphael was shoved to the ground, watching helplessly as his father and brothers left the house.
"No!"
Raphael scrambled to his feet, reaching out desperately, but their figures grew smaller and smaller until they vanished from sight.
His heart twisted painfully in his chest.
He knew it was all an illusion.
Yet the overwhelming sense of helplessness, pain, and regret flooded him like a tidal wave.
He knelt on the illusory ground, fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, consumed by guilt.