"Jumanji… Jumanji! The sheep and goats are heading toward the slope—don't let them out of your sight!"
The voice rose loudly from afar, piercing the quiet of the green meadows. Its owner was a man in his thirties, wearing long gray clothes that matched the morning mist, standing and watching the horizon with experienced eyes.
Responding to his father's call, a young boy, no older than ten, ran across the dewy grass, accompanied by his constant companion—a red dog that leapt joyfully as if it understood the task assigned to them. The boy shouted, panting with a natural smile: "Don't worry, Dad! I'm going after them! I'll be a little late today, so don't wait for me at lunch, I'll manage!"
Jumanji wore a wide circular bamboo hat resembling a large plate that protected him from the sun, and loose green clothes, wrinkled from constant movement. In his hand, he held a small stick, lightly shaking it to guide his herd.
Meanwhile, another man approached, leading a group of sheep. He stood beside Jumanji's father and looked at the boy with admiration: "He's truly energetic… no wonder he's your son, he carries your spirited nature."
Jumanji's father quietly laughed and shook his head: "He loves what he does, my friend. Whoever loves their work never knows fatigue… that's why he's as lively as a gazelle."
The other man watched Jumanji's figure disappear behind the hill and murmured with a smile: "Truly… like father, like son."
The two men fell silent for a moment, observing nature, before Jumanji's father asked: "And where is your daughter? Won't she come out to the pasture today as usual?"
The man shook his head gently: "Yes, she's coming. She just needs a little time to gather her things. You know how girls are."
"I'm here, Dad!" A soft, delicate voice came from behind the men, like the ringing of a small bell. A young girl of ten, whose beauty was captivating; her wide sparkling eyes reflected the clarity of the sky, and her jet-black hair flowed over her shoulders like silk. She wore a simple green dress adorned with bright yellow ribbons and held a wooden stick in her hand, as if a fairy had stepped out from the heart of these hills.
Her father looked at her with affection: "Take care of yourself, my daughter, and don't wander too far."
The girl turned, distributing a broad smile that lit up her face, then whispered slowly and confidently: "Don't worry, Dad… I'm not as small as you think."
The man smiled as he watched his daughter follow Jumanji, speaking with a tone of gentle emotion: "They grow up so fast, my friend… faster than we realize."
The other man nodded, his eyes fixed on the horizon: "You're right. Years pass like the wind, leaving their mark on the land and nothing for us but memories."
The village where the two men stood was a work of art beyond the reach of any brush. Nestled in the embrace of rolling green hills, it looked like a velvet bed woven from wild dewy grass, exuding the scent of life.
Its small wooden houses, with slanted thatched roofs worn at the edges by time, seemed to grow from the earth itself, scattered quietly among the shadows of towering trees whispering ancient secrets known only to those rooted in silence.
Narrow dirt paths gently cut through the grass, connecting the houses and simple barn fences, where the fragrance of mountain flowers mixed with the earthy smell of dew. Light spilled over the place in a regal quiet, covering the hills with a transparent golden veil and granting the horizon a soothing expanse, where only a thin line of mist separated earth from sky, caressing distant hilltops. Everything here suggested stability; the calm was not absolute silence but a hidden symphony of nature's pulse, where branches swayed rhythmically, and houses rested in their places as if guardians of endless tranquility.
In the heart of the village, houses were decorated with ribbons of various bright colors. People moved to and fro, joy radiating from their eyes as if a great celebration was about to arrive, laughter echoing in every corner, chasing away any shadow of mystery.
Meanwhile, Jumanji sat with several children of his age, including the beautiful girl. He removed his round hat and placed it in front of him, revealing his blond hair that shimmered in the sunlight, while the breeze caressed his calm green eyes. He sat with composure and looked at an old man sitting before them, just like the other children.
The old man raised his gnarled hands and spoke with a voice carrying the dignity of years: "So, children, what would you like to hear now?"
Jumanji jumped from his seat excitedly: "Grandpa! I heard you've been to the outside world before… what's it like? Is it as wonderful as they say?"
In this village, the title "grandpa" was not necessarily a blood relation but a title children gave to every elder, out of respect for their wisdom.
The old man squinted, as if trying to retrieve faint images from his memory, then smiled slightly and said seriously: "Alright, I'll tell you… but you must promise me: never to ask about the outside world again, and never think about going there."
The children were overwhelmed with curiosity, wondering why the warning, yet they all solemnly promised the old man to follow his words.
He looked at their innocent faces, noticing the eager expressions. The old man began to recount his journey, and with each word, the children's amazement grew, as if their grandpa was weaving tales of pure fantasy.
When he finished, the little girl asked softly: "Is that true, Grandpa? Can people really fly?"
The old man replied with sunken eyes: "Yes… I heard of it too and didn't believe it, but one day, I saw a person clearly soaring in the sky, though for only a few moments, yet I saw him defy the laws of the earth."
Jumanji exclaimed excitedly: "People flying… and lifting mountains with a single finger! This is amazing, Grandpa, unbelievable!"
The old man played with a straw between his teeth and said solemnly: "Know that I've never seen anyone lift a mountain with a finger, but I've heard of countless wonders beyond description. At first, I doubted, but after seeing that flying man, I convinced myself that everything they say out there might be true."
The old man paused for a moment, then continued in a low voice: "There's one thing I will never believe… they claim they can revive the dead… that's impossible; death is a truth that cannot be escaped."
One child murmured: "Reviving someone who's dead? That's crazy… if it were possible, death would have visited no one."
The girl asked slowly, observing the old man: "Grandpa… why forbid us from going out if the world is so fun, with flying and beautiful things?"
He looked at her, his gentle smile never leaving his face: "My little one… despite all their power and wonders, they are not like us… their hearts are not pure like the people of this village… sorrow and hatred feed their souls."
The children frowned in confusion, and Jumanji asked curiously: "What is sorrow? And what is hatred, Grandpa?"
The man smiled subtly: "You don't need to know… it's a bad feeling that eats the soul. Had I not ventured out seeking medicine for my sick brother, I would never have thought of leaving. Our village is unique in this world; here, we live a simple life freely, without regret."
"Regret? What is regret?" asked another child innocently.
The old man laughed loudly, shaking his chest: "Nothing… nothing! Any more questions?"
They continued talking for a while before their conversation was interrupted by a man in his forties arriving on a horse, pulling a small cart loaded with rough sacks.
Jumanji quickly stood up, a smile breaking across his face: "Time for farming!" He ran toward the cart, followed by the other children, while the old man leaned against the shady tree behind him, closing his eyes in quiet enjoyment.
Each child carried two sacks: one for food and another filled with seeds for planting. Jumanji and the girl headed to a spot slightly away from the pasture they had been in. Vast open spaces stretched before them, resembling a savannah scattered with large trees and grazing goats.
They arrived at the bank of a large, clear river, beside which were two adjacent large vegetable pens, full of crops still growing.
Jumanji looked at the girl and gently said: "Shall I help you plow your field first, and then you help me, so we finish quickly?"
The girl nodded: "Alright… I help you, you help me."
Jumanji agreed silently.
They grabbed their farming tools and began working. Despite their young age, this toil ran in their veins—they loved the feel of the soil and the scent of the mud, so work felt like play.
After hours of exhausting labor, Jumanji sat by the river, watching the fish swim peacefully in the clear water, listening to the symphony of flowing water. He washed his face and drank from the fresh river, then remained silent, observing the fluid life beneath the surface. The girl joined him, sitting quietly beside him; a long silence ensued, broken only by her voice.
She suddenly asked: "Are you going to that place today too?"
Jumanji leaned back, hands behind his head, smiling: "Yes." Then teased: "Are you curious to know where I go, 'Mayeromi'?"
Mayeromi looked at the sunbeams slipping through the branches and whispered: "It's your secret… I don't want to know as long as you don't want to tell anyone."
Jumanji closed his eyes and spoke calmly: "I'll tell you someday, not because you asked, but because I want to."
Mayeromi nodded silently, and they enjoyed together the summer breeze stirring the green branches.
When the sun reached its peak, Jumanji rose, took his food bag, and started making his way through the dense trees. Mayeromi watched him until he disappeared but did not follow.
The boy continued walking until he reached a dense wall covered entirely with plants. He pushed the vegetation aside, revealing the entrance to a small cave. He looked right and left to ensure the place was empty, then entered.
"Tap… tap… tap…"
The echo of his footsteps resonated through the narrow corridor, and within seconds, a wide space plunged in darkness opened before him. Jumanji lit a small lantern placed on a rocky ledge, and light burst forth, revealing the cave's features. He looked toward a figure lying on a flat slab resembling a bed. The person appeared to be around fourteen, with long coal-black hair, dressed entirely in black, a red blood-colored ribbon wrapped around his abdomen. His eyes were open, dark as night, vast as a black hole.
Despite Jumanji's arrival, the figure remained motionless, like a statue carved from cave rock.
Jumanji placed food beside him and whispered with a smile: "Still don't want to eat?"
No response came, not even a blink. Jumanji sat and ate half of his portion while keeping his eyes on the mysterious boy. He finished and left the other half beside the figure, then carried yesterday's untouched food and quietly left. He had been repeating this routine day after day for a long time, almost forgetting when it began.
Days and years passed, monotonous yet beautiful. Jumanji continued his routine: tending the sheep, planting seeds, and silently visiting the cave. The children grew, and Jumanji and Mayeromi reached the age of fourteen. That year, according to village custom, they married, joined by childhood friends, in an atmosphere of continuous joy.
A year after their marriage, a large group of men, including Jumanji, carried a simple wooden coffin. Yet astonishingly, their faces bore not a trace of sorrow or pain; only pure smiles.
They were burying the old man who once told them about the outside world. To them, he had not died but completed his journey peacefully, living happily and departing to a better place, his heart untouched by hatred or resentment.
After the funeral, while returning, they saw a ten-year-old boy running toward them at full speed, waving and shouting joyfully: "Brother Jumanji! Brother Jumanji! Hurry… hurry!"
Jumanji stopped, his heart racing: "What is it?"
The boy caught his breath: "Hurry, brother… Sister Mayeromi is giving birth now!"
Jumanji didn't wait to hear more and ran with all his might toward his home, full of excitement. Just moments ago they were saying farewell to a soul, now welcoming a new one.
Sounds of joy and ululation reached him before he entered the house. He found it filled with village women, happiness radiating from their faces as if each were a mother.
Jumanji approached his wife Mayeromi, kissed her forehead, and asked eagerly: "Are you alright?"
Mayeromi nodded, smiling tiredly but brightly, pointing with her eyes to a bamboo basket beside her.
Suddenly, a sharp cry rose: "Waaah… waaah…"
Jumanji approached slowly, expecting a single cry—but there were two! Looking into the basket, he saw twins, a boy and a girl, screaming loudly to announce their arrival into this world.
Jumanji's mother, a woman in her late thirties, placed her hand on his shoulder, saying: "Congratulations, my son… you've been blessed with twins, a boy and a girl like the moon."
Jumanji could not contain himself; he raised his mother's hands and kissed them warmly, then hugged her tightly, tears streaming from her eyes in joy for her son.
---
Years passed like drifting clouds. By then, Jumanji, now twenty, sat at the edge of the field, watching his young son struggling to carry a stick larger than his body.
"Dad! Look! I'm like you!"
The stick was too heavy, and the boy fell to the ground, laughing instead of crying.
Jumanji approached, sat before him, and placed his large hand on his son's head. "Not yet… but you'll be better than me when you grow up."
The boy lifted his innocent eyes and said confidently: "When I grow up, I'll protect Mom and my sister!"
Jumanji chuckled softly for a moment: "That's what I want you to do when I'm not around…"
His daughter, however, was calmer. She sat near the river, imitating her mother washing clothes, water reaching her knees.
Jumanji approached jokingly: "Have you become the lady of the house?"
She lifted her little face to him: "I'll take care of you when you grow old."
He laughed… feeling something soften within. The warmth of fatherhood filled his heart. He sat behind her, wrapping his arms around her, helping with wringing the cloth as she laughed at the splashing water.
---
One night, after the children had gone to sleep, Jumanji sat outside the house, looking at the sky.
Mayeromi sat beside him silently.
He said quietly: "Do you think the world outside our village is as beautiful as Grandpa told us that day?"
She answered without looking at him: "If it's far from us… it's not more beautiful than what we have."
He looked at her…
and smiled.
"As long as you're here… I don't want anything else."
She rested her head on his shoulder.
Nothing more was needed.
Early the next morning, mist flowed between the houses, dew clinging to the grass like silent tears.
Jumanji walked holding his young son's hand, while Mayeromi carried the daughter in her arms. He looked at them as if they were the most precious thing he possessed in this world.
He smiled, saying: "Today I'll teach you how to lead the herd, hero."
But before he could take another step—
"Jumanji…"
It was his mother's voice.
It was no ordinary call.
He turned immediately.
He saw her face… pale, rigid, as if the blood had suddenly drained.
He said quickly: "What is it?"
She did not answer immediately.
She only whispered:
"Your father…"
His heart froze.
He handed the child to Mayeromi and rushed into the house.
His father lay on the ground, breathing with difficulty.
His face was red, veins strangely prominent.
Jumanji knelt beside him: "Dad? What's wrong?"
No response came.
His mother approached with a trembling hand, lifting the hem of her husband's trousers.
The air froze.
His ankle skin was no longer skin.
It looked like a tight waxy layer, perforated with tiny, dense holes…
like delicate honeycomb cells.
And from within those holes…
thick black fluid was oozing.
Jumanji stepped back unconsciously.
"What is this…?"
Then she lifted his shirt.
His chest…
the same.
Waxy skin.
Tightly packed holes.
Black fluid pulsing slowly from inside…
as if alive.
His father opened his eyes with difficulty.
He looked at Jumanji.
And for the first time in his life…
he saw fear in his father's eyes.
**End of Chapter One.**