Nathan leaned against the wall of the building, his eyes scanning the surrounding area as the city began to stir to life. Aurora sat on the edge of the street, squinting at the bright sky, savoring a moment of calm after a long night.
Christopher Kay glanced at them for a moment—silent, as if weighing whether they were truly worthy of knowing. Morning fog still cloaked the road ahead, while the electric lamps flickered off one by one, leaving behind only dim, natural light.
"I did not come to introduce myself," he finally spoke, his voice calm yet holding something more than mere goodwill. "I came to warn you."
Nathan stepped forward, eyes still sharp.
"A warning about what?"
Christopher did not answer immediately. He looked briefly toward the end of the street, where light had begun to brighten, then turned back to face them.
"You're being watched. Not by humans… but by something older than this city. Something that has awakened from a long sleep."
He stepped closer, his voice deepening, almost a whisper.
"I came… because you are part of what will happen next. Whether you want it or not, you're already involved."
Aurora straightened her posture, her face composed.
"Involved… in what?"
Christopher stared at both of them, and for a moment—whether because of the light or an illusion—his eyes seemed to glow faintly.
"In the first fracture between this world… and another."
Aurora let the words hang while Nathan reacted, his eyebrows raised.
"Involved… in what do you mean?" His gaze pierced into him. Christopher met that look with a smile.
"Secret," he replied curtly.
After hearing that, Nathan returned to lean against the building's wall, not letting the words sink in. He gave Christopher space, who remained standing alone, staring at something beyond them.
Seeing they didn't believe him, Christopher eventually left them. Aurora approached and tried to ask what they had just talked about.
Nathan flatly refused to answer.
"He's just a charlatan," he said. Then he stood and resumed searching for their missing friend.
The sky darkened as if reflecting the anxiety that weighed on their hearts. They walked the city sidewalks dampened by a fine drizzle, asking passersby if they had seen Lucian. Their steps were quick yet cautious, hoping every corner would yield an answer.
The city bustled, yet silence pressed upon the tension of the search. The chiming of shop bells and distant traffic became a faint backdrop to a single question: Where is Lucian?
Finally, outside a small corner grocery shop, they saw a familiar figure. Lucian stood before a spice‑tea stall. He looked worn, but calmer than before. He held a few simple purchases—bread, milk, and a box of tea.
When they called his name, Lucian turned slowly. His expression blank at first, it shifted into a mix of relief and slight embarrassment. He didn't run away—he exhaled and whispered, "I just needed a moment."
They exchanged few words. They simply looked at each other, then moved closer, sharing warmth through presence alone. Amid the city's unceasing movement, they stood in a silence filled with understanding. Lucian had been found—not just physically, but slowly, he began to find himself again.
There was something strange that day. The wind blew cold, carrying the scent of rain and something unexplainable—like damp earth mixed with old dust. In the midst of the unusual bustle—faint merchants' calls, hurried steps, and indistinct whispers—they noticed a figure standing alone before the spice‑tea stall.
Lucian.
He stood with his back to them, half hidden behind shelves of spices and withered leaves that swayed gently. His shoulders sagged slightly, as though bearing an invisible weight. He clutched a small shopping bag, but his eyes were empty, gazing into something they couldn't see.
As they approached, the noise around them seemed to fade, as if the city held its breath. Lucian slowly turned his head, and for a moment, his look felt alien. In his eyes there was something—an amalgamation of loss, the stirrings of new awareness, and something deeper… perhaps a secret he had not yet voiced.
"I just… need quiet," he whispered softly, almost drowned out by the surrounding world returning to motion.
No one asked questions. No one pressed. Because in that moment, they knew—Lucian had seen or felt something that changed him. And perhaps… they would soon be drawn into it too.
"A little joke can calm me," he offered, but the mood and attitude he displayed was a lie he had just created.
Of course, that statement left them both bewildered and questioning what had really happened.
"What! I don't understand what you mean," Nathan murmured softly, astonished by Lucian's words.
At that moment, Lucian's gaze flicked to something. His hand pointed toward the food stall as if to show them something.
They turned and saw a small child, wearing shabby, slightly oversized clothes, eating inside the food stall.
When they looked, a smile formed on Lucian's face. Watching a small child devouring a piece of bread with happy delight sent a tremor through his heart.
They finally understood his meaning. But curiosity lingered about his strange behavior. So they began to ask again.
"Why did you act weird earlier?" Nathan asked sharply, eyes fixed on Lucian, hoping for an answer.
…
Lucian paused.
In the corner of a dilapidated building, barely fit to be called a house, sat a small child. The child was thin, clothes tattered and oversized as if inherited from a time too long past. His face showed no tears, no pleas, no fear. He simply stared at a small flame inside an old tin can with empty eyes—mature, calm, and silent.
Lucian froze. Time seemed to slow; the noises of the market and crowd became a distant, blurry backdrop. He stared at the child, trying to understand, refusing to accept the reality before him.
The child was alone.
But it wasn't loneliness or the child's suffering that made Lucian's chest tighten. It was the expression—that too familiar acceptance—too adult for such a small face.
Lucian felt he was looking at himself, in a past he had buried deep. And in an instant, he realized: suffering isn't the worst pain. The worst is when someone stops fighting and begins to accept that suffering as normal.
Lucian stood silent, his steps halted in the narrow alley's end. There, a small child sat cross‑legged on cold stone, hugging his knees. His eyes empty yet peaceful, as if having silently made peace with solitude long ago. No one around him. No crying sounds, only the hanging silence.
Lucian's face hardened, then softened. A subtle tremor in his jaw. His gaze fell upon a piece of moldy bread in the child's hand—a meal too silent for any human.
He approached cautiously, and asked softly, "Are you alone here?"
The child nodded faintly, then answered flatly, "I'm used to it."
Lucian inhaled deeply, his breath heavy. Something in his chest was nameless—anger, and a sort of shame toward a world that allowed this to happen.
He knelt slowly, looking at the child without a smile.
"No one should become used to loneliness like this…"
Lucian's voice was barely audible, as if speaking to himself. His eyes never left the child, but in the silence, he knew—this was a mirror of a past he hadn't realized still haunted him.
…
Recalling that moment, Lucian could only offer a small smile. That smile made Nathan inexplicably uneasy.
Nathan suddenly realized and began to grasp what was in Lucian's mind.
He glanced at Aurora, who was leaning against the wall of the tea shop, her hand holding the hood of her cloak, gaze fixed on the wooden façade as though unwilling to see something.
Nathan suddenly asked an odd question.
"Earlier, when Aurora and I searched for you… we couldn't find you, so eventually we gave up."
"What? Search for me? For what?" Lucian cut in quickly, his tone laced with cynicism.
Nathan frowned immediately. His expression betrayed frustration.
"Hush, listen to the story first, okay?"
He took a breath before continuing,
"Well, at that moment… a man appeared. He wore a neat shirt, complete with a hat. He said something strange, and—"
"Ohh… that man. His name is Christopher Kay, right?" Lucian interjected calmly.
Nathan turned sharply, eyes widening. His expression was a mix of shock and suspicion.
"What! How did you…?"