Years passed quietly by the brook.
The cottage remained the same.
The forest whispered the same songs.
The frog statue still sat somewhere inside the house, occasionally shifting places when no one looked.
But the boy changed.
He grew.
Slowly.
Then all at once.
By the time he turned fifteen, the small blind child who once walked carefully along the cottage floor had become a young man.
Tall.
Straight-backed.
Graceful in the way he moved.
His silver hair had grown longer now, soft strands often brushing his shoulders. His skin remained pale and smooth, almost luminous in the sunlight.
And though his eyes could not see—
They were still striking.
Clear crystal blue.
So clear that people often forgot the boy was blind until they noticed the soft white cloth tied across them.
The blindfold had become normal for him.
He wore it every day.
At first it had simply been practical.
Later, the village girls insisted on it.
"Con, don't take it off!"
A group of girls stood near the village well, whispering loudly.
The boy stood beside them with a slightly confused expression.
"But why?" he asked gently.
One of the girls grabbed his arm dramatically.
"Because your eyes are dangerous!"
Another nodded firmly.
"Very dangerous!"
The boy tilted his head.
"…dangerous?"
The girls sighed in unison.
"You wouldn't understand."
"If the noble ladies in the capital see those eyes—"
"They'll kidnap you immediately!"
The boy blinked slowly beneath the blindfold.
"…kidnap?"
"Yes!"
"They'll steal you!"
"And make you marry them!"
The boy turned slightly toward the sound of their voices.
His expression remained polite.
But deeply puzzled.
"I don't think that will happen."
The girls groaned.
"See! He's too innocent!"
One of them tied the blindfold more securely behind his head.
"Just keep it on!"
The boy smiled faintly.
"Alright."
The village liked him.
Very much.
Not just the girls.
Everyone.
The farmers trusted him.
The children followed him around.
Even the village dogs seemed strangely calm whenever he passed.
And the boys his age considered him a close friend.
They sparred together.
Trained together.
Climbed trees near the forest.
Though none of them really understood how the blind boy managed to beat them in nearly every game.
Sword practice especially.
Even though he had never formally trained.
The wooden sword simply moved naturally in his hands.
Balanced.
Precise.
Almost effortless.
One afternoon, the village head watched the boys sparring near the field.
The blind boy disarmed another teenager in three quick movements.
Clean.
Efficient.
The wooden sword fell to the ground.
The other boy groaned.
"How do you keep doing that?!"
The blind boy scratched his head slightly.
"I'm not sure."
The village head crossed his arms thoughtfully.
"…interesting."
That evening, he visited the cottage by the brook.
Harun opened the door slowly.
"Oh."
"You again."
The village head chuckled.
"Good evening, Harun."
They sat outside together while the sun slowly lowered beyond the forest.
Inside the cottage, the boy prepared tea quietly.
The village head cleared his throat.
"Your grandson."
Harun sighed immediately.
"…what about him."
"He should train as a knight."
Harun rubbed his face.
"I knew you'd say something like that."
"He's talented."
"Too talented for this small village."
Harun stared toward the flowing brook.
Silence stretched between them.
"…knights die," Harun muttered.
The village head nodded.
"Yes."
"But they also protect."
Harun didn't answer.
Inside the cottage, the boy carefully placed two cups of tea outside.
"Here you go, grandfather."
"Thank you."
The boy returned inside quietly.
The village head watched him go.
"He'll leave eventually."
Harun knew that.
Of course he did.
The boy had always been different.
Even when he was small.
The old man sighed deeply.
"…fine."
Two weeks later, the decision was made.
The capital's Knights Academy accepted young trainees from villages across the country every year.
The boy would go with several of his friends.
They would travel together.
Train together.
Become knights.
The village buzzed with excitement.
Everyone gathered near the road on the morning they left.
Harun stood quietly near the cottage door.
The boy approached him slowly.
"Grandfather."
Harun looked at him for a long moment.
"…before you go."
The old man cleared his throat.
"I suppose you need a name."
The boy blinked beneath the blindfold.
"A name?"
"Yes."
Harun rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Can't keep calling you 'boy' forever."
The boy smiled softly.
"That's true."
Harun hesitated.
Then he spoke quietly.
"Constantine."
The boy repeated it slowly.
"…Constantine."
Harun nodded.
"That's your name."
He didn't explain the reason.
Didn't mention the shattered Mirror.
Didn't mention the girl who once protected it.
But in his mind—
Harun remembered the way the Mirror had reacted when she died.
A love so fierce it destroyed a city.
It felt right.
The boy carrying her name forward somehow.
The boy bowed his head slightly.
"Thank you, grandfather."
Harun waved his hand dismissively.
"Just don't die."
"I'll try not to."
Soon the road filled with noise.
Young villagers preparing to leave.
Friends shouting excitedly.
"Con! Hurry up!"
The boys had already shortened his name.
"Constantine" was too long for daily use.
So they simply called him Con.
Con walked toward them with his small travel bag.
He stopped once more and turned back toward the cottage.
Even though he couldn't see it.
He could hear the brook.
Hear Harun standing quietly by the door.
"Grandfather," he called.
Harun grunted.
"Yes?"
"I'll come visit."
"Of course you will."
Con smiled.
Then he raised his hand and waved.
The wind fluttered the white blindfold tied across his eyes.
The village girls immediately shouted.
"Don't take it off!"
"Keep it on in the capital!"
"The noble ladies are terrifying!"
Con laughed softly.
"I understand."
Then he turned and walked down the road with his friends.
Toward the distant capital.
Toward the Knights Academy.
Toward a future none of them could yet imagine.
Behind him, Harun watched until the boy disappeared beyond the hills.
The old man sighed quietly.
"…grow well, Constantine."
Inside the cottage behind him—
The frog statue had shifted again.
Now it faced the open door.