Ardelion never truly slept.
Even late in the evening, the city hummed with quiet activity.
Scholars moved between libraries with lanterns in hand.
Students argued under archways.
Ink-stained researchers carried scrolls as if they were precious treasure.
Constantine walked through one of the quieter districts near the canal.
The buildings here were older.
Less prestigious.
But Constantine had chosen the area deliberately.
Over the past few days he had begun following a pattern.
Certain scholars appeared in public archives during the day.
Then disappeared into quieter parts of the city at night.
Men who researched subjects the academies did not openly discuss.
Ancient cosmology.
Netherworld mythology.
Forbidden summoning rituals.
Exactly the kind of people Constantine needed to observe.
Tonight he was following one of them.
A thin man with careful footsteps and nervous breathing.
The man had entered a narrow building near the canal.
Constantine stopped across the street, leaning lightly against a stone wall.
He listened.
Inside the building, faint voices murmured.
Several people.
Quiet discussion.
A hidden gathering.
Possibly a secret society.
Constantine intended to wait.
Listen.
Observe who entered and who left.
But just as he focused his hearing—
A pair of hurried footsteps came racing down the street.
Light.
Small.
Uneven with emotion.
A child.
The footsteps rushed past him and stopped near the canal railing.
Moments later another set of footsteps followed behind.
Older.
Slower.
A woman's voice called out from down the street.
"Come back here this instant!"
The child didn't respond.
The older woman muttered something frustrated and continued walking past the alley, apparently losing track of him.
Soon her footsteps faded.
Silence returned.
Except for the quiet sound of someone breathing angrily near the canal.
Constantine turned his head slightly.
The boy stood only a few steps away.
His small boots scraped against the stone.
His breathing was tight.
Trying not to cry.
Constantine walked toward him slowly.
The boy immediately turned.
"Don't come closer!"
Constantine stopped.
"…understood."
The boy sniffed.
"I don't talk to strangers."
Constantine nodded once.
"That is reasonable."
Then he simply walked a few steps away from the boy.
And sat down on the stone pavement.
Far enough to not feel threatening.
Close enough to hear him.
The boy looked confused.
"You're weird."
Constantine did not respond.
He simply sat quietly.
Listening to the canal water flowing slowly beneath the bridge.
Minutes passed.
The boy shuffled his feet.
Kicked a pebble.
Sniffed again.
Then finally spoke.
"…my name is Eliot."
Constantine inclined his head slightly.
"Constantine."
Eliot hesitated.
Then muttered,
"…I'm still not supposed to talk to strangers."
Constantine said nothing.
Silence stretched again.
Eventually Eliot spoke again.
"…my grandpa is dying."
His voice cracked slightly.
"They said he won't live to see spring."
The words came out quickly now.
Like something that had been stuck inside him all day.
"There's medicine that could make him live longer."
"A whole year maybe."
"But he won't take it."
Eliot's fists clenched.
"He said the money should go to my school instead!"
His voice rose angrily.
"That's stupid!"
"He should just live!"
Constantine listened quietly.
Eliot wiped his eyes angrily.
"I told him if he dies… I'll kill myself when grandma dies too."
The words echoed harshly in the quiet street.
Constantine remained silent for a moment.
Then he spoke calmly.
"I once believed something similar."
Eliot looked at him suspiciously.
"What do you mean?"
Constantine rested his hands loosely on his knees.
"There was someone who raised me."
"My grandfather."
"His name was Harun."
Eliot listened quietly now.
"I believed that when he died…"
"…I would not be able to live either."
Constantine's voice remained steady.
"But I was wrong."
Eliot frowned.
"…you didn't care?"
Constantine shook his head slightly.
"No."
"I cared deeply."
He paused.
"I still do."
Eliot's voice grew smaller.
"Then how are you still alive?"
Constantine looked toward the sound of the canal water.
"I lost most of my emotions once."
"But they are returning slowly."
"Grief was the first one."
Eliot blinked.
"That sounds terrible."
Constantine nodded slightly.
"Yes."
He continued quietly.
"My grandfather's grave became the most precious thing I possess."
Eliot's eyes widened.
"That's… really sad."
Constantine did not deny it.
Eliot's face twisted.
And suddenly the boy started crying.
Not small sniffles.
Real tears.
"It's not fair!"
"My grandpa is nice!"
"He tells the best stories!"
"He promised he'd teach me fishing next summer!"
Constantine remained beside him.
Saying nothing.
Simply staying.
Eventually Eliot's crying slowed.
Then stopped.
The boy wiped his eyes awkwardly.
"…sorry."
Constantine shook his head.
"There is no need."
Eliot looked toward the street where his grandmother had gone.
"…I should go back."
Constantine nodded.
"That would be wise."
Eliot hesitated.
Then spoke quietly.
"…thank you."
He ran down the street.
Soon his footsteps faded.
The canal street returned to silence.
Constantine remained sitting there.
For a long time.
The boy's words echoed inside his mind.
My grandpa is dying.
He won't see spring.
Constantine suddenly understood something.
Until now—
Harun's death had existed in his mind as information.
A fact.
A recorded event.
But now—
It became something else.
A realization.
Harun was gone.
Forever.
The cottage by the brook would still exist.
The door.
The fireplace.
The chair by the window.
But Harun would never be there again.
No warm tea.
No grumbling voice.
No footsteps moving through the house.
The home he had returned to…
Would always be empty.
Constantine's chest tightened.
The warmth he had felt earlier twisted sharply.
And suddenly—
Tears began falling.
Quietly.
Uncontrolled.
For the first time since Harun's death—
Constantine cried.