Nathan leaned against the building, his eyes scanning the slowly awakening streets. Aurora sat on the curb, squinting at the brightening sky, savoring a moment of peace after a long night.
Christopher Kay watched them for a moment—silent, as if weighing whether the two before him were truly worthy of knowing. Morning mist still clung to the streets, while streetlights flickered and died one by one, leaving behind the weak glow of natural light.
"I didn't come to introduce myself," he finally said, his calm tone carrying something more than simple goodwill. "I came to warn you."
Nathan stepped forward, his gaze sharp.
"Warn us about what?"
Christopher didn't answer right away. He glanced briefly toward the end of the street, where the light was growing stronger, then looked back at them.
"You're being watched. Not by humans… but by something older than this city. Something that has awakened from its long slumber."
He took a step closer, his voice now lower, almost a whisper.
"I'm here… because you're part of what's coming. Whether you like it or not, you're involved."
Aurora straightened, her face calm.
"What?! Involved… in what?"
Christopher looked at them both, and for a moment—whether it was the light or just an illusion—his eyes seemed to shimmer faintly.
"In the first crack between this world… and another."
Aurora let the statement linger in the air while Nathan reacted, eyes wide.
"What… what do you mean by that?" His gaze locked on Christopher's. Christopher answered with a smile.
"Secrets," he replied curtly.
After that, Nathan returned to leaning against the building, unwilling to let the words settle in. He left Christopher alone, seemingly observing something.
Seeing their disbelief, Christopher turned and walked away. Aurora approached Nathan, asking what the man had said.
But Nathan refused to answer.
"Tch… guy's full of hot air." He stood up, brushing off his coat as he resumed the search for Lucian.
The sky was overcast, mirroring the anxiety in their hearts. They walked along the city sidewalks, now dampened by a fine drizzle, asking people if they'd seen Lucian. Their steps were quick but cautious, hoping each turn would bring an answer.
The city was bustling, yet oddly quiet in its tension. The chimes from shops and the sounds of vehicles were mere background noise to the single question in their minds: Where is Lucian?
Just when they thought the trail had gone cold, they saw him—Lucian—standing in front of a spice tea stall. His face looked weary, but calmer than before. He held a few simple groceries—bread, milk, and a box of tea.
When they called his name, Lucian turned slowly. His gaze was momentarily blank, then shifted to a mix of relief and slight embarrassment. He didn't avoid them—he just sighed and whispered, "I needed some time."
They didn't say much. They simply looked at each other, then drew closer, offering comfort through their presence. Amidst the ceaseless movement of the city, they stood in silent understanding. Lucian had been found—not just physically, but spiritually.
Something felt strange that day. A chill wind swept through, laced with rain and something older—like the scent of wet earth mixed with forgotten memories. Amid the odd bustle—the faint voices of vendors, hurried footsteps, and indistinct murmurs—they saw a figure standing alone before the tea stall.
Lucian.
He stood with his back to them, half-hidden behind shelves of spices and gently swaying dry leaves. His shoulders sagged slightly, as if bearing an invisible weight. In one hand he held a small shopping bag, his eyes staring into a distance they couldn't see.
As they approached, the surrounding noise seemed to mute, as if the city held its breath. Lucian slowly turned, and for a moment, his expression was unfamiliar. In his eyes was something—a mixture of loss, new awareness, and something deeper… perhaps a secret still unspoken.
"I just… needed quiet," he whispered faintly, almost drowned out by the world returning to motion around them.
No one asked questions. No one pressed. Because in that moment, they knew—Lucian had seen or felt something that had changed him. And perhaps… they too would soon be drawn into it.
"A little joke can calm me down." The mood and attitude he displayed were a lie he had just created.
Naturally, his words left them both puzzled, wondering what had really happened.
"Huh? What are you even talking about?" Nathan mumbled, clearly thrown off.
Lucian's eyes flicked toward the food stall, gesturing slightly.
They followed his gaze and saw a small child in slightly ragged clothes enjoying a meal inside the shop.
When they looked back at Lucian, a soft smile had formed. Watching the child happily devour a piece of bread with such a blissful expression touched his heart.
They finally understood his meaning. But curiosity lingered, especially about his earlier behavior.
"Huh… but why were you acting so strange earlier?" Nathan asked, his eyes fixed on Lucian.
...
Lucian's steps stopped.
In the corner of a dilapidated building barely worthy of being called a house, a small child sat. The child was thin, wearing worn, oversized clothes—like hand-me-downs from another life. The child wasn't crying or begging. They just stared at a small fire in a tin can, gaze vacant—mature, calm, and quiet.
Lucian froze. The world seemed to slow down, the market's bustle fading into a distant haze. He stared at the child, unwilling to accept what he was seeing.
The child was alone.
But what gripped Lucian wasn't the loneliness or the suffering—it was the expression. Too calm. Too accepting for a child that young.
Lucian felt like he was staring at a younger version of himself—one he'd long buried. And in that moment, he realized: it wasn't the pain that hurt most. It was when someone gave up resisting and accepted it as normal.
Lucian stood frozen at the end of the narrow alley. A child sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, hugging their knees. Their eyes were vacant yet calm, like they had long made peace with solitude. No cries. Just silence.
His face tensed, then softened. A tremor ran through his jaw as his eyes landed on the moldy bread in the child's hand—too lifeless to be called food.
He knelt slowly, looking at the child with no smile.
"No one should ever get used to loneliness like this…"
Lucian's voice barely carried, more to himself than the world. He didn't take his eyes off the child. In that silence, he understood—this was a reflection of a past still haunting him.
Recalling the incident, Lucian could only smile faintly. That smile unsettled Nathan.
Nathan started to grasp what Lucian had felt.
Turning to Aurora, he saw her leaning against the tea shop wall, shielding her eyes as if she didn't want to look at something.
Then Nathan asked an odd question.
"Earlier, when Aurora and I were looking for you… we couldn't find you, so we finally gave up."
"Huh? Looking for me? Why?" Lucian cut in sharply, his tone edged with sarcasm.
Nathan scowled. His irritation showed.
"Tch, shut up. Just listen, okay?" He sighed before continuing.
"Well, at that time… a man appeared. Wore a neat shirt, had a hat on. Said something strange, and—"
"Oh… that man. His name is Christopher Kay, right?" Lucian interrupted casually.
Nathan spun around, eyes wide.
His expression was a mix of surprise and suspicion.
"What?!… How do you know?"