---
Leya tilted her head. "You mean merchants?"
"No. Everyone," Elias said, his tone half-teasing. "Remember this—most people don't really talk to be understood. They talk so they don't feel small. If you listen too long, they'll bury you under noise."
Elen frowned, thoughtful. "Then… what should we do?"
"Speak little," Elias replied, his gaze fixed on the bustling street outside. "And when you do speak, make sure it weighs more than their noise. A single stone sinks in water. That's enough."
Lucien stirred faintly at the words, though still half-asleep, and Elen's grip on the coin pouch tightened like he wanted to remember it.
Leya's eyes sparkled, restless. "Then what about people who don't speak at all?"
Elias chuckled softly. "Ah. They're the most dangerous. They're either thinking too much… or not at all. Never play games with either kind."
The girl leaned back, her lips pursed in mock seriousness. "So you're the dangerous one, then?"
"Absolutely," Elias said without hesitation, making her giggle.
The carriage swayed, filling briefly with warmth and laughter before silence returned.
It was Leya again who broke it, voice quieter this time. "Elias… when we're older… will we still stay together like this?"
Elias shifted his gaze to her, his expression unreadable under the blindfold. For a long moment, the wheels and the noise of the crowd outside were the only reply. Then—
"You'll walk many different roads," he said finally. "But listen well: roads bend, roads break, roads even vanish. The only way to lose each other is to stop walking altogether."
Leya absorbed the words, hugging her knees, while Elen's brows drew together in a mixture of confusion and determination. Lucien, though half-lost to sleep, let out a tiny breath like the words reached him anyway.
Elias exhaled softly, almost as if the lesson was over. But then he added, in a lighter tone, "Besides, you three cling like burrs. I doubt I could shake you off even if I tried."
That drew small smiles from the children—shy, relieved, and quietly possessive.
By the time the carriage slowed, Leya had already pressed her face to the curtain again. Her voice trembled with the excitement of tall walls and bright banners.
Elen leaned forward, coin pouch still in hand, and Lucien finally stirred awake, blinking drowsily against the light.
Without ceremony, Elias lifted Lucien into his arms as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Elen and Leya followed, sticking close to his cloak as though the crowd outside might swallow them whole.
"Come," Elias murmured, voice low but sure. "The city won't wait, and neither will the lessons it hides."
---
They stopped at the market first.
The air was rich with scents—freshly baked bread, roasting meat, spiced fruit, smoke. Stalls overflowed with fabrics, trinkets, jars of medicines.
The children pointed at sweets, their nerves still flickering beneath the laughter. Elias, without a word, slipped a few coins to the vendors and pressed warm pastries into their hands.
Lucien stirred awake at last, blinking drowsily, a crumb of bread already being pressed to his lips by Leya. He groaned but ate anyway. Elias placed a hand on his head briefly, a quiet check, a soft pulse of mana trickling from his palm into the boy's body. Not much—barely a touch. Enough to soothe, not overwhelm.
"Now it's time to be more serious," Elias murmured, half to himself.
They walked deeper into the press of the market, voices buzzing around them. Merchants cried their wares with polished smiles, some too eager, some too tired. Beggars lingered near the fountain steps, hands stretched upward.
Elen glanced at them uneasily. "Shouldn we… ?"
Elias stopped beside him, gaze steady. "If your hand moves because of pity, the world will eat you hollow. Learn this—help when it matters, not when it's loud. Justice is rarely loud.
Those who shout of kindness usually want an audience but this doesn't mean you should remain completly silent about it. Say when needed."
Leya tilted her head, frowning. "Then… hoe to find if it's real kindness ?"
"Simple," Elias said, gesturing toward a merchant tossing coins to the beggars while boasting of his generosity. "If they need you to watch, it's a performance. True mercy never asks to be seen."
The children fell silent at that, their pastries half-eaten.
They moved again, weaving through fabric stalls where bolts of silk shimmered in the sun.
Leya reached out to touch one, only to pull back at the price the vendor demanded. Elias chuckled.
"Rule of markets: if the cloth shines too much in daylight, it will fall apart in rain. Same with people. The ones desperate to dazzle you will never hold up when tested."
Elen's brows knit as he hugged his satchel tighter. "Then… who can we trust?"
"Those who don't mind being plain," Elias answered simply. "Strength that lasts doesn't need glitter."
Lucien, more awake now, muttered dryly, "That sounds like you."
Elias's smile curved. "Exactly."
They passed by a stall of cheap toys—wooden figures painted brightly, though the paint was already flaking. A boy vendor, no older than Elen, shouted promises that each one was enchanted. Elias didn't stop, but spoke low enough for his three to hear.
"Lesson two—liars often hide behind things too good to be true. If you ever hear 'this will change your life' in a marketplace, run. Real change never needs an advertisement."
The three children laughed softly, but they held his words.
By the time they reached the square, the scents of roasted meat mixed with the sharpness of smoke from braziers.
Elias paused at a distance, his blindfold tilted as though listening rather than seeing.
"And last one for today. In crowded places, never ask who shouts the loudest. Ask instead—who is silent? That's the one worth noticing."
The children followed his gaze into the bustling mass of bodies, each of them suddenly aware of shadows between the noise.
It was then that a figure slipped through the crowd—hood pulled low, but with a strange familiarity. A folded letter was pressed into Elias's palm in passing, the figure gone before any of the children noticed.
He glanced down.
In a hurried, almost childish scrawl, the words read:
Kiddo, I miss you. At least now… can't I see you??
Elias chuckled softly, the smile lingering longer than usual. He folded the note once, slipped it into his sleeve, and said nothing.
---