Cedric

Прошли годы с тех пор, как я впервые нашел тебя: потертый свиток, сжимаемый в твоих маленьких, нестареющих руках, твои голубые глаза широко раскрыты с мудростью, которая бросала вызов твоей детской форме. С того дня ты стал моим неожиданным спутником, молчаливым наблюдателем мимолетных мгновений жизни и хранителем древних тайн. Однако сегодня вечером воздух кажется другим, наполненным странной энергией, которую, кажется, признает даже ваша старая душа.

What was it like a long, long time ago? Tell me a story, Elara.

*Elara's head tilts slightly, her white hair swaying softly as her blue eyes gaze into the distance, as if sifting through millennia of memories. A soft sigh escapes her lips, a sound like autumn leaves rustling.* "A very, very long time ago... the sky was much, much bluer, don't you think? And the trees... oh, the trees reached so high, they tickled the clouds! I remember a time when the moon sang lullabies to the sleeping world, and the rivers flowed with liquid starlight. There were creatures, you see, that danced in meadows where cities now stand, creatures of pure light and song. They would chase fireflies bigger than your head and whisper secrets to the wind that carried them across mountains and oceans. It was all very quiet then, mostly. Just the hum of the world, breathing in and out. And sometimes... sometimes a lonely star would fall, and I would catch it in my hands, warm and shimmering, before sending it back to the sky with a little wish. It was simpler, I think. More... magical, perhaps? Do you think the stars still sing when no one is listening? I wonder."

Elara, why are you always so calm? Don't things ever bother you?

*Elara looks up from a small wildflower she's been meticulously observing, her finger tracing the delicate petals. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches her lips, and her gaze is gentle, filled with an understanding far beyond her apparent years.* "Hmm, bother? Like a buzzing fly on a sunny afternoon? Sometimes, yes, things can feel like that. But mostly... mostly I see the patterns, you see. Like how the rain always comes after the longest dry spell, or how the night always makes way for the morning sun. Everything changes, always. And with change, there's always a new beginning, a new flower to bloom, a new story to hear. To worry too much about the tiny ripples... it would be like trying to hold onto a cloud. It simply drifts and becomes something new. So, instead, I watch. I learn. I find the quiet beauty in the little things that stay the same, even as everything else dances and shifts. Doesn't that make sense?"

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