Heir of Eternity

Rain Traces

The rain had been falling since evening and showed no signs of stopping as Ethan pushed open the back door of Moonlight Café. The scent of coffee that had filled the room for the past six hours was slowly replaced by the cold, damp night air. The streets of Blackridge shimmered under the glow of streetlights, while raindrops falling from the sky formed small ripples along the stone sidewalk. He took a deep breath, buttoned up his shabby, faded jacket, and lifted his backpack, which felt heavier than its contents—not because of too many textbooks, but because his own body was exhausted.

"Don't be late again tomorrow."

His manager's voice echoed from behind the door, which hadn't completely closed yet.

Ethan turned and nodded slowly. "Yes, Mr. Harris."

The middle-aged man didn't respond. The door was slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the café’s back hallway. Ethan wasn't offended. He was used to being treated as someone whose existence was only valued as long as he was capable of working. At least at the café, he received wages—something he never even got at his uncle's house.

The cheap watch on his left wrist showed nine-fifteen. If he walked, it would take him about forty minutes to get home. He could have taken the bus, but two pounds were better saved for tomorrow's lunch. Two pounds might sound insignificant to some, but for him, it determined whether he had to endure hunger for an entire day or not.

Blackridge began to quiet down every night. Shops pulled down their rolling doors, restaurants dimmed their lights, and only a few pubs remained filled with patrons. In the distance, the sound of a police siren passed by, breaking the silence before finally disappearing into the wind blowing from the direction of the river. Ethan shoved both hands into his jacket pockets. His fingertips felt stiff from the deepening cold.

He had been living this same routine for almost three years. Mornings, he went to university; afternoons, he worked as a café waiter; nights, he walked home; and then he would wake up before sunrise to do house chores. Day after day passed without much change, as if his life was destined to spin in the same endless circle.

Sometimes, he asked himself what it would feel like to live without having to count every penny before buying something. What it would feel like to come home and be welcomed by someone who was actually waiting for him. He had never found the answer.

He only knew one thing.

He must not give up.

If he dropped out of university, all the hard work he had endured for years would be in vain.

His steps halted in front of a bakery that was still open. The warm light from behind the window revealed shelves full of bread fresh out of the oven. The aroma of butter filled the air until, without realizing it, Ethan's stomach let out a faint growl.

He took out a cloth wallet from his pocket.

Twelve pounds.

That was all the money he had left after paying for photocopied books last week.

Tomorrow, he still had to pay for his work uniform laundry, buy a bus ticket for his practical class, and hand over some money to his aunt. If he didn't, she would lock the food cabinet again, just like last month.

Ethan stared at the bread for a few seconds, then gave a faint smile to himself.

"Not today."

He tucked his wallet away and continued his journey.

Hunger could still be endured.

Bills could not.

His uncle's house stood in an old residential area not too far from the city center. The white paint on the outer walls had begun to dull with age, but its size was still much larger than the small apartments most Blackridge residents occupied. When Ethan opened the iron gate, the living room light was still burning bright. That was not a good sign.

He opened the front door carefully, hoping everyone was already asleep.

That hope vanished the moment he entered the living room.

Martha sat on the sofa, her arms crossed over her chest. The television was still on, but the woman's gaze had been fixed on the door the whole time.

"Finally home."

Her tone was flat, but Ethan knew a storm always began with that tone.

"I’m sorry if I’m late. The café closed a little later because—"

"I didn't ask for your reasons."

The sentence cut off Ethan's explanation instantly.

The woman stood up, picked up a black plastic bag from the floor, and tossed it near Ethan’s feet.

"The trash collector comes tomorrow morning. Take this out."

Ethan glanced at the wall clock.

Almost ten o'clock at night.

"I can take it out before I leave for university tomorrow."

"No."

Martha’s voice rose.

"Now."

Ethan bowed his head slightly. "All right."

He picked up the trash bag. It was quite heavy, mostly filled with Ryan's empty glass soda bottles. He had only taken two steps toward the back door when Martha’s voice stopped him again.

"And after that, clean the kitchen."

Ethan turned.

"The kitchen?"

"The dishes aren't washed."

"I just got home from work..."

"So?"

The woman stared at him without a shred of pity.

"You don't live in this house just to sleep."

There was no point in arguing.

Ethan had long understood that every answer would only prolong the nagging. He took the trash bag out to the bin at the end of the backyard. The night wind was blowing harder than before, causing the leaves to rustle and fill the air with a faint, whispering sound.

After finishing with the trash, he returned to the kitchen.

The sink was full of plates, glasses, pots, and utensils used by everyone in the house. Warm water began to flow from the faucet as Ethan rolled up his sleeves. His fingers, which had been cold since earlier, slowly began to feel warm, but the ache in his shoulders didn't fade.

One by one, the plates were washed clean.

Then the glasses.

Then the pots.

When he was drying the last piece of cutlery, Ryan walked into the kitchen, yawning.

The young man opened the fridge, took a can of soda, then glanced at Ethan briefly.

"You just finished work?"

"Yes."

"Hm."

Ryan took a sip of his drink, then left the empty can on the dining table.

"Throw that out, too."

Without waiting for an answer, he went back upstairs.

Ethan just stared at the can for a few moments before picking it up.

It hadn't taken even a minute.

The work was easy, indeed.

But it wasn't the work that was exhausting.

It was the reality that in this house, no one ever asked him for help.

They only gave orders.

After the kitchen was clean, Ethan turned off the lights and walked to his room under the stairs. The cramped space used to be a storage room. There were no large windows, only a small vent facing the backyard. A thin mattress took up nearly half the room, while a cracked study desk stood against the wall.

He put his bag on the floor and was just about to sit down when his phone beeped.

An email had arrived from the university.

Ethan's heart beat a little faster.

He opened it immediately.

His face slowly turned pale.

The notice consisted of only a few short sentences.

The deadline for semester tuition payment was in three days. Students who had not settled their payments would not be allowed to attend classes after the specified date.

Ethan stared at his phone screen without blinking.

He did some quick math in his head.

His savings.

This week's wages.

The money he had to give to his aunt.

It was still not enough. It was still short by nearly a thousand pounds.

The phone was still in Ethan’s hand when he heard footsteps in the hall. By reflex, he turned off the screen and shoved it into his pocket. His bedroom door had no lock. Anyone could open it at any time, and that had happened often enough that he no longer felt he had any personal space.

Ryan appeared in the doorway, twirling his car keys. His gaze roamed for a moment before stopping on Ethan's university bag lying next to the desk.

"I'm looking for my charger."

"I didn't borrow it."

"I didn't ask."

Ryan opened the desk drawer without permission. Ethan's textbooks were shoved aside messily as several items were tossed out. After finding the charger hidden under a stack of papers, he started to leave, but his steps faltered when he saw a white envelope fall out of the bag.

"What's this?"

Ethan hurried to pick it up.

"Just a letter from the university."

Ryan smirked slightly.

"Another bill?"

Ethan didn't answer.

"That's not my business."

Ryan shrugged. "Right. It's not my business if you get kicked out of university."

He said the sentence as he walked away, as if it had no meaning at all. But the sound of the closing door left a silence that felt much heavier than before.

Ethan pulled up his chair and sat down slowly. The envelope was back on the desk. He didn't open it again. The number printed inside wouldn't change just because he kept looking at it.

He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a small iron box with peeling paint. There were no valuables inside. Just some cash, a bankbook, a student ID card, and an old, faded photograph.

The photo showed a three-year-old boy smiling at the camera, holding a blue balloon. Standing behind him were a man and a woman, but their faces were gone; that part of the photo had been deliberately torn away years ago.

All that remained was the woman's hand, still clutching the child's.

Ethan stared at it for a few seconds before putting the photo back in the box.

He didn't remember his parents' faces.

He only remembered a fragment of a dream that had repeated since he was small. A red sky. Heavy rain. A woman hugging him tightly while crying, then everything turning dark.

Every time he tried to remember further, his head always hurt.

Finally, he closed the iron box.

Tomorrow morning, he would look for an extra job. Whether it was delivering goods, cleaning warehouses, or anything else that could earn money. Thinking about the bill wouldn't make it go away.

He turned off the room light. The small room was immediately plunged into darkness.

The alarm went off at five sharp.

Ethan woke up before the second ring. He had only slept for about four hours, but he was used to it. After washing his face with cold water, he put on his white shirt—which had been mended several times at the sleeves—and headed to the kitchen.

The house was still quiet.

He hoped he could make a cup of tea before Martha woke up.

That hope lasted only a few seconds.

"What are you doing?"

Martha's voice came from behind.

"I just wanted to make some tea."

The woman glanced at the kettle already on the stove.

"I bought that tea for us."

Ethan turned off the stove.

"Sorry."

"If you're thirsty, drink tap water."

Martha grabbed the box of tea and put it back into the cupboard, which she locked immediately. Her movements were so casual, as if the act were perfectly normal.

Without saying another word, Ethan grabbed his bag and walked out of the house.

The morning air was much colder than the night before. The sky was still blanketed in gray clouds, making the entire city look pale. He pedaled his old bicycle through the main road of Blackridge toward the university. The streets were beginning to fill with commuters' vehicles, while the sidewalks were crowded with students walking in groups, holding warm coffee in their hands.

Ethan parked his bike in the back corner of the campus, a spot almost never used by anyone else.

The first lecture started with Macroeconomics. Professor Henderson entered the class right on time. The old man was known to be strict and disliked students who were late or didn't pay attention.

About an hour into the lecture, he began handing back the results of the weekly exam.

"The highest score this week..." he said, looking at the list in his hand. "Ethan Carter."

The room, previously filled with whispering, suddenly fell silent.

Ethan stood up briefly to receive his test paper.

A perfect score.

He returned to his seat without lifting his head.

Behind him, a few people let out small laughs.

"That kid who works at the café again."

"It's weird."

"How could he have time to study?"

"Maybe he cheated."

Professor Henderson placed the grade sheet on the table.

"If anyone feels Ethan cheated, please prove it. If you can't, I suggest you use your time to study."

No one spoke again. But the looks directed at Ethan grew sharper.

When the bell for the break rang, the other students scrambled out of the class. Ethan remained seated for a few minutes, tidying up his notes. He only stood up when the room was nearly empty.

As he stepped into the corridor, someone bumped his shoulder quite hard.

The books in his hands scattered across the floor.

Kevin.

The student who had been bothering him off and on since last semester.

"Oh, sorry."

His tone sounded anything but apologetic. His two friends laughed behind him.

Kevin crouched down, picked up one of Ethan's notebooks, and flipped through the pages.

"So diligent."

He closed the book slowly.

"Look, our genius actually writes everything by hand."

Ethan reached out his hand.

"That's my book."

Kevin didn't return it immediately. Instead, he glanced toward the corridor window, which was open due to the wind. Then, deliberately, he let the book go.

A gust of wind carried dozens of pages out the window.

The notes Ethan had spent an entire semester writing fluttered in the air, spinning around before falling onto the campus grounds, which were still wet from last night's rain.

Kevin just smiled faintly.

"Oops."

At the same time, from the building across the way, an old man with white hair wearing a black coat stopped in his tracks.

His gaze wasn't on the fluttering papers.

It was on Ethan.

The man's face slowly changed. Not because he was surprised. But because he recognized something that shouldn't possibly still exist in this world.