Heir of Eternity

Silent Witness

The sheets of paper danced in the air before scattering in all directions. Some fell helplessly onto the faculty courtyard, a few snagged in the bushes, while the rest were chased by the wind toward the path connecting the lecture hall to the campus garden. Students passing by merely glanced at them, indifferent, before returning to their own busy lives. Not one stopped to offer a hand.

Ethan stared at his notebook, now left with only a few stray pages in its binding. He recognized every one of those flying sheets. Over the last semester, he had hand-written every single one. He had compiled every formula, analysis, and thought that the professors had failed to explain in class—the result of hours spent in the library. To Ethan, it wasn't just a summary; it was the roadmap to his future.

Kevin patted his shoulder lightly, a gesture that felt more like an insult than an apology. "If you were quick enough, maybe you could still catch them."

Laughter from Kevin and his two friends erupted in the corridor, leaving Ethan frozen. He didn't chase them. He knew people like Kevin too well; retaliating would only fuel a larger fire. As a scholarship student, he couldn't afford the slightest risk that might jeopardize his academic standing.

With his breath hitched, Ethan ran down the stairs toward the courtyard.

The wind was still blowing hard, a cruel enemy. He managed to catch a few sheets before they touched the ground, but others had surrendered, collapsing into puddles of water. The ink on those pages began to bleed, merging with the rainwater into unreadable smudges of color. He tried to dry them with his palms, knowing full well his efforts were futile.

Just as he bent down to pick up a sheet of paper caught under a park bench, a black leather shoe stepped on the edge of the paper.

Ethan looked up.

The old man he had seen at the building across the way was now standing directly in front of him.

He must have been nearing seventy, yet his posture remained upright and authoritative. His white hair was combed neatly back, and the long black overcoat he wore seemed too elegant for this simple campus environment. There was an odd aura radiating from his gaze: sharp, calm, yet harboring a weight of exhaustion that seemed to have been carried for years.

Without a word, the man bent down, picked up the paper he had been stepping on, and wiped the remaining water from its surface before handing it to Ethan.

"You dropped this."

The man's voice was heavy, like the friction of aged wood.

"Thank you," Ethan replied softly.

The man didn't immediately release the paper. His gaze remained locked on Ethan's face for a very long time, as if he were scanning him or searching for the shadow of someone from the past buried deep within his memory.

"Have we met before?" Ethan asked, feeling uneasy under such an intense stare.

The man jolted, as if waking from a long daydream. His fingers slowly released the paper. "Perhaps it is only your face that reminds me of someone."

The answer was flat, but his eyes said otherwise—there was something deeper there than just a memory.

Ethan nodded politely. "Then... excuse me."

He went back to gathering his remaining notes. When all the pages were collected, he turned back to say thank you once more, but the old man was already gone. The campus corridor was full of students, the garden was crowded, but the white-haired figure had vanished into thin air, as if he were nothing more than an illusion blown by the wind.

By evening, the rain was pouring even harder.

Ethan finished his last class at four o'clock and, instead of rushing to the café, decided to stop by the university administration office. The room was quiet, leaving only a middle-aged woman behind the service desk, busy with her files.

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

Ethan handed over the payment notice. "I wanted to ask... is it possible to extend the payment deadline?"

The woman read the letter briefly, her fingers dancing quickly over the keyboard. "Name?"

"Ethan Carter."

A few seconds later, the woman's expression changed, radiating a cold sympathy. "I'm sorry, the system does not allow extensions for second-year students."

"What if I pay a portion of it first?"

"That's not possible."

"What about installments?"

The woman shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry, son. The university regulations were tightened just this semester."

Ethan fell silent. His hopes collapsed.

The woman seemed hesitant, then whispered, "I suggest you contact your family. Usually, parents or guardians can help."

Ethan smiled faintly—a smile that didn't reach his eyes, a hollow smile. "Thank you."

He took back his letter and walked out. On the building's terrace, the rain was torrential. He didn't open his umbrella, letting the cold raindrops soak his hair and shoulders, as if the chill could freeze the anxiety boiling in his chest. He pedaled his old bicycle back toward Moonlight Café.

The wall clock showed eight-thirty at night when the café began to quiet down. Ethan had just carried a stack of dirty cups to the kitchen when Mr. Harris called him.

"Ethan."

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you off from university tomorrow?"

"No, sir."

Mr. Harris sighed deeply. "That's a shame. I need someone for the morning shift."

Ethan almost said yes. He desperately needed the money. However, remembering his mandatory classes that he couldn't skip, he shook his head slowly.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"That's all right," Mr. Harris replied curtly. "I'll find someone else."

The opportunity vanished. Ethan went back to work with his mind drifting. He didn't even notice that, for some time, someone had been sitting alone at the corner table of the café.

It was him again.

The old man in the black coat and white hair he had met on campus.

His cup of coffee was almost untouched. His gaze, as cold as ice, tracked every move of Ethan as he paced back and forth serving customers. When the café finally closed and the last customer left, the man stood up. He left several bills on the table—the amount far exceeding the price of a cup of coffee—and walked out without waiting for change.

Ethan, who was wiping down the table, only caught a glimpse of his back disappearing behind the glass door. "Strange..." he muttered.

A few minutes later, he finished cleaning the café. After saying goodbye to Mr. Harris, he stepped out into the streets, which were beginning to be blanketed in a thin mist.

He hadn't gone far from the café when his steps slowed.

At the end of a narrow alley that he usually used as a shortcut, he heard a loud thud, followed by a wheezing gasp for breath. Ethan frowned, his body tensing. The alley was dark, illuminated only by a single flickering streetlamp.

A man stumbled out from the shadows, clutching the side of his stomach, which was now wet with dark stains seeping through his shirt.

Blood.

It was the old man from earlier.

They stared at each other for a few seconds. The old man’s eyes widened, filled with shock.

However, before a single word could be spoken, four men dressed entirely in black appeared from the mouth of the alley, surrounding the old man. One of them raised a pistol with a silencer attached, aiming directly at the old man's head without a hint of hesitation.