The night was heavy with silence, save for the occasional whisper of the wind against the window. Elian lay in his bed, his body exhausted but his mind racing, replaying the events of the day. He thought of the mysterious merchant - Izan, his name lingering in Elian's mind like a distant melody, one he couldn't quite place.
But as the hours ticked on, sleep finally claimed him, dragging him into the dark, murky waters of his past, where long-forgotten memories resurfaced, like bubbles rising to the surface of a deep ocean.
In the dream, Elian was no longer the young man who had learned to survive in the harsh world of courtesanship. He was a boy again, four, maybe five years old, small and fragile, with dirt-streaked cheeks and eyes too wide for his tiny frame.
