**Facing Mortality**
The more time I spent with Isaac, the more I saw our differences. He was steady, ageless, moving through life with a timeless patience that I could only aspire to understand. I, on the other hand, was painfully aware of the years passing by. Every decision I made, every risk I took—each one was bound to my limited time.
As I grew older, I began to realize just how fleeting my life was in comparison to his. It was a strange feeling, like trying to grasp something that kept slipping away. Isaac would remain the same, untouched by the years, while I would inevitably grow old, my time on this earth limited. It was a truth that sat between us, unspoken but ever-present.
One evening, as we watched the sun set from the balcony, I found myself voicing the question I had kept buried for so long.
"Do you ever think about what it's like for us?" I asked, gesturing to the world below. "For those of us who don't have... forever."
Isaac glanced at me, his gaze softened with something that looked like regret. "More often than you might think," he replied quietly. "Mortality shapes everything you do, every choice you make. It's a gift in its own way."
"A gift?" I echoed, feeling the weight of the word. To me, it felt more like a looming deadline, a race against time to make something of myself, to leave something behind.
Isaac nodded. "Yes. It makes each moment precious. Every decision matters because it's finite. It's different for me... but that doesn't make your experience any less valuable."
I sat with his words, trying to see it from his perspective. To Isaac, time stretched endlessly, while for me, it was something to hold onto tightly. And yet, somehow, I found comfort in knowing that he respected the fragility of my life, even if he would never truly understand it.
---
**Watching Isaac's Loneliness**
Over the years, I came to understand that Isaac's role wasn't just about power; it was a responsibility that weighed heavily on him. I saw it in the quiet moments, when he would sit alone, gazing out at nothing, lost in thought. I imagined he was thinking of the countless lives he had witnessed, the friends he had made and lost, the endless cycle of people coming and going.
It was in these moments that I realized something profound: Isaac's eternity was, in many ways, a lonely one. While I feared the shortness of my life, he lived in a solitude that time could never erase. He watched the world change, people age and pass, but he remained—always watching, always waiting. It was a life that seemed both grand and deeply isolating.
One day, as he returned from a trip, I asked him about it.
"Doesn't it... hurt, sometimes?" I ventured. "Knowing that everyone around you is bound by time, except you?"
He paused, considering my question. "Yes, it does," he admitted. "But it also reminds me why I must keep going. Each life, each generation—they all leave something behind. I carry their stories with me. In a way, they continue on through the work I do."
I looked at him, realizing that while he might be alone in his journey, he had found meaning in preserving the lives and memories of others. It was a duty that I could respect, even if I couldn't fully understand it.
---
**A Silent Resolution**
After that conversation, I found myself thinking about what Isaac had said. I started noticing how empty our home was, how we moved through it like ghosts, keeping each other company in a place that seemed far too big for just the two of us. Isaac's presence filled the space, but there was something missing—a sense of life, of laughter, of warmth.
That's when I began to consider starting a family. I realized that one day, I would leave this world, but Isaac would remain. And I didn't want him to be alone. If I could build a family, people who would grow up understanding Isaac and the legacy he carried, maybe he wouldn't have to shoulder it all alone.
It wasn't just for Isaac, either. As much as he was my mentor, my guide, and my friend, I knew I wanted to leave something lasting behind. A family who could carry on the business, who could remember our story, and who could grow up seeing Isaac not as a distant figure but as someone they could love and trust.
---
**Planning for a Legacy**
As I thought more about it, I realized that building a family would be more than just starting something for Isaac's sake. It would be a way to ensure that our business, the life we had built, would continue to flourish, even after I was gone. My children, and their children, could learn from him, could become a part of his world. Perhaps, in some way, they could help anchor him to something real, something that would last.
I brought the idea up to Isaac one evening, after we had finished going over the day's work. "I've been thinking about starting a family," I said, watching him closely for his reaction.
Isaac looked at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "A family?" he repeated, his voice thoughtful. "That's... a good idea, Eli."
"I just don't want you to be alone," I admitted, feeling a little vulnerable. "And I don't want this legacy to end when I'm gone."
He nodded slowly, his expression softening. "I think it's a wise decision. Your family could carry on the work, and they would understand what we've built. And I would be here for them, just as I've been here for you."
In that moment, I felt a sense of peace. I knew that this was the right path, not just for myself but for Isaac as well. Building a family would give him a connection to something living, something that would keep him grounded in a world that constantly changed.
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**Looking Forward**
As I began to plan for the future, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. My thoughts shifted from the fleeting nature of my own life to the possibilities that lay ahead. I imagined teaching my children about the business, about the values Isaac had instilled in me. I could see them growing up under his guidance, learning not just from me but from the knowledge he had accumulated over the centuries.
And perhaps, in building this family, I could give Isaac something he had lost long ago—a sense of belonging, a place where he could feel truly connected to others, even if only for a short while.
Isaac remained supportive, offering quiet encouragement as I began taking steps to build my future. He would occasionally ask questions, listening as I spoke about the family I hoped to create. I could see the spark of interest in his eyes, the way he seemed to grow more animated when I talked about children, about the laughter and energy they would bring.
In some ways, I felt that this family would be a gift, not just to me but to him as well.
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**End of Chapter**
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