Xavier stayed beside Eleazar until the old man turned toward the stone path leading out of the castle's inner district.
"I will take my leave now," Eleazar said. "I've been gone long enough. The village cannot remain without a prophet's eyes for too long."
Xavier tensed.
He didn't want him to go—not like this, not so soon.
"You can stay," Xavier said. "Or come with me. I can show you the city. My place. My life. You can even meet Eamon. He'd—"
Eleazar placed a hand on his shoulder.
"…Not yet," he said softly. "There is a time for a father to walk beside his son. And a time for a son to walk alone. You are in the second part now."
Xavier looked down, fighting the urge to grab his father's sleeve like he used to when he was a boy.
Eleazar smiled—not wide, not bright. Gentle.
"When the time is right, Xavier… I will stand by you again."
Then he left.
His steps were quiet. His figure grew smaller.
And then he was gone.
