Elian grew up surrounded by a big family. He shared no blood with any of them, yet everyone loved him as their own. After all, he was the son of the woman who had helped them for so many years. He wasn't just Carol's son—he was the son of the entire Saint Deux neighborhood.
"Carol, you're so lucky."
"You'll be a wonderful mother."
"Don't worry—if you ever need a hand, we'll watch him for you."
"His education won't be a problem."
Those were some of the words the neighbors would tell Carol, with warmth and pride.
She had nothing to worry about. Carol watched, little by little, as her son grew—laughed, cried, and fell asleep in her arms. All the years of loneliness, the tears, the waiting, the endless losses she had endured—at last, they had been worth it. Holding him while she nursed him felt like life itself was giving her something back, something she thought she had lost forever.
Vivian, who still taught at the local school, would visit Carol's house every afternoon to teach Elian from an early age. Max, the butcher, always gave her a little extra meat "because that boy needs to grow strong," as he'd say with a hearty laugh. Their neighbors, Alessia and Yasira—a couple for years—often brought sweets for mother and child. They were the loudest on the block, always arguing, but somehow always ended up asking Carol for advice afterward.
Elian grew, and with time, he learned to speak. His first word was a clumsy, adorable attempt at saying his mother's name:
"C–C–Cadol…"
It was what he heard the most when they went outside, no matter how many times Carol tried to make him say "mom."
Then he learned to walk, to shout, to get angry, to laugh, and to cry. By the time he was five, he was just another child of Saint Deux—he went to school, had friends, and most importantly, lived a happy life. For Carol, that was everything. Her son was growing far from the darkness she once knew. The containment zones had fallen, the Calamyr were just a fading memory, and the "diseases"—now known as Elyth—no longer posed a threat. Everything was peace.
Elian lived that peace with the curiosity of an explorer. Every new word, every new gesture, amazed him. He was different from both his parents. He didn't have his father's overflowing energy, nor had he manifested an early Elyth like his mother had—those usually appeared between the ages of eleven and fifteen, according to statistics.
But there was something in him. A kind of quiet "energy" that drew others in, that inspired trust. He was kind, polite, and the adults often said he'd break more than a few hearts someday. Yet he also had a peculiar side: sometimes he'd stare at the sky for no reason, or jump at the sight of an abandoned house, insisting that "two terrifying ghosts" lived inside.
Any other mother might have worried, but not Carol. Elian's father had told her long ago that he used to see and feel similar things. So she knew exactly how to calm her son when it happened.
Time passed. When Elian was seven years and three months old, the question Carol had always feared finally came.
"Mommy… where's my dad?" he asked during dinner.
Carol froze. She wasn't ready—not yet.
"He left us, Elian," she finally said, lowering her eyes. "That's all there is to it. He didn't want us in his life."
Elian slowly got up and hugged his mother.
"I'm sorry I made you sad, Mommy. It's just… my friends tell me about the things they do with their dads—how they play, how they go out together. I know you're busy, and I don't want to bother you."
Carol held him tightly.
"Oh, sweetheart… I understand how you feel. That loneliness—I don't ever want you to know it," she said, her voice trembling. "I promise from now on we'll spend more time together, so you'll have nothing to envy."
She lifted him up, laughing, and spun him around in her arms.
And so, mother and son kept growing together—without complications, without fear. Carol no longer cared what the Alhazen were doing, or what conflicts stirred in the city. As long as she had her little boy, nothing else mattered.