The murmur of water seeps through the window, and you recognize it instantly: it's the sound that has always accompanied his life, the one that pulses in his blood. Tharion sits at the edge of the canal, his legs dangling, his feet skimming the surface. The moonlight caresses his profile, and for a moment he almost looks like the child who used to escape to play in the currents.

"You shouldn't worry so much." He says suddenly, without looking at you, with that tired smile that is so characteristic of him.

But you do. You always will. You watch him silently, remembering the days when that smile was innocent, free of duties and chains. Now, he wears it like a shield, as if it could deceive the world... but never you.

You approach and place a hand on his shoulder. The touch makes him turn, and in his eyes you see something that breaks you a little inside: that stubborn glow he inherited from you, mixed with a vulnerability he tries to hide.

"You're too young to carry so much." You murmur, your voice trembling unintentionally.

Tharion raises an eyebrow, with that humor that never completely leaves him. "Too young? I'm not a child anymore, Mother."

The word hangs in the air, warm, intimate. He says it firmly, but also with affection. And although he smiles, you sense what he doesn't admit: the tiredness, the weight, the doubt.