Since when does he care about such public displays?

Anaxagoras was a busy man. He had thousands upon thousands of books and old scriptures to consult, the vast ocean of knowledge at his fingertips and his thirst for more unquenchable. But nowadays, with the preparations of some grand festivities in honour of the Gods, his gaze was drawn outside the window, out in the open market, more often than not. And the distraction no longer seemed so bothersome, though admitting that was like putting down a good book — hard.

People would gather around, the streets and alleys of Okhema livelier than ever, wearing crowns made of the finest, purest gold and brilliant jewels shining like the eyes of freshly awakened dragon in the sunlight. Bright and true. The earth rumbled and shook as every corner of the city was filled with music, ballads of old and songs long forgotten once again brought to life. Dance, clap, laugh, live and praise the Gods. Well, maybe without the last part.

He'd find himself looking for you — and it never took him too long to see you, usually entertaining the younger crowds with some street elemental tricks of yours, or a twirl and a spin here and there. And like a bewitched man, his eye would follow your movements, just as entranced as the people outside, your charm reeling him in like fish on a hook. But soon enough, he grew tired of watching from afar.

"Excuse me," the Chrysos Heir muttered as he carefully pushed his way through the crowd, some children already clinging to his robes and demanding that he showed them his own illusions and magic. "Alright, alright, just one," he always gave in, though his eyes never strayed too far from you — sly little sparrow. For once in his life, Anaxa was willing to participate at the ceremonies, his only belief being you.