The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale glow over the silent estate. Above, countless stars stretched across the vast expanse, cold and distant—scattered, never truly together. Their light reached down, faint and indifferent, as if echoing the loneliness that lingered within these walls.


    The grand, luxurious mansion of the Warren estate stood in silence; its towering walls bathed in the moon''s pale glow.


    Inside a first-floor room, Lucien moved with quiet urgency, gathering his belongings. The dim candlelight flickered over the sparse furnishings, casting long shadows as he packed—efficient, methodical, yet with a tension that clung to the air like a held breath.


    He packed his bag with essentials—dried meat, a tent, a few spare clothes, a rough pouch filled with coins he had collected from the butler, a map of the eastern states and provinces, and a small kit for tending wounds. Each item was placed with practiced efficiency.


    Beside the bag on the bed lay a set of folded leather armor, worn but sturdy, its dark surface bearing the faint creases of past use. Next to it, a sheathed sword rested in silence, its hilt smooth beneath the dim light.


    After packing, his eyes wandered to the books on the shelf. He had read them all before, every page committed to memory. Yet, even now, they remained his only source of solace, a quiet refuge in an otherwise empty room.


    His fingers twitched, tempted.


    But he shook his head.


    The bag was already heavy. Carrying them would only slow him down.


    Lucien stripped off his clothes, the cold air brushing against his skin. He pulled on a padded undergarment, the thick fabric snug against his body, offering warmth and some protection. Over it, he fastened a leather chest guard, adjusting the straps until it fit securely.


    Rolling his shoulders, he strapped light guards over his forearms and shins—sturdy but flexible, built for movement. A belt with protective flaps settled at his waist, shielding his hips without restricting his legs.


    Finally, he slid on his boots and secured his sword at his side.


    He reached for the bag on the bed and pulled it toward his back. The weight was almost overwhelming, tugging at his shoulders with a sharp, immediate force.


    Stolen story; please report.


    For a moment, his legs buckled under the strain, and he stumbled forward, barely catching himself against the doorframe. The heavy bag pressed into his spine, its contents shifting with a clumsy jolt.


    Lucien gritted his teeth, trying to steady his breath. Every movement felt labored, the weight of the pack threatening to drag him down. He adjusted it once, then twice, trying to find some semblance of comfort—but it was useless.


    The weight of the bag, sword, and armor was too much for a fragile body like his.


    He dropped the bag with a heavy thud, exhaling sharply as the weight finally left his shoulders.


    "Damn it..." He muttered, staring at the bag on the floor. "I''m going nowhere with this fragile body."


    Sighing, he reopened the bag and began making adjustments. He removed the extra food, keeping only enough for a single day. Instead of a full set of spare clothes, he packed just an extra shirt and undergarments. His money pouch was secured to his belt for easier access.


    The armor felt restricting, its weight pressing down on him. With a grimace, he stripped away the bulkier pieces, leaving only those that protected vital areas. Lighter, but still secure.


    Much better.


    His gaze fell on the dried meat scattered on the bed. He exhaled through his nose. I''ll need to stop by a village to restock.


    He picked up the bag, now half its original size.


    Patting it, he thought, Much more manageable.


    He opened the door and paused, glancing back into the room.


    Suddenly, nostalgia crept in.


    This is the second time I''m leaving.


    His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag.


    Let''s make sure it''s the last.


    He closed the door.


    The Pandora''s box was shut—its ghosts and demons sealed inside.


    ***


    He moved through the corridor, descending the spiral staircase toward the gate.


    The guards stationed there stiffened at the sight of his shadowed figure. Their hands tightened around their swords as one of them called out in a firm voice, "Who goes there?"


    Lucien emerged from the shadows, and spoke "it''s me…Lucien."


    They eyed him—his bag, armor, sword, and the pouch at his belt.


    One of them spoke, his voice strained. "Where are you going?"


    Instead of answering, he pulled out the parchment and held it up for them to see.


    They scrutinized the parchment, their eyes widening as they read.


    Exchanging glances, they looked back at Lucien.


    "It''s really happening, huh."


    "Well, no surprise after what he did today."


    Exasperated, Lucien sighed, impatience lacing his tone. "Open the damn door."


    The guard clicked his tongue. "Tch."


    But he didn''t argue. With a reluctant sigh, he simply turned and unlocked the door.


    Stepping through the gate, the cold, fresh air hit him, sharp and bracing against his skin.


    The moon shone down on him, casting a silver glow. Crickets tittered in the dark, the stars stretching endlessly above—silent companions on his journey.


    Without looking back, he moved toward the outer gate.


    With steady steps, the path ahead was swallowed by the night''s embrace. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth. Each step felt heavier, yet lighter all the same—one burden shed, another waiting beyond the gates.


    A rustling in the underbrush. The faint crunch of leaves shifting under unseen weight.


    Out of nowhere, a feminine voice spoke from the side. "Who are you?"