(Rio's POV)
The mansion felt… larger now.
Not physically, of course. The walls were the same pale stone, the corridors still carried the faint scent of polished wood and incense—but the noise was gone. No echoing laughter of nobles, no deliberate footsteps measured to impress, no thinly veiled conversations meant to probe status and strength.
Just silence.
A week had passed since my birthday celebration, yet the air still felt as though it were exhaling after holding its breath for too long.
The last of the nobles had departed two days ago. Even the red-haired viscount's son—along with his three followers—had left quietly. The incident itself had been brief, almost trivial in hindsight. A few sharp words, a poorly masked sense of superiority, and a private confrontation that ended without escalation.
No bruised bodies. No witnesses. No lingering tension.
Tess had handled it calmly. I'd handled it… efficiently.
That was that.
No grudges carried forward. No rumors leaked outside the walls. Just another footnote erased by etiquette and silence.
I exhaled slowly and closed the window to my room.
Morning light spilled across the floor, catching dust motes midair. My travel bag rested near the bed—already packed. Clothes, spare boots, basic supplies, and a few enchanted tools Father insisted I take despite my protests.
I would need them.
He always knew.
It's strange, I thought. For weeks, I couldn't wait for everyone to leave. And now that they have… it feels quiet in a way I didn't expect.
A knock came at the door—not sharp, not formal.
I already knew who it was.
"Come in," I said.
Mother peeked inside first, as if checking whether I was awake despite the obvious light streaming in. Her hair was loosely tied, her expression warm but observant.
"You're up early," she said.
"I didn't really sleep," I admitted.
She smiled knowingly and stepped inside, setting a folded cloak on the chair.
"I thought as much."
She didn't ask why. She never needed to.
Instead, she adjusted the strap on my travel bag with practiced ease, her fingers moving with the same care she'd used since I was a child. That familiarity struck deeper than any farewell speech could have.
"Your father's outside," she said. "Trying very hard not to look like he's waiting."
That earned a quiet laugh from me.
"I should go see him."
"Yes. But breakfast first." She pointed firmly toward the door. "No arguments."
The dining hall felt almost too peaceful.
Father sat at the table, arms crossed, staring into his tea as if it had personally offended him. He looked up the moment I entered.
"You're late," he said.
"You knew I'd come," I replied.
"Tch. That's not the point."
Mother set plates down between us, effectively ending the exchange before it could escalate into banter—or something heavier.
We ate slowly.
No speeches. No declarations of pride or expectations. Just small talk—weather, supplies, the condition of the eastern roads. Father complained about the guards being too stiff during the celebration. Mother mentioned that the servants were relieved everything ended smoothly.
Normal conversation.
That, more than anything, made my chest tighten.
In my first life, I thought, farewells were always formal. Heavy. Final.Here… they feel deliberately light. As if they're trusting me to return.
When breakfast ended, Father stood first.
"Walk with me," he said.
We moved through the courtyard, boots crunching softly against gravel. The training grounds were empty now—no spectators, no performers, no visiting knights showing off techniques they half-understood.
Father stopped near the old stone pillar at the edge of the grounds.
"You've planned your route?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Supplies?"
"Enough."
"Tess is traveling with you."
I nodded.
He studied me for a long moment, then sighed.
"You've changed," he said. "Not recently. Not because of the party. You've been changing for a while."
I didn't respond.
"I won't ask what you're chasing," he continued. "If you're going on an adventure, it means you've already decided you need to."
He placed a hand on my shoulder—firm, grounding.
"Just remember," he said quietly, "strength isn't proven by what you can handle alone."
"I know."
He nodded once, satisfied.
"Good. Then go."
Tess was waiting near the front gates.
She wore traveling attire instead of her usual dresses—lighter armor beneath a cloak, hair tied back for practicality rather than elegance. A sword rested at her side, familiar and well-maintained.
When she noticed me approaching, she straightened slightly.
"Ready?" she asked.
"As I'll ever be."
She glanced back at the mansion once, then returned her gaze forward.
"Everyone's gone," she said. "It finally feels… ours again."
I understood what she meant.
The capital had been a stage during the celebration. Now, it was just home.
We walked together past the gates, guards offering respectful bows rather than ceremonial displays. The road ahead stretched wide and open, lined with early morning mist.
I took one last look back—not at the building, but at the people standing near it. Mother raised her hand. Father nodded once.
I raised mine in return.
This isn't an escape, I told myself.It's a step forward.
"Tess," I said as we stepped onto the road.
"Yes?"
"Let's not rush."
She smiled—small, genuine.
"Agreed."
And with that, we departed.
(External POV — Amane)
The capital always lied after celebrations.
For days it wore colors that didn't belong to it—banners too bright, laughter too loud, smiles practiced and stretched thin. Nobles flooded the streets as if joy itself were a performance to be witnessed, consumed, and judged.
And then—suddenly—it ended.
Amane stood on the palace balcony, arms folded behind his head, staring down at a courtyard that had finally returned to silence. No carriages. No visiting crests. No murmurs layered with intent.
Just stone. Wind. Footsteps that belonged only to those who lived here.
"Feels empty, doesn't it?" he muttered.
Behind him, Alisa adjusted her shawl, fingers gripping the fabric a little tighter than usual.
"It feels honest," she said softly.
Amane snorted. "You always say that when you're worried."
"I'm not—"
"You are."
She didn't deny it this time.
Down below, servants moved at a slower pace now that the pressure was gone. Soldiers stood without the stiffness forced by ceremony. Even the air seemed lighter, as though the capital itself had been waiting for the nobles to leave.
"Finally," Amane added. "I was getting sick of polite smiling."
Alisa sighed. "At least nothing went wrong."
Amane shrugged. "That's the suspicious part."
King Edward stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back, posture rigid enough to fool anyone who didn't know him.
Amane knew better.
The king's fingers twitched—barely noticeable, but unmistakable to someone who had fought beside him.
"You're pacing internally again," Amane said without looking.
Edward frowned. "I am not."
"You are. Left foot pressure increased by a fraction. Shoulders stiffened."
"…You're imagining things."
"Sure I am, Your Majesty."
Edward exhaled. "He's leaving the capital."
"He's going on a journey," Amane corrected. "Not marching to war."
Edward didn't respond immediately.
"Tess is with him," the king said at last. "She's capable."
"Yes."
"And yet," Edward continued quietly, "he's still young."
Amane chuckled. "Careful. Say that too loudly and Rio might hear. Kid notices more than he lets on."
Alisa stepped closer to the railing. "He doesn't resent it," she said. "He just remembers."
That silence weighed heavier than armor.
Queen Isolde and Queen Valeria approached, steps unhurried, presence steady.
Isolde rested a hand on Edward's arm. "You're worrying too much."
Valeria nodded. "This is not the first step he has taken alone. Only the first we are watching."
Edward smiled faintly. "You make it sound simple."
"It is not," Valeria replied. "But it is necessary."
Amane grinned. "See? Royal approval. That means we're legally allowed to relax."
Edward shot him a look.
The gates opened.
Amane straightened.
There he was.
Rio stepped forward with measured calm, travel pack on his shoulder. No hesitation. No backward glance.
Too prepared.
Beside him walked Tesselia—no crown, no ceremony. Just a traveler.
Amane's grin faltered.
He really is leaving.
"That pack looks light," Alisa murmured.
"He'll manage," Amane said. "He always does."
"That doesn't help."
"I know."
Rio paused.
Turned.
Amane raised his hand before he could think.
"Oi! Try not to die! Or at least die somewhere inconvenient so I can complain!"
Alisa gasped. "Amane!"
Rio blinked—then smiled.
A real one.
Edward stepped forward. "Return safely," he ordered. "That is an order."
Rio nodded. "I will."
The queens inclined their heads.
Alisa called out, voice steady despite the shine in her eyes. "Eat properly. Rest when you need to."
"I will."
The gates began to close.
Slowly.
Inevitably.
Amane watched until the figures grew small.
Then smaller.
Then gone.
Funny, he thought. I've sent soldiers to battlefields without blinking. But this… this is heavier.
Edward exhaled. "He carries more than he realizes."
Amane nodded. "Yeah. And somehow… less."
The gates shut.
Silence returned.
"Well," Amane said, forcing a grin, "house is going to be boring."
"Only until he comes back," Alisa said.
"He will," Isolde replied calmly.
"And when he does," Valeria added, eyes on the road beyond the walls, "he will not be the same."
Amane chuckled softly.
"Yeah," he said. "That's what scares me."