The sky darkened with the heavy press of storm clouds as Lucca stood before the iron gates of the Grand Marshal's stronghold. Unlike his secluded garden and mother's gentle chambers, this place was forged from discipline and dominance. The walls loomed high—grey stone and jagged spires crowned with banners bearing the imperial crest. There was nothing warm here. Just power made stone.
The guards barely acknowledged him as he passed through the great hall. He had expected that. Lucca rarely came here. Fewer saw him as the Grand Marshal's son—more as a lingering inconvenience best forgotten.
He paused at the foot of the long, polished corridor that led to his father's chambers. His reflection, small and pale, stared back at him from the marbled floor. How many times had he dreamed of walking away instead? How often had he weighed freedom against punishment?
But today, every second mattered.
With steady breath, he pushed open the door.
Kael Althearo sat at his war table, hands gloved in black leather, eyes scanning parchments marked with crimson wax. His hair, streaked with grey like burnished steel, was slicked back in ruthless precision. Beside him stood two lieutenants in rigid silence. When Lucca entered, Kael did not rise. Did not even look up.
"Well?" The voice was hard as gravel.
Lucca bowed stiffly. "I'd like permission to leave the estate."
At that, Kael raised his head.
"Where."
Lucca hesitated. "Just out for a walk. Air does a man good." He hated how small his voice sounded in this room.
Kael's eyes narrowed. "A walk," he echoed with a dry curl of his lip. "You think me a fool, boy?"
"No," Lucca said quickly. "I just— I thought it would be… nothing formal."
The Grand Marshal stood now, crossing the room with the slow, deliberate steps of a predator. His presence filled the space, made the air thinner somehow.
"You recall what happened last time, don't you?"
Lucca flinched. Three days in the east tower. No food. Just water. Just silence.
He steadied himself. "I do."
"And yet here you are again. Breathing lies through your teeth."
Lucca swallowed and changed tactics. "There's a place. A town. Viremore."
Kael arched a brow. "The Ravennor Wastes."
"I need supplies. Gear. My sword is dull."
"Buy it here."
"Not what I need. Not what Viremore offers."
Kael studied him for a long, tense moment. The silence stretched like wire between them, sharp and fragile. Then, unexpectedly, he waved a hand.
"Go."
Lucca blinked. "That's… all?"
"You heard me."
"No guards? No escort?"
"You think yourself so important?" Kael turned back to his maps. "Wander. Break something if you wish. I've more pressing matters than your little whims."
Lucca bowed again, uneasy. "As you say."
He left quickly, the echo of his steps swallowed by the heavy stone.
Outside, the storm had not yet broken, but the wind had changed.
*****
That night, Lucca sat beside Ilenya's bedside. Her skin was colder now. The healer's herbs did little to calm her trembling. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling as if carrying stones with each inhale.
The candle beside her bed flickered weakly.
"You're restless tonight," she murmured when her eyes opened, cloudy and full of pain.
"I'm going away," Lucca said gently. "Just for a few days."
She turned her head toward him. "Where?"
"Somewhere quiet. Somewhere I might find something useful."
She didn't push further. She always knew when he was hiding something, but never forced it out of him.
"You don't need to carry the world on your shoulders," she said, her voice like fraying silk. "Maybe… maybe it's simply my time."
"No." Lucca held her hand tighter. "Not yet. You still have to stay... You still have to see me live."
A faint smile curved her lips. "Live?" she whispered. "You've always been more alive than most."
"Not alive enough," he murmured.
She closed her eyes again. "Be careful, my heart. Don't lose yourself in the fire."
He stayed until she fell back asleep. Then he kissed her forehead, and for the first time in years, he prayed. Not to the gods of old, not to the Empress Divine, but to something deeper. Older. Whatever might hear.
Let her live. Just a little longer.
*****
At dawn, Lucca stood at the gates of his quiet estate, wrapped in a travel cloak dark as soot, a simple pack over one shoulder and his blade slung across his back. The wind carried the scent of distant pine and rain.
Brinn stood beside him, his face lined with worry. "I've packed dried meat, rations, and coins—though not enough for Viremore's prices, truth be told. I'll watch over your mother."
"Thank you," Lucca said quietly. "Tell the maids she's not to be left alone."
Brinn nodded. "You'll be back?"
Lucca looked down the dirt road coiling into the horizon.
"I'll try."
He turned once more to gaze at the house—small, quiet, worn by years of sorrow. A haven of love in a world that had none to spare.
And then he walked.
Not just to Viremore. Not just to find a flower.
But toward a reckoning he could not yet name.