The night had been short. Sleep, restless. When he opened his eyes, dawn had not yet touched the horizon. The mansion was plunged into that thick gloom which precedes the day, silent as a tomb. He rose without a sound, the heaviness in his limbs due more to thoughts than to lack of rest. In his mind, the decision was clear: despite his conversation with Beatrice the day before, he would leave today. He saw no reason to remain. Not here. Not now.
He crossed the still-sleeping corridors, where each step echoed like an intrusion. The air was motionless, almost heavy. The entrance hall, vast and empty, awaited him like a full stop. But he was not alone. A woman stood there, upright, arms crossed. Her slender figure and feline features were not truly familiar to him. Frederica. He only knew that she lived here, that she had her own secrets. Her smile revealed white teeth, a strange glint halfway between friendly and mocking.
Frederica:
— You plan to leave?
He made no effort to avoid the question.
Guts:
— It's time. I've got no reason to stay. No point in continuing.
She studied him for a few seconds, as if probing the solidity of his resolve.
Frederica:
— I don't really know you… but wasn't there no choice but to remain?
Her words made him frown.
Guts:
— What's that supposed to mean?
A brief silence, then she spoke again.
Frederica:
— Do you want another reason to stay?
Irritation stirred in him. He disliked anyone trying to steer his path.
Guts:
— I don't need one.
Frederica stepped closer, her golden eyes faintly shining in the shadows.
Frederica:
— My brother is still at the Sanctuary. He insists on staying there. Perhaps he's only waiting… for a reason to come out.
He turned his gaze aside, as if the name of that place alone was enough to recall burdens he did not want.
Guts:
— I'm not a babysitter. Sorry.
He took a step toward the door. Yet he halted. Images of an unknown world, without bearings, drifted through his mind. He had no destination. Nowhere to go.
He let out a sigh and half-turned back to her.
Guts:
— Fine… I'll stay. But it's not for him.
Frederica's smile widened, almost imperceptibly.
Frederica:
— The reason doesn't matter. What matters is that you're here.
The mansion opened behind him with a slight creak, and the fresh morning air brushed his face. Guts stepped over the threshold and found himself in the garden, immaculate, every hedge neatly trimmed, every flowerbed perfectly maintained. Nothing had changed since his arrival. The almost manic precision of the upkeep contrasted with the tension and tragedies that had unfolded within those walls.
As he walked, his steps led him naturally to a secluded corner. He stopped short. It was there, at that precise spot, that Ram had breathed her last under his blade, only a few days earlier. The ground bore no visible trace of the fight — no blood, no imprint. Yet the image was carved into his mind, sharp as if it had just happened. He remained still for a moment, eyes fixed on the grass, as if searching for invisible remnants of the memory. Then he looked away and resumed walking.
Reaching the gate, he stopped once more, this time to turn back. The mansion stood in the morning light, imposing, almost like a castle. Its pale façade reflected the first rays of the sun, giving the building an almost unreal glow. Despite what he had lived there, he could not deny the majesty of the place. But it was not his home, and he had no intention of staying.
He crossed the gate and, on a sudden impulse, began to run. A jog. It had been a long time since he had trained, and his muscles almost seemed to crave the effort. His strides were steady, his heavy steps echoing against the hard ground. The cold morning air burned slightly in his lungs, but he did not slow down. Running was like restoring order to his thoughts, clearing away what had been piling up for too long. Half an hour passed thus, until his legs began to protest. He stopped, wiped the sweat from his brow, and resumed his path.
His steps carried him to the stables. The smell of hay and horses greeted him at once. He quickly spotted a dark-coated steed, sturdy and well kept. Unhurriedly, he set about preparing it, adjusting the saddle and straps with sure movements. There was no haste in the departure. On the contrary, he savored this solitude, this calm before discussions and obligations returned.
Soon, the carriage was drawn outside. Guts carefully harnessed the horse, checking every fastening with attention. The metal of the fittings clicked softly under his fingers.
The sun was already high, casting golden flashes across the mansion's windows. The building's shadow slowly receded, as if inviting him to depart.
Everything was ready. Guts took his seat at the front, on the driver's bench. His belongings were already there: the sword, the armor, and nothing more. He needed nothing else for the road. So he waited, hands resting on his knees, gaze fixed straight ahead, ready to move the moment it was time.
The creak of heavy doors echoed in the courtyard when Emilia appeared, accompanied by Frederica and Petra. The three figures stood outlined in the morning light. Guts, already seated at the front of the carriage, lifted his eyes, but Emilia immediately looked away, as if avoiding any connection.
Frederica stopped on the steps, still, her expression neutral but tinged with quiet warmth. She raised her hand in a calm gesture.
Frederica:
— Safe travels, knight.
Guts inclined his head slightly and replied with a brief nod, without a word.
Petra, however, trotted up to him with a determined gleam in her eyes. She held a small white handkerchief, carefully folded, in her hands.
Petra:
— This is for you.
Guts frowned slightly, climbed down from his seat. The little one didn't give him the time to ask anything: she gently seized his wrist and tied the handkerchief around it, with the precision of a gesture rehearsed in her mind.
Petra:
— This way, you won't forget us. And… you'll come back so I can wash it.
The warrior studied the cloth, silent for a moment. Then a faint smile, rare and discreet, formed on his lips. Emilia, standing back, finally raised her eyes to him, as if surprised by that smile.
Without breaking the eye contact, Guts turned away to open the carriage door.
Guts:
— Get in.
Emilia took a step forward, but a voice rang out behind them.
Rem:
— Lady Emilia! Please wait!
They all turned. Rem was hurrying toward them, breathing short but determined. She stopped a few steps away, catching her breath, her hands clutching her skirt.
Rem:
— I… I would like to come with you.
Guts stared at her a moment, but she carefully avoided his gaze. Something in her demeanor had changed.
Frederica descended the steps and approached. Emilia, hesitant, voiced the question burning her lips.
Emilia:
— Frederica… will it be a problem for you to manage the mansion with only Petra?
Frederica answered without a trace of hesitation.
Frederica:
— It won't be a problem. And I think Rem needs this journey…
Emilia nodded, a faint smile of gratitude on her lips.
Emilia:
— Very well. Rem, come with us.
Rem agreed, passed by Guts without a word, and took her seat inside.
Guts closed the door, climbed back onto his bench. The horses pawed lightly at the ground. He cast one last glance toward the steps: Frederica, upright like a sentinel, and Petra, waving vigorously at him. He lifted his hand in response, then gave a slight flick of the reins.
The carriage rolled forward, slowly leaving the paved courtyard, before vanishing along the tree-lined path. Behind them, the mansion faded, but the white handkerchief tied around his wrist remained — a quiet bond with that place.