Six months.
That was how long it had been since Rayan Sunreign had fallen from grace. Once, his name had been spoken with respect in the marble halls of the royal castle. A noble by birth, groomed to carry himself with dignity, Rayan had believed his place in the world was secure. But all of that had changed on a single humiliating day, when the accusation of theft of stealing from the Sunreign's treasury stripped him of everything he thought permanent.
He had been dragged before the Head of the family, his face pale as the charges were laid out. No evidence was strong enough to prove his guilt, but no voice rose in his defense either. And in the silence of the hall, the patriarch had decreed punishment. His noble title was ripped away, his name marked with shame, and as if to crush every last trace of manhood, he had been castrated.
Rayan still remembered the moment with vivid clarity the scornful stares, the whispers that hissed like snakes, the way the courtiers turned their backs as if he were diseased. Even his fiancee, broke their engagement without hesitation. She hadn't even looked at him when she sent the letter.
That night, when he was escorted out of the castle gates, he looked back only once. The towers, gleaming in the moonlight, were not his home anymore. They never had been, he realized bitterly.
At first, he thought he would starve.
Without magic, without swordsmanship, without any trade skills, he was nothing more than a discarded shell of a man. He knocked on doors, begged for work, and endured sneers from merchants who recognized his name. For weeks, he slept on the cold stones of the city's alleys, his stomach gnawing in hunger.
The only job he managed to find was at the outer gates of the city a gatekeeper. A position so low and risky because of the monster attacks on the outer walls so that even commoners avoided it. His task was simple check the travelers who came and went, record their names, examine their cargo. A work that required no talent, only presence.
He accepted it. Pride was a luxury he no longer had.
Now, six months later, Rayan's life had fallen into rhythm. He lived in a cheap rented room near the gate, where the walls were cracked, and the roof leaked when it rained. The bed creaked under his weight, and the straw mattress stank of mold. But it was his.
Each morning, he donned the simple leather jerkin of a gate guard and took his post by the towering wooden gates. Travelers streamed in and out merchants with carts full of wares, farmers bringing produce, mercenaries swaggering with weapons at their sides. Rayan checked their papers, inspected their belongings, and waved them through.
Most ignored him. Some mocked him, recognizing the once proud noble now reduced to checking bags like a common thief. He learned to endure their laughter with a stone face.
At night, when he returned to his room, silence became his companion. He lit a single candle, sat by the window, and stared at the city streets below. He had grown used to being alone. In the castle, he had been surrounded by people, yet none had ever truly cared. Here, at least, the loneliness was honest.
But the memories never left him.
Sometimes, he dreamed of what might have been. If he had not been accused, he would have been married to his fiancee by now, perhaps sitting at feasts, speaking of politics and alliances. Instead, he woke up to the sound of rats scurrying across the floorboards, to the ache in his chest that never quite went away.
He often asked himself: Why me? Why had no one stood for me?
No answer ever came.
One autumn morning, as the mist hung heavy over the city walls, Rayan stood at his post. The sun had barely risen, painting the horizon in pale orange. The gates creaked open, and the first travelers approached a caravan of merchants from the western trade routes.
"Papers," Rayan said, his voice flat, almost mechanical.
The merchant handed him a rolled parchment. Rayan examined the seal, checked the cargo spices, fabrics, trinkets. Nothing unusual. He waved them through.
This was his life now. Routine. Predictable. Safe, in its own miserable way.
And yet, a part of him had changed.
The first weeks, he had cursed his fate, drowning in anger and humiliation. But as the days turned into months, he began to see himself differently. He no longer thought of himself as Rayan Sunreign, noble of the castle. That man had died the night he was thrown out.
What remained was someone simpler. Someone who lived day by day, who survived on stale bread and watered ale, who did not dream of glory or wealth. In that strange, quiet way, he had adjusted.
For the first time in his life, he was truly free, free from expectations, free from politics, free from people who pretended to care.
The loneliness still gnawed at him, but it was bearable.
One evening, after his shift ended, Rayan walked through the crowded streets of the lower city. Lanterns lit the night, and the smell of roasted meat drifted from taverns. He stopped at a stall and bought a piece of stale bread with what little coin he earned.
As he ate, he overheard laughter young men boasting about their magical talents, girls giggling at their words. He turned away, unwilling to listen. That world no longer belonged to him.
He returned to his room, lit his candle, and sat on the edge of his bed. The silence wrapped around him like a cloak. He thought of the castle again, of the hollow echo of footsteps in marble halls where he had never truly belonged.
And for the first time, he whispered aloud to himself
"Perhaps this is better."
Rayan, the disgraced noble, the castrated outcast, had become a gatekeeper an invisible man who stood at the city's edge, watching others pass through.
Six months ago, he thought his life had ended. But now, as he leaned against the wooden post of the gate, watching the endless flow of strangers, he realized something else.
Life had not ended. It had simply changed.
And he, forgotten by the world, would learn to live with it.