[Everlight City — Ravenshade Mansion]
The carriage slowed to a stop before the mansion gates. Standing there, as if he had been waiting for hours with the patience of a monk, was the first familiar figure to greet me.
"Welcome, Young Master," Haiden said, bowing slightly with his usual calm smile. A man in his late forties, sharp in posture but gentle in tone, he looked as though nothing in the world could ruffle him. "How have you been?"
"Quite well, Haiden," I replied lightly, giving him a once-over. "And it seems you've been doing just as well yourself."
"All thanks to the Lord's grace," he answered with that polished sincerity only long years of service could perfect. "How was your journey?"
"Pleasant enough," I said, stretching my shoulders with a small shrug. "Though sitting too long makes one feel less like a passenger and more like luggage."
That earned me one of his rare chuckles, dry but polite. "A fair point, Young Master. Long rides are tiresome indeed. Please, take your rest. We'll see to your belongings."
"Good." My gaze flicked toward the mansion. "And the estate? You didn't slack off while I was away, did you?"
Haiden straightened his back with soldierly precision. "No, Young Master. Everything is in order. If you wish, I can give you a tour to assure you."
I smirked. "No need. I trust you. If you had slacked off, you'd already be rehearsing excuses. And you don't strike me as the humorous type."
The corner of his lips curved, the closest thing he allowed himself to a grin. "I shall take that as a compliment."
---
We walked past the gates and into the mansion grounds. Luxurious, yes, but not nearly as sprawling as our true estate. Still, it carried enough dignity that no noble neighbor could ever accuse us of "lagging behind."
My footsteps echoed along the grey-tiled path leading to the entrance. The evening sky painted everything with a red-gold sheen, and one by one, the mana lamps flickered awake, casting their soft, steady glow over walls and gardens alike.
The tall doors opened easily, revealing a shining hall that welcomed us in its polished grandeur.
"So, what would you prefer, Young Master?" Haiden asked as we walked. "The cook has already prepared dinner. If you wish, we can begin at once."
"A tempting thought," I said with a nod. "But I'll head to my room and freshen up first. Then I'll join for an early dinner and rest. The academy begins tomorrow."
"As you wish, Young Master," Haiden replied smoothly, bowing as we parted ways.
---
The difference inside was clear. Compared to my main estate, the number of servants here was smaller, but everything remained orderly and well-kept. Every staff member I passed bowed in silence, acknowledging me with that mix of respect and restraint they were trained for.
And behind me, as always, trailed Roselyn.
"Roselyn," I said over my shoulder, "why don't you freshen up too? Surely you're tired."
She shook her head gently, her steps perfectly even. "No, Young Master. I am comfortable. I will assist you as well."
I couldn't help but smile at that. "Assist me, hm? Interesting. Because I was planning on taking a shower. What then—were you intending to join? Wash me from top to bottom, perhaps?"
Her steps faltered just enough for me to notice. "W–well, n–not that!" she stammered, cheeks warming. "But… if you insist—"
"Relax," I cut her off, amused at her flustered expression. "I've changed my mind. I'll handle it myself. You, on the other hand, should go and freshen up properly. No excuses, Roselyn."
Her lips pushed into a faint pout. She whispered something under her breath—likely a teasing retort I wasn't meant to catch—before nodding with reluctant obedience.
I left her behind and entered the room prepared for me. Not excessively flashy, but elegant in that quiet, noble way. The kind of room that made anyone step inside and think: Damn, this guy really is living like a golden boy.
And… they wouldn't be wrong. That's me.
The bathroom was spotless, already prepared with fresh towels, scented oils, and steaming water as if the world had conspired to keep me pampered. I sank into the bath, letting the warmth seep into my muscles, melting away what little fatigue lingered from the journey.
Truth be told, all I had done was sit in a carriage all day. But somehow, even sitting could be exhausting when you were me.
---
After my bath, dressed in something comfortable, I headed to the dining hall. Everything was arranged as Haiden had promised.
I slid into a seat at the long table—a table grand enough to host a dozen nobles in grand conversation, yet now hosting only me. Loneliness? Not quite. I've always preferred my own company to the noise of too many others.
The maids moved gracefully, setting dishes with practiced elegance. But none of them served me directly. That task, apparently, belonged solely to Roselyn.
"So you've claimed the role of being the only one allowed to serve me, hm?" I remarked casually as she leaned close to place a cut of meat onto my plate. My words were low, meant only for her.
Her lashes fluttered as she tilted her head innocently. "Huh? I don't understand, Young Master. What do you mean?"
"You know…" I smirked, watching her carefully. "The type who insists—I'm the only one worthy enough to serve him, so the others should just stand back and admire from afar. That type."
Her hand paused mid-motion, ever so briefly. "We–well… I still don't understand what you mean," she stammered, eyes darting away.
"Tch. Forget it." I waved it off, though my eyes lingered with curiosity. "Just seems like you're not letting the others get too close."
Her lips curved faintly, and she leaned in, her voice so soft it almost slipped past my ears. "That's only because you don't realize how breathtaking you look fresh out of the bath."
"…Did you say something?" I raised a brow, though my tone was more amused than stern.
She straightened instantly, feigning composure. "No, Young Master. I was only asking if the food is to your liking."
I chuckled, cutting into the meal. "Delicious. Haiden really did choose the staff well."
Roselyn smiled—one of those small, quiet smiles that carried more weight than words—then gracefully resumed her silent post at my side.
----
---
The night had fallen.
The once-buzzing Ravenshade mansion was now quiet, resting in the lull of darkness. Servants tucked away in their quarters, guards pacing their posts, and me? I wasn't in bed like a normal noble son. No, I was in front of my closet, rummaging through clothes, a singular purpose in mind.
"Ah, found it," I muttered, my fingers closing around a piece of fabric. I pulled it out—a dark robe with a hood that covered the face just enough, a simple, non-descript garment that was perfect for my purpose.
Now, before you think I'm planning some sketchy midnight heist, let me clear it up. This isn't the usual kind of dress-up girls do just to show off tomorrow. Nope. For me, it's simple: tonight's my last night of freedom. Tomorrow, I start at the Academy. Tomorrow, I become the so-called third-rate villain.
Sure, maybe the early days will go just like the story I know… but after that? It's all a mystery. I'll be seeing it from a one-way perspective. My perspective.
So why not enjoy myself tonight?
With that thought, I leapt out my window. Yep, second floor—no hesitation. As I landed, I let my wind affinity cushion the fall, softening the impact to a whisper of a thud. Not my first time, honestly. The previous Evan pulled that stunt more than once, but now it's me wearing his skin. I felt a familiar thrill, a small spark of rebellion that was all my own.
Moving swiftly and silently, I slipped toward the garden. There, hidden by carefully trimmed hedges, was my little escape route. A wall, a rock, and a not-so-innocent secret. At a glance, it looked like any other decorative stone. But slide it just right, and voilà—a crawlspace appeared.
Who made it? Of course, me. Evan Ravenshade. Artist, escape architect, part-time troublemaker.
I'd even spread a few creative rumors to keep the servants and guards away. Stuff like, "Touch this stone and your wife won't stay faithful." Not exactly true… but hey, it worked. The fear of domestic discord was apparently a more powerful deterrent than any physical security system.
With a grin tugging at my lips, I crouched down, slipped through the tunnel, and emerged outside the walls of Ravenshade Mansion. Smooth. Silent. Free.
"For one last night," I murmured, tugging my hood down. Then I started walking, the shadows swallowing me whole.
As I walked, the path ahead glowed faintly, lit by rows of night mana lamps. Soft, steady light pulsed from their crystal cores, painting the streets in a gentle silver hue.
The city really lived up to its name—Everlight. Even at night, it shone.
I slowed my pace. No rush. No sneaking around. No pretending to be the brooding noble or the sharp-tongued "villain" of some story. Just me, Evan, walking. Breathing. Looking.
And damn, it was beautiful.
The buildings rose like old guardians of history, carved with detail yet alive with use. Balconies still carried hanging plants that swayed in the night breeze, banners fluttered above market streets, and the scent of roasted nuts and sweet bread lingered from vendors packing up. It felt like stepping into one of those fantasy dramas—the type where a wide-eyed heroine gasps her way through the capital, marveling at every lantern and stone bridge.
Except this time, there was no beauty chick twirling her skirts under the moonlight. Just me. Hood up, hands in pockets, quietly drinking in the view.
The city refused to sleep. Shops still glowed, lanterns lit their thresholds like welcoming hands. A bard sat at the corner strumming a soft tune, his melody weaving into the fabric of the night. Couples strolled arm in arm, their laughter light on the air, and merchants called out last-minute deals with voices far too energetic for the hour.
No neon signs. No buzzing electronics. No skyscrapers stabbing at the stars. Just the hum of mana, the pulse of lamps, and the murmur of life weaving through cobblestone streets.
Honestly? I liked it this way.
This world had everything—wealth, wonder, danger, beauty. It only lacked the modern toys I grew up with. But maybe that wasn't a flaw. Maybe that was freedom. The kind of freedom that allows you to feel the world, not just look at it through a screen.
Eventually, my wandering brought me into a smaller street, half-hidden between two taller buildings. And there, tucked at the corner, was a little shop. The kind you'd miss if you blinked.
Perfect.
"Got any cigarettes?" I asked, stepping inside.
The shopkeeper didn't bother with pleasantries. Just looked up once and said, "Yes."
"Mint flavor, then. One pack."
A quick exchange later, the cool weight of the box sat in my palm. Funny thing is, I wasn't planning to smoke. Not really. Just… you never know when it might come in handy. Or maybe I just wanted to pretend I had a reason. A prop, a silent statement.
"Haah…" A tired sigh slipped from me as I stepped back into the night. The buzz of the city dimmed into background noise. Fatigue crept in—not the heavy kind, just the soft tug that said enough for today. My eyelids drooped, my steps slowed.
Maybe it was time to head back. Tomorrow was waiting. A new chapter. A new role. Would it be just another third-rate story, like I already knew? Or… maybe something different.
With that thought, I cut into a narrow alley—a shortcut I'd noticed earlier. Always a quicker path if you know where to look.
Tomorrow's catching up, huh. What's this new life going to be like, man?
"Help, please help!"
It's going to be another third-rate story, or—
"Hey, I said please help!"
…Maybe a different story, one where I actually—
"Hey! Why are you ignoring my pleas?! Can't you see I'm being robbed here?!"
My monologue was cut short by the sharp, sweet voice breaking through my head. Only then did I finally look up.
A girl—or maybe a young lady, hard to tell with that hoodie covering half her face—was clutching her bag. In front of her, a man waved around a knife, his posture screaming "give it up or else."
Classic robbery scene.
"Well… that's some new arrangement here, ain't it?" I muttered to myself, a wry smile spreading across my face. Of all the cliches to run into on my last night of freedom.