The morning had begun like any other — sunlight spilling through the high windows, the halls alive with the soft chatter of children and the faint tinkle of enchanted trinkets in motion. Laughter echoed down the corridors as the children chased each other, building forts from curtains and stacks of leather-bound books.
But by mid-morning, a strange tension had settled in the air. The footsteps in the marble hallways grew heavier, slower, and not their own. The protagonist noticed it first: a sharp, unfamiliar rhythm, like the world had shifted slightly and the palace had caught its breath.
The doors to the main hall swung open with a gust of cold wind. Figures stepped inside — tall, formal, dressed in the dark, immaculate attire of the world beyond the palace walls. Parents. Faces tight with purpose, eyes cold with expectation.
"Alaric," one of them called, their voice low, carrying authority that seemed to bounce off the walls and settle in the chest. "It's time to come home."
The protagonist froze. Home? Not this. Not the palace. Not this world that had only ever felt strange, rigid, and distant. Here, he belonged. Here, the halls hummed with life.
Miss Sora stepped forward, her calmness holding even in the presence of such abrupt authority. "He is not ready," she said softly but firmly. "Please, not today."
But the parents did not flinch. They were used to obedience, to schedules, to plans that had nothing to do with children's whims or needs. "He has a duty," the father said. "A path. You cannot delay what is required of him."
The protagonist felt the world tilt. He wanted to protest, to plead, to run back into the hall and the laughter and the warmth. But no words came. He was caught between two worlds: the palace, alive with belonging, and the outside, suffocating with expectation.
The children watched, frozen in shock, whispering among themselves, their laughter cut short. Some tried to reach for him, but the parents' authority was unyielding. Miss Sora's hand lingered over his shoulder for a heartbeat, a silent promise that she would wait for him, even if the world pulled him away.
And then it was done. He was led out of the palace, through the corridors he had memorized, past the doors he had loved, and into a carriage waiting outside. The wind whipped through the streets, biting and unfamiliar. The palace receded behind him, and the laughter faded into memory.
As the carriage rolled away, the protagonist pressed a hand against the window, trying to hold onto the world that had just been torn from him. Miss Sora's gaze followed him until the walls of the palace disappeared completely, and even then, he could feel the echo of her presence in the warmth left behind.
For the first time, he understood that some homes do not follow you. They remain still, frozen in a perfect moment, while life moves forward without asking permission.
And for the first time, the protagonist realized what it meant to be truly alone.