The "heroism" of the previous day had vanished like smoke in a gale. By the following morning, the whispers in the halls had returned to their usual rhythm of skepticism and disdain.
To the staff of the Thorne manor, a single act of protection wasn't enough to erase Nineteen years of drunken outbursts.
They simply assumed the "Trash" had acted on instinct and was now back to his usual, useless self.
Lucian couldn't have been happier. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, savoring the fact that the world had seemingly forgotten he existed. But the silence didn't last.
A soft knock preceded Hans, who entered with a tray of high-calorie broth and a small vial of restorative supplements. The butler looked at Lucian at the pale, silver-white hair and the golden-dull eyes and felt a pang of genuine worry.
"Young Master, please," Hans said, setting the tray down. "You haven't eaten properly since the accident. The doctor is deeply concerned. He's requested that you take these supplements at the very least."
Lucian didn't move. "I am not hungry. Leave."
"I cannot do that, Young Master," Hans replied, his voice uncharacteristically firm.
"You are wasting away. If you won't eat for yourself, do it so I don't have to report your deteriorating state to the Marquis."
Lucian turned his head, his eyes flashing with a sharp, cold annoyance. "I said leave, Hans. The noise of your worrying is far more taxing than hunger. Go."
Hans sighed, the defeat evident in the slump of his shoulders. He left the food by the bed and exited the room, leaving Lucian to his hollow peace.
But the door didn't stay closed. Ten minutes later, Silas marched in. The new heir didn't look like a hero, he looked like a man possessed by a restless, defensive energy.
He stood at the foot of the bed, his hands clenched into fists.
"Is this the new game?" Silas demanded. "Is this because I got the succession? Is that why you've decided to stop speaking to me? To make me feel like the villain?"
Lucian stared out the window, watching a stray bird fly past. "No."
"Then why?!" Silas screamed, the sound echoing off the sterile walls. "Why do you look at me like I'm a stranger? Why do you act like nothing matters?! Answer me, Lucian! Brother!"
Lucian didn't even blink. He remained a statue of apathy.
Silas, unable to draw blood from a stone, let out a frustrated snarl and stormed out, the door slamming behind him.
Lucian sat up slowly. His shoulder throbbed, a dull, pulsing reminder of the drone, but he ignored it. The mansion was too loud. The people were too loud. He needed to be somewhere where the name 'Thorne' carried no weight.
He stood up, his body swaying with lethargy, and made his way to the Marquis's office. He didn't wait for an invite, he simply knocked and entered. The Marquis looked up from his holographic desk, his expression unreadable.
"I have a request," Lucian said, his voice a low, tired rasp. "Send me to the Northern Annex. I want to live there, permanently."
The Marquis didn't even hesitate. "No."
" If you don't want me to live there then exile me in this Family"
The Marquis then stop looking at his work then look at his son.
"No way"
"Why?"
"Because you are a Thorne," the Marquis said, returning to his work.
"And a Thorne does not scurry off to a frozen wasteland to hide from his responsibilities. You will stay here, in the main house, where you can be monitored."
For the first time since his awakening, the mask of apathy on Lucian's face cracked. A flash of raw, cold fury, an echo of the original Lucian's legendary temper, lit up his eyes.
He didn't scream, but the air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Without another word, he turned and walked out.
He headed straight for the front gates. His body felt like it was made of lead, and every step was a battle against his own exhaustion, but he didn't stop.
"Young Master! Stop!"
Hans came running after him, his face pale with panic. "You are injured! You cannot leave the grounds without a guard! Where are you going?"
Lucian stopped at the gate and turned to face the butler. His expression was sharp, his eyes narrowed in a way that made Hans freeze in his tracks. It was the look of a man who was one second away from tearing the world apart.
"I am going to the park," Lucian said, his voice like cracking ice. "Do not follow me. Do not send anyone. If I see a single Thorne crest behind me, I will not come back at all."
Hans stepped back, genuine fear flickering in his eyes. "I... I understand. Just... please, come back safe. Do not do anything problematic."
As soon as Hans retreated, the anger drained from Lucian's face, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. He walked out of the gates, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. By the time he reached the park, his vision was tunneling.
He didn't make it to the bench. He collapsed at the base of a tree, sinking into the grass and looking up at the sky. He felt the cold dampness of the earth, and for a moment, it was enough.
"Why... why are you here?"
A small, frantic voice broke his silence. He didn't need to look to know who it was. Lily stood over him, her face bright red, her chest heaving as she struggled for air. She had run all the way from the mansion, her small boots covered in dust.
Lucian closed his eyes, a tired sigh escaping his lips.
'Even here,' he thought, 'the world won't let me just sit still.'