Guards patrolled everywhere outside Rhode’s house—even inside the mansion, soldiers were stationed at intervals.
But Rhode had slipped past every patrol and reached the rooftop of his own home.
Flat on his stomach, he held his breath and inched forward, silent and slow.
Though the patrols were thorough, Rhode saw gaps only he could exploit.
After all, he was Hagart’s student. Even if his stealth needed work, his eyes never missed a thing.
Five years of cat-and-mouse games with Black Raven hadn’t been for nothing.
These soldiers couldn’t possibly know this house better than he did.
It was *his* home.
With practiced ease, Rhode weaved past every guard and slipped inside—unseen, untouched.
“So sleepy…” A guard at the corner yawned, muttering to himself.
“Hey, stay sharp. Get caught slacking and you’ll get chewed out,” another warned.
“Yeah, yeah,” the yawning guard waved dismissively.
“Who’d be stupid enough to come back here?” he grumbled.
Yet the very “fool” he mocked slipped past them in the silence between words.
Inside, darkness clung to the halls. Only patrol-path lights glowed; most rooms lay pitch-black.
Rhode had crawled through a shadowed window, moving without a whisper. Not a single sound betrayed him.
Before leaving the window, he gently closed it behind him—leaving no trace.
Room by room, he searched. No sign of his mother. He’d hoped she’d hidden in the secret chamber.
He *really* didn’t want her captured.
…As if that needed saying.
Rhode found no hiding place—only bloodstains.
Scuff marks, torn fabric, signs of struggle scattered through the halls.
Some from servants. Maybe some from her. They’d fought back.
She was likely alive—no news of death had spread.
But no word on where she’d been taken.
Rhode fell silent. He wanted to keep searching… but reason cut deep: *She’s gone. Staying means capture.*
He had no strength to fight back if caught.
He stepped into a room, pushed the window open, and drew a slow breath.
This window was hidden. A clean escape route.
Foot on the sill, he turned one last time—eyes lingering on his home.
Would he ever return? Probably not.
This farewell… might be forever.
The courtyard where he played with Shilo stood empty.
By the window where his mother told stories: a torn scrap of servant’s cloth.
The hallway he once raced down: stained with unknown blood.
*Stay quiet. Move like a wild cat.*
He leaped down lightly, caught a windowsill mid-fall.
A direct drop would’ve been too loud. Too risky.
He wasn’t even sure which floor this was.
Seriously—falling could break a leg.
Window by window, he descended. Landed without a sound.
Relief washed over him—then froze. A shadow moved toward him.
Rhode dove into a bush, teeth gritted against the sting of scratching branches.
“I *heard* something here,” a guard murmured, flashlight sweeping.
“I heard nothing,” another grumbled.
“Shift change. Let’s go.”
“But—”
“Worried? Search yourself.”
“Fine.”
“Higher-ups think something’s hidden here. That family might return for it.”
They walked past. Rhode stayed still.
Only after their footsteps faded did he crawl out—skin raw with scratches.
He licked a cut, turning over their words.
*Something hidden?* He doubted it. If anything existed, only his father knew.
He’d lived here fifteen years. Been the most mischievous kid, explored every corner.
If he hadn’t found it then, he wouldn’t now.
As a guard’s gaze shifted away, Rhode vaulted the wall.
In an instant, he dashed across the street and vanished into the crowd.
“Someone jumped out from there!” a guard shouted.
“After him! A remnant of the Doraf family!”
“Don’t stand there—MOVE!”
Guards surged forward.
Too late. The black-haired boy had already melted into the throng.
The crowd stirred nervously. Rhode mimicked their panic, edging backward step by step.
Behind the wall’s cover, he slipped away calmly.
The guards kept scanning faces—blind to his escape.
Rhode glanced at his bleeding scratches and winced.
Around him, whispers swirled about his family’s ruin.
No one mentioned his mother.
“…Guess I’ll have to find answers myself,” he sighed.
