Lucien immediately gasped for air, jumping out of his bed soaked in sweat as if he had just drowned.
Beep! Beep!
[9:00 AM]
He shifted his gaze and spotted the clock on a side cabinet vibrating to the edge of the cabinet-top. He stretched his arm and pushed it in, before attempting to turn off the alarm.
He missed the first time, his eyes still heavy from sleep. He rubbed his eyes and tried again.
Ding!
He let his hand fall and stared out the window.
’It seems someone entered my room,’ he thought as he slid the curtain open.
The bright radiating sunshine hit his eyes harder than ever. His hair shimmered in the sun’s light, making it even harder for him to see.
"What the hell!"
He shut the curtain and took a deep breath. After hours of staying in the dark, his eyes had forgotten the true nature of sunlight.
"Oh, you’re awake," Celeste’s voice rang from outside the door, followed by a short sequence of knocks.
She let herself in, and Lucien just stared at her, slowly removing his blanket from his legs.
"There’s a bathroom in your room, equipped with everything you need to freshen up."
She entered, dressed in a casual dress with make-up on her face as though she had somewhere planned.
"When you’re done, breakfast would most likely be ready. Make yourself at home."
Lucien’s body twitched with each word until she left the room with a smile. He gradually lowered his legs and stared at his door for a few minutes.
"Ahh," he exclaimed, falling back to his bed.
"Wasn’t this the girl that was calling me a demon? Why hasn’t she tried to kill me yet?"
He quickly got up and walked to his bed, staggering a few times. His legs were healed, but he hadn’t gotten used to his new environment.
He rolled the bathroom door open. It was a translucent glass panel hidden behind a clothing rack, just enough to be hidden but noticeable when approached.
"How do I lock this door? I don’t want anyone seeing me while I do my business," he muttered, knowing fully that his door had no lock mechanism.
A visitor wouldn’t live in a house for the first time without locking his door. That was Lucien’s way of enforcing caution.
Eventually, he brushed his teeth, took his bath, and dressed himself in the clothes laid out for him. Then, Celeste’s mother knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" Lucien questioned, still sorting out the clothes he would steal for himself when he would eventually leave the house.
"Oh, it’s me. May I come in?"
Lucien paused, hid the clothes, and reluctantly allowed her in.
"Do whatever you want."
She opened the door and offered him a glass of water as well as small snacks to keep him stuffed during hours that food wasn’t served.
"Tell me, are you people rich? And what are you doing in the middle of nowhere?" He asked while taking the glass of water and unpacking the snacks on a table.
Her face softened, and she lowered her head, the tray she carried clutched tightly in her hands.
"My husband is a very good soldier, a handsome and refined man at that."
"His colleagues were simply jealous of him and tried killing us multiple times. Maybe it was to cause him emotional stress so that he would lose his position."
Lucien clenched his fists, involuntarily clenching his teeth in rage. He stared the woman directly.
"Sick bastards! What do you guys have to do with any of this?"
The woman smiled softly and took her leave.
"It’s best I don’t disturb a visitor with my personal matters. As long as my son comes back home regularly, it’s fine with me."
Out of curiosity, Lucien replied to the woman, demanding to know her son as he spread out his bed sheets and tucked them properly beneath his pillow.
"Vaelion’s his first name. You must have seen him, right? He’s your division captain, and I must say, he’s hard not to look at." She laughed softly before heading downstairs.
Her footsteps echoed unnaturally loudly.
No. That was simply all he could hear.
’Vaelion, huh.’
"What a small world this is," he muttered, falling to his bed, his back facing the ceiling.
"I think I’ll leave here before they find out what I’ve done," he said, his voice muffled by the bed’s thick sheets.
He went back to the rack and picked a few clothes and shoes before packing them tightly in a bag.
"These snacks too," he said, reaching out for the laid-out snacks on the table beside him.
He tucked them beneath his bed and ran downstairs to eat.
’If I could steal some food, believe me I would,’ he thought to himself, the sharp sounds of his feet hitting the stairs, resounding.
He eventually reached the dining area—a place that had become his safe spot. The food was laid out perfectly for him. It was a traditional western-style breakfast—pancakes stacked over one another and drenched in maple syrup, fried eggs sandwiched between two slices of toasted bread, and to its side was a glass of orange juice and water.
"I never had this much variety," he whispered, slowly approaching the dining table, his hand readied to grab the fork and pierce through the pancakes.
’I still have to be cautious of that girl. She might not have killed me last night, but I still don’t know her reasons.’
He bit through the first pancake, savoring the taste as he stared at the toast waiting to be picked up by his hungry hands.
’Maybe she’s trying to build a sense of trust so that she can kill me easily. I’ll never truly know.’
He grabbed the glass of orange juice and swallowed everything at once. He could feel his mouth yearning for more food, but he knew to be careful considering how mysterious the house was now.
Immediately he finished, he ran upstairs, grabbed his bag filled with snacks, clothes, food, and some household items placed in his room and ran towards the front door.