The next morning, I woke up knowing I was leaving.
Sunlight slipped through the curtains, birds chirped outside my window, and the world had apparently decided to give me a perfectly ordinary morning.
It was suspiciously considerate.
I sat on the edge of the mattress and stared at the floor, waiting for the sudden urge to abandon my plans to arrive. After several minutes, it showed no signs of appearing. Unfortunately, neither did a better plan.
Seven Grimoires.
Somewhere across this enormous world were seven ancient artifacts connected to beings powerful enough to approach godhood, and I had decided that finding them was my best chance of surviving a future I vaguely remembered ending in disaster. I possessed one Grimoire already, which was encouraging until I remembered that the original protagonist had spent years pursuing the same collection without ever obtaining all eight.
Naturally, I had decided to imitate his career.
When presented with two options, I apparently had a special talent for choosing the one most likely to end with me buried beneath several tons of ancient masonry.
Still, remaining in House Valerian and hoping the future would politely ignore me wasn’t much of a strategy either. If I wanted a chance at escaping this world—or at least surviving what was coming—I needed to start somewhere.
I pushed myself upright.
"Fine," I muttered. "Let’s go ruin my life somewhere new."
The first problem appeared before I had even reached the wardrobe.
Luggage.
I had never fully appreciated the convenience of possessing a comfortable home until I tried to imagine living without one. Here, I could ask a servant for food, find clean clothes in the wardrobe, and sleep beneath a blanket without considering whether carrying it around for several weeks would destroy my spine.
Unfortunately, the world outside the estate was unlikely to provide the same arrangements. Ancient Grimoires presumably didn’t come with complimentary accommodation, and I doubted the creatures guarding them would welcome me with a hot meal.
I opened the wardrobe and began selecting clothes.
A few shirts, several pairs of trousers, socks, underclothes, and a thicker coat seemed reasonable. I added another shirt, reconsidered it, and removed it. Then I stared at the empty space in my luggage and started wondering whether I had made a mistake.
Food. Water. Medicine. A blanket. Rope. Fire-starting tools. A lantern. Money. A knife.
I paused.
What if it rained?
I found a waterproof cloak.
What if I got injured?
I added more bandages.
What if the weather became unbearably cold?
The second blanket went into the bag before I could think of a convincing reason to leave it behind.
After another ten minutes, I discovered that my modest luggage had somehow become a collection of supplies suitable for a small expedition. I tried lifting it, immediately regretted the experiment, and set it down with considerably less dignity than I had intended.
"Traveling light," I informed myself, "is an excellent concept for people who don’t believe that everything they leave behind will immediately become the one thing they need."
It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. It was also how people ended up carrying half their houses into the wilderness.
I removed a few unnecessary items, resisted the temptation to add them back, and finally began wrapping the Grimoire in cloth. I placed it beneath my clothes, making certain it wouldn’t be immediately visible if someone opened the bag.
The book looked ordinary enough when wrapped, which was remarkable considering the trouble it had already caused me. One of the eight Ancient God Grimoires had somehow ended up in my possession, and I still couldn’t decide whether finding it had been the luckiest event of my new life or the beginning of an extraordinarily elaborate punishment.
I tightened the straps and examined my luggage.
It wasn’t elegant, it wasn’t particularly light, and carrying it was unlikely to improve my posture.
But it would have to do.
"There," I said, stepping back. "Prepared."
A familiar voice answered from behind me.
"You could always stay."
I turned to find Asura lying on the carpet, watching me through one half-open eye. He looked remarkably comfortable for someone who had contributed absolutely nothing to the packing process.
"I was wondering how long it would take you to start discouraging me."
"I am not discouraging you. I am pointing out the obvious."
"Which is?"
"You have food here. A bed. Servants. A roof over your head." He paused, allowing each item to receive the consideration he believed it deserved. "You even possess the luxury of being able to sleep without hunting for your next meal. There is very little reason to throw all of that away."
I looked at him.
"Are you trying to convince me to stay, or are you writing an advertisement for the estate?"
"If the advertisement discourages you from doing something foolish, I see no reason to object."
"Wonderful. We can put you on a poster. ’House Valerian: Come for the comfortable beds, remain because the dog won’t stop complaining.’"
Asura’s ears flattened.
"I am not a dog."
"Of course. You’re a highly sophisticated ancient being who spends most of his day sleeping on carpets."
"I am conserving my strength."
"Then I hope your strength appreciates the effort."
He gave me a look that suggested my continued existence was an unfortunate oversight on the part of the universe. I turned back towards the window, but his words had already settled into my thoughts.
He wasn’t entirely wrong.
My room was comfortable. The estate was enormous, the food was good, and the servants treated me with a degree of respect I still found slightly embarrassing. I had a powerful family name, a roof that didn’t leak, and enough money that I could probably spend a ridiculous amount on pastries without worrying about the consequences.
For someone else, this might have been paradise.
I walked towards the window and rested my hand against the frame. Outside, the estate was gradually waking. Servants crossed the gardens carrying baskets and folded cloth, while a gardener worked beside the flowerbeds. Farther away, someone was repairing part of the outer wall. The old fountain stood near the path, cracked and weathered but stubbornly refusing to disappear.
I remembered my first morning here, when I had been too frightened to do much more than examine my unfamiliar face in the mirror. Back then, I hadn’t known whether anyone would discover that I wasn’t the original Kain, how dangerous my family might be, or whether I would survive long enough to regret any of it.
Since then, I had become acquainted with the estate’s dusty library, its questionable furniture, the absurd amount of paperwork involved in owning property, and a black dog who treated every minor inconvenience as a personal attack against his dignity.
Somewhere along the way, this unfamiliar place had started becoming familiar.
That was the inconvenient part.
"I want a peaceful life too," I admitted.
Asura’s expression suggested that he had been waiting patiently for me to reach this obvious conclusion.
"Then remain here."
I glanced at him and gave a small, humourless smile.
"That’s exactly why I’m leaving."
His ears shifted, and for once he didn’t immediately interrupt.
"If I stay here, I might live comfortably for years," I continued. "I could keep my head down, avoid the succession mess, and spend the rest of my life doing absolutely nothing important. I would be very good at that last part."
"You certainly possess the necessary qualifications."
"Thank you for your support."
"However, I fail to understand why you consider doing nothing here less desirable than doing something foolish elsewhere."
I turned back towards the window.
"Because I know how the story ends."
I didn’t explain every detail. I couldn’t. My memories of the original novel were incomplete, and trying to reconstruct every disaster from them would have been like navigating a city using a map with half the streets missing. But I remembered enough to know that House Valerian did not emerge from the coming chaos intact.
The family eventually disappeared amid the destruction that spread throughout the world. I couldn’t confidently recall exactly what happened to every member, or whether the same events would unfold in precisely the same order now that I was here. Still, the broad outline remained.
This peaceful estate might not stay peaceful forever.
And I had no intention of waiting until the danger arrived at my front door before deciding that perhaps I should have done something earlier.
"I can’t wait for the ending to find me," I said.
Asura was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed with the profound exhaustion of someone who had just learned that his companion was determined to make every problem worse.
"I still think this is foolish."
"I know."
"You may die."
"I know."
"You may spend years searching for the remaining Grimoires and find nothing."
"I know."
"You may discover that your plan has no worthwhile outcome whatsoever."
I looked over my shoulder. "Is there a particular reason you’ve decided to list every possible disaster before breakfast?"
"I am attempting to ensure that you understand the consequences of your decision."
"Congratulations. I understand them so thoroughly that I’ve developed a headache."
Asura glanced at my luggage. "You have packed too many blankets."
"And you have contributed nothing to the discussion."
"I have contributed wisdom."
"You have contributed criticism."
"The two are frequently confused by fools."
I decided to end the conversation before he found a way to convince me that leaving the estate was a personal insult to the entire canine species. I picked up the bag, tested its weight once more, and immediately regretted giving it the opportunity to demonstrate its heaviness.
"Come on," I said. "I need a map."
Asura remained where he was.
"Why?"
"Because wandering aimlessly across a continent in search of ancient artifacts is apparently frowned upon by people who value their lives."
"You have a remarkable talent for stating the obvious."
"And you have a remarkable talent for being unhelpful."
He rose with an exaggerated stretch, then followed me towards the door. Whatever he thought about my decision, I suspected he would come along. Not because he trusted my planning, but because leaving me unattended might somehow result in something even worse.
It was a touching display of confidence.
I found Edwin in the estate office.
He was standing behind his desk, sorting documents into neat piles with the same calm efficiency he seemed to maintain regardless of the hour. Morning light fell across the papers, illuminating the careful arrangement of ledgers, letters, and other things that would have made my eyes glaze over if I had been forced to read them.
Edwin looked up as I entered.
His gaze moved to the bag over my shoulder, paused briefly on Asura’s smaller bundle, and returned to my face.
"Good morning, Young Master."
"Good morning." I shifted the luggage slightly, hoping the movement looked casual rather than like an attempt to hide the fact that I had packed enough supplies to survive a moderately inconvenient apocalypse. "I need a map."
His hand stopped over the document he was holding.
"A map?"
"Yes."
"What kind?"
"A detailed one. The kingdom, the neighboring countries, major cities, roads, and the Empire if possible."
There was a brief silence.
"May I ask why?"
I had prepared several possible answers during the walk over. Unfortunately, they had all sounded increasingly suspicious the longer I considered them. I settled on the simplest one and hoped it would survive contact with Edwin’s attention.
"Curiosity."
He looked at me.
I looked back, trying to arrange my face into the expression of someone who had never done anything questionable in his entire life.
Edwin’s gaze dropped to the luggage again.
"Curiosity," he repeated.
"Yes."
"You have recently developed an interest in geography?"
"People are allowed to develop interests."
"Certainly, Young Master."
The way he said it made me wonder whether he had just politely agreed with me or added another item to an invisible list of my questionable decisions.
"I realized that I know surprisingly little about the world outside the capital," I added. "It seemed sensible to learn more."
That wasn’t entirely a lie. I knew the broad outline of the world from the novel, but the knowledge in my head was scattered and unreliable. Names and places surfaced when they were relevant, while countless details had faded. I couldn’t simply open the appropriate Chapter of my memory and expect a convenient map of every ancient ruin to appear.
Edwin considered my explanation without changing his expression.
"Of course. Wait here, please."
He crossed the room towards a tall cabinet. I watched him carefully, trying not to look as though I were watching him carefully. There was something distinctly uncomfortable about speaking to a man who could make a perfectly ordinary pause feel like an examination.
Without turning around, he said, "You have been unusually busy this morning."
My stomach tightened.
"I wanted to prepare a few things."
"For your geographical studies?"
I stared at the back of his head.
"I wasn’t aware that preparing for an educational interest required permission."
"It does not."
"Excellent."
"However, it is unusual for someone to pack a travelling bag before beginning those studies."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"Perhaps I take my education seriously."
Edwin turned with a rolled map in his hands. If he found my answer amusing, he was kind enough not to show it.
"An admirable quality, Young Master."
I couldn’t decide whether I had just survived the conversation or walked directly into a trap. With Edwin, the difference wasn’t always obvious.
He placed the map on his desk and unrolled it carefully. The parchment spread across the polished surface, revealing the kingdom and the surrounding territories in a maze of marked roads, rivers, mountain ranges, forests, and settlements. The Empire occupied a substantial portion of the eastern region, while smaller countries and independent territories filled the spaces between major borders.
I leaned closer.
This was what I needed. Not an answer to the mystery of the Grimoires, and certainly not a guarantee that my plan would work, but a starting point. Something physical I could examine instead of relying on fragments of a fictional story.
I traced several regions with my finger, searching for names I recognized.
Some were familiar. Others stirred the vague sensation of having heard them before without giving me anything useful. Places mentioned in the novel had blurred together in my memory, and I couldn’t remember whether certain locations were associated with important events or had merely appeared in passing.
The Grimoires themselves had rarely been my main concern while reading.
I had been far more interested in the protagonist’s immediate problems, which had seemed entertaining from the safe distance of a reader who could close the book whenever things became uncomfortable.
How unfortunate that I had never considered taking notes.
I moved my finger across the map and tried to identify possible starting points. Even if I remembered a region associated with an artifact, that wouldn’t tell me its exact location. I could have a rough idea of where to look and still spend weeks travelling in the wrong direction.
Seven Grimoires. One enormous world. One unreliable memory.
I was beginning to suspect that I should have chosen a less ambitious hobby.
"May I borrow this?" I asked.
"Of course."
I rolled the map carefully, ensuring I didn’t crease the parchment.
Then I hesitated.
Edwin was still watching me.
It wasn’t suspicion in any obvious sense. He hadn’t challenged my explanation or demanded to know why I needed a map. He had simply observed my luggage, listened to my answers, and allowed me to leave with precisely what I had requested.
For some reason, that was more unsettling than an argument would have been.
"Do you have any advice?" I asked.
"Regarding geography?"
"Regarding travel."
Edwin paused before answering.
"Travel can be dangerous, Young Master. Especially when one leaves familiar surroundings without sufficient preparation. You should take care not to underestimate the difficulties ahead."
It sounded like ordinary advice. Sensible, even.
Yet his eyes briefly settled on my luggage again.
I tightened my grip on the rolled map.
"I will."
"I hope so."
He returned to his documents, apparently considering the conversation finished.
I left the office without another word. Only after the door had closed behind me did I realize that I had been holding my breath.
Edwin knew something.
Perhaps he was simply observant. Perhaps he had seen enough young nobles make questionable decisions to recognize the signs. Or perhaps he had noticed something more specific about my preparations.
I had no evidence for any of those possibilities.
Which meant that worrying about all of them was unlikely to improve my situation.
I adjusted my luggage and started walking.
For now, I had a map.
That was one problem solved.
Unfortunately, I suspected that the map would be considerably easier to manage than its owner.
By evening, everything was ready.
I checked my luggage one final time, although calling it a final check was probably optimistic. Food, water, clothes, medicine, money, tools, map, knife, Grimoire. I had arranged everything as carefully as I could, making certain that the heavier items sat where they would be easiest to carry.
Asura watched from the carpet.
"You have checked that bag three times."
"Four, actually."
His eyes narrowed. "And do you expect the contents to change?"
"No."
"Then explain the purpose of this exercise."
"Perhaps I enjoy confirming that my possessions haven’t developed legs and wandered away."
"They would have more sense than you."
I pulled the straps tight. "You know, for someone who insists that he’s an ancient being of immeasurable wisdom, you’re remarkably committed to being unpleasant."
"I am not responsible for your inability to appreciate wisdom when you hear it."
"You’re not responsible for much of anything, apparently."
He looked down at his paws, considering the matter. "Your second blanket is unnecessary."
"It’s cold at night."
"You possess a coat."
"The coat isn’t a blanket."
"You have a perfectly serviceable first blanket."
"And what happens if the first one gets wet?"
"Then you will possess one dry blanket and one wet blanket."
I stared at him.
He stared back, apparently pleased with the elegance of his argument.
I tightened the luggage straps and decided not to answer. If I continued debating with him, I would end up packing a third blanket out of sheer spite.
As the sun disappeared, lamps began glowing along the estate’s paths. The usual sounds of the household gradually faded as servants completed their work and the family settled into the evening. Dinner came and went, leaving me with a full stomach and a growing awareness that the time for excuses was running out.
I sat beside the window for a while, looking down at the gardens.
The estate had never promised me safety. It had no obligation to accommodate a stranger who had somehow awakened in Kain Valerian’s body, and it certainly hadn’t asked me to become attached to its cracked fountains and questionable furniture.
It was simply a place where I had lived for the last few weeks.
But familiar places had a way of acquiring meaning without asking permission. The old bench beneath the tree, the broken fountain, the rooms I had learned to navigate, even the corridor where I had once been certain someone was about to ruin my entire day—all of them had gradually become part of my life here.
I had complained about this estate more times than I cared to count.
Now I was memorizing it before leaving.
That seemed unfair.
I didn’t need the place to be perfect. I didn’t need my new life to replace the one I had lost. I only wanted a chance to live somewhere without worrying that the future would eventually collapse around me.
Perhaps that was why leaving bothered me so much. I wasn’t running away from something I hated. I was walking away from something I might have been happy to keep.
I stood, adjusted the strap of my bag, and turned away from the window.
The longer I stayed, the easier it would become to postpone the decision until morning. Then another morning. Eventually, I would find a dozen respectable reasons not to leave at all.
My bed was comfortable. The food was good. The estate was peaceful.
And the Grimoires would remain somewhere out there, completely indifferent to my excuses.
"Ready?" Asura asked.
"No."
He blinked.
I sighed and reached for the door.
"But I’m going anyway."
For once, he didn’t have an immediate insult prepared.
That was either a sign of personal growth or a warning that something terrible was about to happen.
With Asura, both explanations were equally plausible.
Midnight found the estate quiet beneath a pale wash of moonlight.
I opened my bedroom door slowly and peered into the corridor. Nothing moved. The lamps had been dimmed, and the polished floor reflected thin bands of light from the windows. Somewhere in the distance, a door closed with a soft click.
I waited.
Nothing followed.
I stepped outside, pulled the door nearly shut behind me, and adjusted the strap biting into my shoulder. Asura padded after me with his little bundle secured to his back. His expression suggested that he considered the entire operation beneath his dignity, although he had apparently decided that dignity was compatible with carrying dried meat.
We moved down the corridor.
Every ordinary sound seemed suspiciously loud. The rustle of my clothes, the faint scrape of my boot, and the soft tapping of Asura’s paws all seemed capable of waking the entire household. I had never paid much attention to how noisy a person could be simply by existing.
It was an unfortunate discovery to make while attempting not to exist.
We approached the servant staircase, where I placed one foot on the first step.
Creak.
I froze.
The sound echoed through the stairwell.
Slowly, I turned towards Asura.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
Neither of us spoke, because apparently we had both concluded that the staircase was listening.
After several seconds, I lowered my foot onto the next step.
Creak.
I closed my eyes.
"Wonderful," I whispered. "The stairs are loyal to the family."
"Perhaps they dislike you."
"Thank you. That is very helpful."
We continued down, one painfully careful step at a time. By the bottom, I had acquired a deep personal hatred for every wooden surface in the building.
A faint sound came from the corridor ahead.
Footsteps.
I immediately pulled Asura into the shadow beside the wall. He nearly walked into my leg, then gave me an offended look.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
"Saving our lives."
"From whom?"
"A person with ears."
His expression suggested that he was reconsidering the wisdom of travelling with me.
A maid appeared at the end of the corridor, carrying a stack of folded clothes. She walked beneath the dim lights without looking in our direction, apparently preoccupied with whatever task had brought her out at such an unreasonable hour.
I remained pressed against the wall until she passed.
She disappeared around the corner.
I waited a few seconds longer.
Then a few more, because I had never trusted a situation simply because it appeared to be over.
Asura nudged my ankle.
"She has gone."
"I know."
"Then why are you still standing here?"
"Because I would like to survive the next five minutes."
"At this rate, you may survive them in the same location."
I started walking before he could continue.
We slipped through a side corridor and reached the garden. Cold air brushed my face, and I took a deeper breath than I had intended. Outside, at least, I didn’t have to worry about the staircase betraying me.
The garden looked different under the moonlight. The flowerbeds had become dark shapes, the trees stretched long shadows across the grass, and the old fountain stood near the path with all the dignity of a monument that had given up on being repaired.
Beyond it lay the route towards the estate’s outer boundary.
I had walked through these gardens many times before. It was strange to see them now as a place I needed to cross without being noticed.
I started along the path, keeping away from the brighter areas. My luggage shifted against my shoulder, and I had to resist the temptation to keep adjusting it. Every movement seemed like a potential disaster.
Then Asura stopped.
"Guards," he murmured.
I halted so abruptly that the bag nearly pulled me backwards.
"Where?"
"Near the storage building. Two of them."
I peered through the trees, but the path ahead appeared empty.
"Are you certain?"
He turned his head towards me. "I have already answered."
"Could you perhaps answer with a little more reassurance? Something along the lines of, ’Don’t worry, Kain, I have assessed the situation and everything is perfectly safe’?"
"Don’t worry, Kain. I have assessed the situation, and everything is perfectly—"
"Really?"
"No. You are a fool."
I stared at him.
He looked away, seemingly satisfied with his contribution.
We changed direction and moved behind a low hedge. A moment later, two guards emerged near the storage building, their lanterns casting moving circles of light across the path. They spoke quietly to one another as they passed, unaware that the third son of House Valerian was crouching nearby with the posture of a man who had just discovered that the ground was colder than expected.
I waited until their voices faded.
Then I rose carefully.
A branch snapped beneath my boot.
I froze so completely that even my thoughts seemed to stop.
Asura slowly turned towards me.
I gave him a warning look.
He closed his mouth.
We stood there for several seconds, listening. No voices approached, no alarm sounded, and nobody emerged from behind a tree to demand an explanation for my suspicious relationship with the shrubbery.
Eventually, I resumed walking.
"Not a word," I whispered.
"I said nothing."
"You were thinking something."
"You have no control over my thoughts."
"I can still be offended by them."
"An unfortunate condition, considering how often you provide me with material."
We circled the garden and approached the outer boundary. Asura’s bundle caught on a low branch, pulling him sideways. He struggled to free himself without making a sound, which would have been more impressive if his tail hadn’t been lashing furiously.
I pressed my lips together.
"Don’t," he warned.
"I’m not doing anything."
"You are laughing."
"I’m breathing."
"Your breathing is unusually irritating."
I crouched to free the strap from the branch. It took longer than it should have because Asura kept twisting around to glare at me as though I had personally arranged the tree’s position.
When I finally pulled the bundle free, he immediately straightened himself.
"I could have handled that."
"Of course."
"Your assistance was unnecessary."
"Naturally."
"Your expression is still offensive."
"I’ll work on that."
We continued towards the gate.
The outer boundary was close now. Beyond the stone wall and the guarded entrance lay the road leading away from the capital, towards places I knew mostly from half-remembered Chapters and vague impressions. For a moment, the sheer scale of what I was attempting became impossible to ignore.
I didn’t know where to start searching. I didn’t know how long the journey would take, what dangers lay ahead, or whether my memories would lead me anywhere useful.
I had one Grimoire, an unreliable map of the world in my head, a physical map under my arm, and an ancient being who had recently declared war on a shower.
I was not, by any reasonable definition, adequately prepared.
Yet we were here.
The gate stood ahead, with two guards beneath the lanterns. Their attention was directed towards the road, and the light illuminated the stones beneath their boots. Beyond them, the night stretched into darkness.
I crouched behind the low stone wall and studied the patrol’s movements.
For a few moments, I considered going back.
Not because I had changed my mind about the future. I simply remembered that the estate contained a warm bed, a roof, and enough food to support an army of people who never wanted to go outdoors again.
It was a compelling argument.
Then I remembered why I was leaving.
I tightened my grip on the map and waited for the guards to turn away. When the opportunity came, I moved.
Across the grass.
Into the shadow.
Behind the wall.
One final stretch, with my heartbeat thudding hard enough to convince me it was trying to escape before I did.
Then my boot touched the road.
I stopped.
Nothing happened.
No alarm sounded. Nobody shouted my name. No guard suddenly appeared to inform me that sneaking out of my family’s estate was against the regulations.
I had actually made it.
Slowly, I turned around.
The mansion stood in the distance beneath the moonlight, its windows glowing faintly against the dark. Somewhere inside those walls were the rooms where I had spent the last few weeks, the people who had become familiar to me, and a life I had never asked for but had gradually begun to accept.
I lowered my gaze.
"Take care," I murmured.
I wasn’t entirely certain whom I was addressing. The estate, my family, or the frightened version of myself who had first opened his eyes in this world.
Perhaps all three.
A small smile found its way onto my face.
I had done it.
I had actually managed to leave the estate without being dragged back by an offended servant, an irate family member, or a staircase with a personal grudge.
Seven Grimoires waited somewhere beyond the capital. I needed to find them, discover what answers they might contain, and find a way to survive the future I remembered. Whether any of that would lead me home remained uncertain, but at least I was doing something about it.
For once, I wasn’t simply waiting for the plot to happen to me.
I was moving first.
I took a step onto the dark road.
Then another.
"Young Master."
My entire body locked.
The voice had come from behind me.
Calm. Polite. Familiar.
Far too familiar.
The smile vanished from my face.
Slowly, I turned.