Iruminai pulled the leather straps of his bag shut with a satisfying snap. He glanced at the glowing numbers on his nightstand: 4:30 AM. The world outside his window remained dark, silent except for the occasional late-night passerby.

He straightened up and took in his room. The space felt different now, already emptier despite still containing all of his furniture.

"Spent half my life here," he murmured, running his fingers along the edge of his desk where he'd carved his initials during a particularly boring study session three years ago.

The bookshelf stood half-empty, most volumes packed away except for his collection of Skeletown comics. He'd leave those behind—a small piece of himself to remain in this place.

Iruminai moved to his window and pushed it open. The cool pre-dawn air rushed in, carrying the scent of the city. From his height, he could see the faint outline of Windy Peaks Institute against the night sky, where everything had started with the fox-eared boy who'd unknowingly changed the course of his life.

"Worth every minute," he whispered.

His gaze drifted to the corner where he'd practiced countless combat stances, the floor slightly worn from years of footwork. The ceiling still bore a small scorch mark from an early, disastrous attempt at manipulating a Lunis crystal.

Iruminai checked his pocket watch—a gift from his father on his tenth birthday.

There was not much time left before he needed to meet Mai.

Iruminai threw his bag over his shoulder. He cast one last glance around his room, committing the details to memory.

He eased the door open, wincing at the slight creak of the hinges. The hallway stretched before him, dark and quiet. The front door and his departure lay to the left, but Iruminai turned right, moving deeper into the house.

His footsteps were deliberately light as he passed his mother's bedroom. The door remained closed, with no light seeping from beneath it.

Iruminai continued down the hallway, past the guest room and toward the rear of the house. He paused at a door near the end of the corridor, his hand hovering over the ornate brass handle. Unlike the other doors in the house, this one was heavier, made of dark wood with intricate carvings.

His fingers wrapped around the brass handle, cool against his palm. He pushed the door open with practiced care, mindful of the slight resistance it gave.

A small enclosed courtyard welcomed him, a secret garden nestled within the estate's walls. Moonlight spilled across the carefully tended grass and flowering shrubs. The space rose two stories high, open to the night sky above while remaining hidden from the outside world.

Iruminai approached the railing that overlooked the lower level of the courtyard. His eyes immediately found what he sought. There, at the center of the courtyard, stood a sculpture of the same man from the park. He glanced back once more to ensure he remained alone, then swung himself over the edge. Gripping one of the support pillars, he slid down into the garden below.

The soft grass cushioned his landing as he dropped the final few feet. Iruminai crouched low, scanning the shadows around the courtyard's perimeter. The last thing he needed was for one of the housing staff to discover him here, especially at this hour.

Satisfied that he had remained undetected, Iruminai straightened.

The courtyard lay still around him, the only movement coming from the gentle sway of flowers in the small breeze. Moonlight painted silver edges along the leaves.

Iruminai approached the statue with measured steps. Moonlight caught the polished stone features, giving them an almost lifelike quality. The familiar face of his father looked down at him.

He stopped before it and gave a small, formal bow, just as he had done hundreds of times before.

"Father," Iruminai said softly, his voice barely audible even in the quiet courtyard. "I came to say goodbye."

Wind rustled through the garden, stirring leaves around the base of the memorial. "I'm leaving for Arcury today. Mai and I are taking the Edgewater entrance exams." He paused, adjusting the strap of his bag. "I know I've mentioned it before, but it's finally happening."

Iruminai ran his fingers through his dark hair, a nervous habit he'd never quite overcome.

"Honestly? It’s all new, and yeah, it scares me. But I can’t stay here forever. I think you'd understand that better than anyone." His voice grew softer. A familiar ache bloomed in his chest as memories flooded back—his father's laugh, the steady way he'd correct Iruminai's grip on a wooden training sword. The way his shadow used to stretch across this very courtyard at dusk. Those evenings in the courtyard felt so distant.

His throat tightened unexpectedly. Iruminai swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as his vision blurred. The moonlight caught something wet that tracked down his cheek.

"Sorry," he whispered, quickly wiping his face with his sleeve. "Didn't mean to—"

He took a deep breath, steadying himself against the sudden wave of emotion. His hand rested on the cool stone base of the statue as he composed himself.

"I'll miss you," Iruminai silently stated. He bowed once more, a formal gesture that felt both familiar and final.

As he straightened, his eyes fixed on the sword clasped in the statue's stone hands. The sleek, ominous blade had a needle-like tip and a matte black rectangular handle. Its sheath, obsidian-dark and angular, rested at the statue’s feet.

Iruminai reached forward, his fingers hovering momentarily above the hilt. A small voice in his mind questioned whether he should really go through with this, but he silenced the doubt. His father had crafted this blade for a purpose, not to gather dust in a forgotten garden.

His hand closed around the hilt. The grip felt cool against his palm, the weight perfectly balanced as he lifted it from the statue's loose grasp. Intricate markings ran the length of the blade—shifting like ripples in water when the moonlight touched them.

Iruminai reached into his bag and withdrew a leather sheath rig he'd prepared days ago. With practiced movements, he fastened it to the back of his belt, adjusting the straps until they sat comfortably against his lower back.

Grabbing the sheath at his father's feet, he placed it into the rig before gently sliding the sword into the sheath with a satisfying click. Positioned diagonally across his back, it remained accessible yet unobtrusive. The weight soon settled against him, feeling both new and natural.

Iruminai straightened, feeling different—completed in some way he couldn't fully articulate.

He took one last look at the statue before turning toward the wall. The sword on his back shifted slightly as he approached the ivy-covered stone. He tested a handhold, making sure it would support his weight, then began his ascent.

The climb was familiar—he'd done it countless times over the years. His fingers found the small crevices between stones, his shoes barely fitting on the narrow footholds. The added weight of his bag and sword created a new challenge, but he adjusted his balance accordingly.

As he neared the top, Iruminai reached for the balcony railing. His fingers curled around the cool metal as he pulled himself up, ready to swing his leg over.

His head cleared the edge of the balcony, and his breath caught in his throat.

His mother stood there, arms crossed over her nightgown, her face half-illuminated by the moonlight, but her expression was unreadable. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft sound of wind through the courtyard plants below.

"Come over the railing, Iruminai." His mother's voice was quiet but firm. "I don't want you to fall."

He hesitated for a beat, then pulled himself up and over the railing. His feet landed softly on the balcony floor as he stared at his mother's face.

The sword on his back suddenly felt heavier. He wondered if she had noticed it yet, if that's why she was waiting for him.

As if reading his mind, he feels his mother's gaze shift, her eyes moving past his arm to the sword strapped across his back. His muscles tensed, shoulders stiffening as he prepared for the inevitable confrontation.

"Mother, I—" he began, but the words died in his throat.

He closed his eyes, bracing for the sharp reprimand he knew was coming. His mother had always been protective of his father's possessions, preserving them like sacred relics.

Iruminai's fist clenched at his sides as he waited for her anger. The silence stretched between them, making each second feel like an eternity.

However, instead of harsh words, he felt arms wrap around him. His eyes flew open in surprise as his mother pulled him into a tight embrace, her familiar scent of lavender enveloping him.

"Mom?" he whispered, confusion replacing his dread.

She held him tighter, one hand moving to the back of his head the way she used to when he was small. Iruminai froze for a moment, uncertain how to respond to this unexpected reaction.

"He would be so proud of you," she murmured against his shoulder.

The words hit him hard. Iruminai felt something inside him crack, a wall he'd carefully maintained for years. His arms slowly rose to return her embrace, hesitant at first, then tightening as if afraid she might disappear.

His mother pulled back slightly, just enough to look at his face. The moonlight caught the wet tracks on her cheeks. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek.

"You look so much like him," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Every day, you remind me more of your father."

Iruminai swallowed hard, unable to respond.

"He would be so proud of you, Iruminai. The man you're becoming." Her eyes flickered to the sword hilt visible behind his back. "He always said this blade would be yours when you were ready."

He was stunned by the words. All these years, he'd assumed she'd wanted to keep his father's possessions preserved, untouched.

"I'm sorry," she continued, her voice barely audible. "After your father passed, I… I couldn't…" She took a shaky breath. "I wasn't there for you the way I should have been. I closed myself off when you needed me most."

Something broke inside Iruminai. Tears spilled down his cheeks before he could stop them, a sob tearing free of his throat. “Mom, I—” His voice cracked, the words lost.

His mother pulled him close again, shoulders shaking from her own tears. They stood there, united in grief that had gone unshared for too long. For the first time in years, Iruminai let himself cry openly—and with it, the weight he’d carried lifted.

After what felt like both an eternity and not nearly long enough, his mother gently pulled back. She raised her hands to his face, thumbs wiping away his tears with tender care.

"There's my boy," she whispered, a small, sad smile on her lips.

Iruminai wiped his face with his sleeve, embarrassed by the sudden outburst of emotion. His mother's hands rested on his shoulders, her touch gentle but firm.

"I know you need to go," she said, her voice steadier now. "This journey is yours to take."

Iruminai nodded. He opened his mouth, but before words could come out, his mother spoke.

"But I want you to know something, Iruminai." Her grip on his shoulders tightened slightly. "This will always be your home. No matter how far you go or how long you're away."

Something shifted in his chest—a knot he hadn't realized was there loosened.

"You never need to feel you don't belong here," she continued. "This place is no more my home than yours."

Iruminai swallowed hard before responding. For years, he'd felt like a ghost in his own home, moving through rooms that held more memories than conversation.

"Thank you," he managed, his voice rough with emotion.

His mother pulled him into one last embrace. Iruminai wrapped his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her presence.

"Now go," she whispered, pulling back. "I don't want to hold you too long. Your friend will be waiting."

Iruminai nodded, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. He took a step back, then hesitated.

"I'll visit," he promised.

His mother smiled, "I'll be here."

With a final nod, Iruminai turned and walked through the doorway. His footsteps echoed softly down the hallway as he made his way toward the front entrance. The house felt different somehow—not a place he was escaping, but a place he could return to.

As he reached for the front door handle, Iruminai heard a whisper from behind him, so faint he almost missed it.

"I love you."