The hidden door closed soundlessly behind him.
Nikolai paused for a moment in the narrow corridor, his fingers still resting against the wood. The breath of the palace pulsed around him—echoes of voices, footsteps, restrained anger—a dull tension he knew all too well.
“I’ll see you later, my friend.”
He had not answered Yafa.
He knew.
That “later” no longer existed.
His mind aligned itself with cold precision.
The prince was alive.
The prince would understand.
The prince would strike.
Time contracted.
One hour. Two at most.
He had always known.
Not as a clearly formed certainty, but as a persistent tension, a subtle imbalance he had learned to ignore. Serving an unstable man required anticipating the moment when loyalty would cease to be a virtue and become a fault.
His father had served before him. Two generations bound to the crown, to the idea of preserving order, of containing power.
Nikolai had continued.
He had been wrong about one thing.
Instability, he had foreseen.
Injustice, he had tolerated.
But absolute arbitrariness—stripping a loyal, prosperous ally, one who benefited the state, out of pure greed—went beyond anything he had allowed himself to imagine.
Not to this extent.
Not so openly.
So this day was not a surprise.
It was a confirmation.
He started walking.
His steps followed one another with steady regularity, without apparent haste. Every turn was familiar, every passage etched over years into a precise memory of the palace and its access ways.
He was not fleeing.
He was leaving.
Once outside, the air felt sharper, clearer, as though each breath refined what needed to be done.
He crossed the courtyard, passed through the gates, and entered the streets without ever quickening his pace. A man who runs draws attention. A man who walks disappears.
Already, he was sorting.
Available money.
Portable belongings.
Remaining time.
His house appeared at the turn of a street.
He entered.
The room was empty.
A beat suspended time, brief yet dense, as if each second suddenly carried more weight.
His eyes swept the space with precision—cloaks gone, chest open, signs of a recent departure. Nothing overturned. Nothing forced.
They had left.
His mind decided at once.
Search for them.
Or prepare.
If they returned and he was not ready, they would lose their lead. If he went looking for them, he risked missing them—or worse, crossing paths with those who would come for him.
He chose.
He moved to the chest, opened it, gathered every pouch without hesitation. No sorting. No hesitation.
Money meant survival.
His movements followed a method: sturdy bags, durable clothing, useful items. Anything that drew attention was left behind.
He prepared the departure.
The door opened.
His wife entered, the children behind her.
Their eyes met.
She understood immediately, reading in his expression what no words could have conveyed quickly enough.
She set down what she was holding and moved at once.
“How much time?”
“Little.”
She nodded.
No agitation. No disorder. Only a quiet efficiency, born of trust and habit.
The children were called with a gesture.
Nikolai adjusted one bag, emptied another, redistributed the weight without comment.
“Take only what you can carry for a long time.”
The youngest hesitated, looked at what he held, then slowly set it down.
The silence that followed was not empty.
It was focused.
Nikolai closed the chest.
No key.
No return.
He straightened.
“We leave.”
They left the house together.
The door remained ajar.
In the street, life went on, indifferent, absorbed in its own rhythms. A few glances slid over them before turning away.
One family among many.
Nikolai adjusted his course.
The Port of Iris.
First crossing.
Otherwise, the road.
His calculations continued—precise, relentless—each variable assessed without ever slowing his pace.
Behind him, the palace was already nothing more than a distant presence.
Ahead, uncertainty.
He briefly placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Stay close to me.”
His voice was steady.
It would remain so.
They moved forward.
And this time, Nikolai no longer sought to correct the world.
He simply chose not to submit to it anymore.
Profile
Role : Prince of Eldoris’s advisor
MBTI : ISTJ
Race : Human
formal, polite, respectful, calm and serious speech level
- Dedicated
- Honest
- Loyal
- Cautious
- Wise
- Conservative
- Distant
- Cold
- Suspicious
- Rigid
A loyal and devoted advisor who serves the prince. He is the son of a former knight who saved the prince’s father’s life in battle. He possesses extensive knowledge of the principality’s affairs and advises the prince with wisdom and prudence. He is well regarded by the people, who see him as a just and honest man. He is faithful to his wife, with whom he has three children.