The sun hadn't fully risen yet when Adonis stepped out of the manor gates alone.
His breath formed wisps in the crisp morning air, and the streets of the capital were just beginning to stir. Shopkeepers swept dust from their thresholds, and early risers hauled crates into stalls. With a deep breath, Adonis tightened the pouch of coins at his side and moved with purpose.
He was finally leaving. And he needed to be ready.
The first place he stopped was a discreet little gear shop nestled between an herbalist and a scroll vendor. The kind of place that didn't advertise, but every experienced adventurer knew about.
Inside, the air smelled of leather, steel, and old wood. A sleepy man behind the counter looked up.
"You here for something custom, or off the rack?" the man asked.
"Something simple," Adonis replied, "but sturdy. I'll be traveling far."
The man narrowed his eyes, taking in the boy's calm tone and sharp eyes.
"You're younger than you sound."
Adonis didn't reply.
After a while, he selected a long black cloak, similar in design to the white-and-red one he'd once seen on an old war-era painting — flared edges, light shoulder plating underneath the collar, sleeveless design beneath the outer cloak. But this one was different.
Black, with elegant golden embroidery flowing from the hem upward like dancing blades. No crest. No name. No affiliation.
A cloak for someone who wanted to be remembered for their own merit.
"I want this," Adonis said.
The shopkeeper nodded. "You've got taste."
His next stop was an enchantment booth. Here, he purchased a mask — sleek, black, and rune-imbued to appear and disappear at will. No need for ties or buckles. A single thought would summon it, hiding his face when needed.
Next came essentials: potions for minor healing, resistance tonics, spirit-nourishing pills, and wound balm. Basic, but reliable. The kind that mattered more than gold during a fight.
He visited an armory and chose a fitted leather-and-scale hybrid armor, designed for speed and flexibility. His sword was still with him — a gift from his father — but he bought two additional throwing knives, small and weighted, to serve as backups.
Finally, a storage bracelet — the most expensive item on his list. Simple in design, but with decent capacity. Enough to hold supplies, clothes, food, and weapons.
As he clasped it on, it shimmered faintly.
By afternoon, Adonis sat on the edge of a stone fountain in the town square, watching children run past, carefree. His hood was up, mask off, the breeze ruffling the new black cloak draped over his shoulders.
He looked older than he had any right to. Not in face — still young, still handsome in that quietly sharp way — but in presence. Like someone who carried too many thoughts for his age.
He had everything he needed now.
Tomorrow, he would leave.
But for now, he just sat still — soaking in the last light of home before the road claimed him.