C10 Chapter 10: Departure at Dawn

The morning mist clung to Brighthollow Village like a reluctant farewell.

Astrea stood at the edge of the village road, hands buried in his worn cloak, watching the carriage slowly being prepared. The wooden wheels creaked softly as supplies were loaded clean linens, sealed potion cases, travel rations marked with alchemical sigils. It was far grander than anything Brighthollow had ever seen.

Michaela stood nearby.

She looked different today.

Her hair was neatly tied, her clothes freshly washed, and around her neck hung a simple green pendant, an alchemical token given by her new master. She looked nervous, excited, terrified, and proud all at once.

Astrea noticed all of it.

And as he did, something inside his chest tightened, too sudden, too sharp.

He frowned faintly.

That feeling… isn't mine.

The realization struck him with quiet clarity.

This ache, this reluctance to see her leave these weren't emotions he had carried from Earth. They belonged to the boy who had lived and died in this body. The orphan thief who had grown up beside her. The Astrea of Astoria.

Memories brushed against his mind shared meals, silent walks, unspoken hopes.

A lifelong wish.

Astrea exhaled slowly.

So this is what you wanted…

He didn't reject the feeling.

He accepted it.

"I'll carry it," he thought. "Your wish too."

"So," Michaela said, breaking the silence, forcing a smile. "Looks like I'm leaving before I ever finished gathering herbs from the back mountain."

Astrea huffed softly. "You already gathered something rarer than herbs."

She blinked. "What?"

"A future," he replied honestly.

Her smile wavered.

They stood there, the noise of villagers murmuring around them, yet the space between them felt oddly quiet like the world had dimmed its volume just for them.

"You're really going to the capital," Astrea said. "Big city. Alchemists. Towers and guild halls."

"And you're really going to stop being a thief," Michaela countered, folding her arms. "You promised."

He chuckled. "I did. Didn't I?"

She studied him closely, as if making sure the man in front of her was real and not yesterday's stubborn, reckless Astrea. "You're serious this time."

"I am," he said. Then, after a pause, "I won't stay in Brighthollow forever either."

Her eyes widened slightly.

"I'll come to the capital," he added. "Someday. When I'm strong enough to stand there without shame."

Michaela smiled again, softer now. "Then I'll wait. Just don't die before that."

Astrea raised a hand. "No promises. But I'll try."

They shared a brief laugh, but it faded quickly as the carriage door opened.

Eliz Valenroth, the alchemist announced calmly, stepping down. "Michaela. It's time."

Michaela's parents stood by, their expressions a mixture of pride and concern. They wouldn't be staying behind—they were leaving with her, provided residency in the capital as promised. No last-minute hugs were needed; this was a shared journey, a practical preparation rather than a farewell.

Michaela stepped forward and pressed a small cloth-wrapped bundle into Astrea's hands.

"For the road," she whispered. "Bread. Dried berries. Don't argue."

"I wasn't going to," he said quietly.

She nodded once, then turned toward the carriage.

Astrea watched as the carriage pulled away, wheels crunching against the dirt road.

As it disappeared into the morning fog, something settled within him.

A promise not spoken aloud, but carved deep.

I'll reach you.

Not just for himself.

But for the boy who never got the chance.

Only then did he turn away.

The village felt emptier.

Astrea returned to his hideout an hour later, slipping through the familiar alleyway that concealed the narrow entrance beneath loose stone and rotting wood. Inside, the air was stale but safe.

He sat down heavily and opened his stash.

A few copper coins. A short dagger with a nicked blade. Stolen trinkets he never dared sell. Old lockpicks. A cracked leather pouch.

Nothing impressive.

Nothing worth staying for.

He stared at it all for a long moment.

Then clenched his jaw.

"All of it," he muttered. "I'll sell everything."

The decision felt final.

A pulse of cold light flickered before his eyes.

[MAIN MISSION ACTIVE]

Objective: Locate a Suitable Academy Foundation Site

Remaining Time: 5 Days 13 Hours

Failure: Soul Obliteration (No Reincarnation)

Astrea grimaced. "Yeah, yeah. I see you."

No response.

"Figures."

He packed what little remained useful and left the hideout for good.

By midday, Astrea stood in the village market, trading whispers for coin. Some merchants sneered when they recognized him. Others offered insultingly low prices. He swallowed his pride and sold anyway.

By the time the sun dipped westward, his pockets were heavier.

Not rich but ready.

He bought what he could afford:

A short iron sword, dull but balanced

A cheap hand axe for chopping and emergencies

Rope, flint, a bedroll

Dried food and a waterskin

A simple leather vest, better than nothing

As he strapped the gear on, the weight felt strange.

Not like a thief.

Like someone leaving.

He passed through Brighthollow's gate as dusk settled, pausing once to glance back.

"Goodbye," he murmured.

Then he turned toward the mountain path.

Night fell quickly.

Astrea made camp just beyond the treeline, the village lights faint behind him. As he lay back against a rock, staring up at unfamiliar stars, his thoughts raced.

Healing. Money. Survival.

And beyond that—

A promise inherited.

An academy yet to exist.

A future that belonged to more than just him.

His lips curled into a tired, half-mad smile.

"Five days," he whispered. "Three hours."

The stars offered no answers.

But the mountain loomed ahead vast, ancient, and waiting.

Somewhere within it, his fate and the continuation of another man's dream lay buried.

And time was already slipping away.