On the countryside he walked, a lone figure in the misty landscape. The sound of footsteps echoed in the silence of the early morning. Mist and fog clung to the tall grass and brush, making it look like a blanket of white, shrouding the landscape in the early autumnal haze. The air was cool, the sky still black though the first rays of dawn were beginning to break. The only sound was the faint sound of water from the nearby creek. The landscape looked deserted, like a place where no one lived. No birds or insects made any sound, and the grass was wet and dewy from the nighttime mist.The figure moved through the grass, his shoes leaving small imprints in the mud. He moved as silently and stealthily as a ghost, no sound from his footsteps. The boy walked with no visible purpose. He wasn't looking for something, he wasn't looking for anyone. He was simply walking. He felt more at home in the misty silence of the morning then he ever did in a crowded city.He wasn't sure when he began this routine, the habit of morning walks. It was something he had done for as long as he remembered. Walking alone with not another soul in sight, the silence and loneliness was a welcome comfort. Not having to see other people, not having to talk to anyone, being blissfully alone. It was like a drug to him, a comfort when the world outside felt so cold, it's emptiness a perfect mirror to his own inner void.

the sound of the wrecking horn of the train has brought memories through him, a bloody mess of the distance tragedy of the war that have left a traumatic experience, simply of the lone survivor of his own family. he pays no mind through the soulless past, hopping on board inside the train to went to his new job as a servant of the noble manor. he arrives greeted by the head servant..

citrus: "you must be the new servant, my name is citrus but i prefer to be addressed as "Sir" now follow me.