The Wanderer looked out from his window, look at the grey sorrow sky. He thought back how the Guildmaster told him to take good care of the Prey. In his hands, he clasped a piece of white paper with some peppermint scent. It was a letter to the Guildmaster that he would leave the Guild and continued to search for his true light in the Grey Palace.
He hesitated. He promised the Guildmaster to look after the Prey but the Prey was too quick, vulnerable and playful, like a naughty imp. He remembered he had a son, not of blood relation, and he took care of him for four years before his son turned against him.
He wondered, was he right to accept the promise?
The rain suddenly increased its intensity, blurring his vision.
In a few more moments, his Muses will entertain him for his Day of Birth. It would be his first time having a celebration in the Lake of Sunsets. He wasn't expecting anything, he was expecting his late master would guide him.
He sat in the corner, crying softly. He felt so heavy. He needed a lift. Maybe a word of care, a shoulder to lean on, an ear to cry for. But no, he didn't have any of those. He only had his own heart to take everything he didn't wish for.
He gripped the letter tightly.
He determined one thing: he will care for the Prey, but not like his son before. He will just be there if possible, if not, away.
The Wanderer sat and sat...