To Her Window, Through the Wind
The world was wrapped in silence.
Leon crept as softly as a breath on the edge of the estate, boots rustling lightly over the cool grass. He halted behind a tall hedgerow, stooping low under the broad canopy of a banyan tree. The moon shone through the leaves, casting fluttering shadows on his face and white shirt.
A soft wind blew, brushing the fabric against his body. The twin moons’ silver light bathed the garden—illuminating stone pathways, clipped hedges, and the dew-kissed grass like a soft dream. His golden eyes, keen and unwavering, ranged across the distance.
Across the way was the mansion—stately and imposing—enclosed by ivy-encrusted walls and marble flowerbeds. Guards in green-and-black armor paced along the edges, spears glinting dimly as they walked in silent, practiced steps.
Then, with no hesitation at all, he struck out.
Voidstep. His Voidbreaker Art technique triggered in an instant. He was gone from view, without making a sound, leaving behind no sign—only the subtle ripple of space folding over him.
As Leon shifted, the world around him slowed.
His body blurred—not from disappearing, but from velocity so pointed, so virulent, it was as if he slid through slivers of space itself. The Voidbreaker Art wasn’t about blinking out of reality; it was about slicing through air and silence so neatly that the eye couldn’t possibly keep pace.
As he cut through the hedge, it was as if observing wind form—his form slicing through and springing behind a stone planter silently. Another moment, and he shifted again, low and quick, racing to the foot of a tall rose trellis. Again—to the rim of a weathered statue.
Each movement had the illusion of vanishing, but never quite did.
He could have passed for a trick of the moonlight to a casual onlooker—never quite seen, never quite present.
It was the Voidbreaker Art in its highest form: movement distilled into elegance; velocity sharpened into stealth. His limbs moved like liquid darkness, and the world hardly noticed him.
He became one with the wind—seeping behind patrol lines, dodging under ivy and column arches, always staying ahead of the world. A martial art so delicate that it allowed him to slide between instants, disappearing from where he was and reappearing where he needed to be without even stirring a leaf of grass.
Then he stopped—concealed in the gloom of a high hedge—while his eyes inspected the road ahead.
From the rear of the marble fountain to the dark shape of a rose-smothered trellis... then to the foot of an ancient statue, he glided like smoke. A moving shadow disappearing from one shadow into another. His existence little more than a sigh on the wind. No guard turned. No light caught even a glimpse of him.
Like a legend—half true, half terror—Leon made his way.
He did not go directly for the mansion. That would have been foolish. And Leon was many things, but never foolish.
Because he knew better, "Inside, there are too many guards... maids roaming here and there... anyone might see me," he muttered to himself, lips twitching into a twisted smile. "And by morning, the whole capital would be abuzz with scandal: ’The Duke sneak into other mansions at midnight!’
He rolled his eyes inwards. "And my title wouldn’t be stay just Duke Leon Moonwalker anymore—it’ll be The Midnight Mansion-Creeper."
There escaped a low laugh from him, though he remained bent low behind the cover of the bushes.
His reputation—groomed, poised, and dignified—would never weather something like that. Already, he could see the gossiping nobles inclining with wicked smiles:
’Oh, Duke Leon? Such elegance in the ballroom... such tawdriness in the moonlight.’
He sighed within himself at the foolishness of it, shaking his head.
That’s why he took the intelligent route—to sneak in from behind. Treading quietly, he walked past rows of well-trimmed bushes and remained concealed under groups of trees, soundlessly moving to the garden behind the mansion.
A great big field lay open behind the magnificent building, encircled by high hedges and dotted with ornamental trees. The moonlight was softer here, obstructed in part by the high shape of the mansion that cast long shadows across the lawn. Following a thin side path, Leon came to the rear of the mansion. The lawn was broad, nearly a hidden paradise—tidy hedges lined a field of soft, wet grass. Stone bird sculptures, curving bushes, and soft glowing lanterns hovered over stone paths, illuminating the peaceful night garden.
He took refuge behind a rock bench, his eyes observing the tall back wall of the mansion. Three stories of windows ran along it—some closed, some curtained, and some dimly lit.
As he wished to go into someone’s room, first he had to identify which one. So, Leon started looking for any indication—particularly an open window.
His narrowed eyes carefully observed all the windows. Then—he saw it.
Third floor. Left side of the mansion. A soft white curtain was gently fluttering in the night breeze, pushed outward through an open window.
A sly smile curved his lips, and a quiet chuckle slipped out.
"Well... you’re there, my beauty, aren’t you?"
He leaned his head, pondering how to access it. The window was high, and the distance from him to it was too big to climb alone. He looked around the garden.
Right next to the wall was a tall, sturdy tree. A thick branch extended far out, curving near enough to touch the stone wall. From this branch, a thick vine wrapped around the wall, making its way upward and holding fast to the bricks like quiet assistants, ready to be employed.
Glancing hastily over his shoulder, Leon grumbled, "Alright then... let’s make this interesting."
He stepped down to the tree’s base and lowered himself slightly, before springing upward with strength.
He dropped down on the first branch with a gentle landing, then pressed against the trunk before scaling it with rapid ease. His boots landed solidly between the bark and heavy vines as he ascended in comfort. Every movement was smooth and economical, the sort born of long practice. He leaped from branch to branch, shifting his weight so smoothly that no leaf was disturbed or twig snapped.
Night wind danced through his white shirt and ruffled his hair as he went up higher. His fingers crushed the stone wall and vines as if he was born to climb silently. Moonlight painted his body with a soft silvery hue. With every step upwards, the wind picked up strength, creating whisks in his hair and pulling softly on the hems of his cloak. Yet, his breathing remained steady and unhurried.
Finally, he touched the thick branch that arced toward the mansion, sloping down a little close to the open window. He exhaled softly.
With the stealth of a cat, he stepped out of the tree onto the wall, his hand on a vine, the other fixed on the stone. He tugged once swiftly at both. Steadfast and firm.
And then he started climbing.
The atmosphere was nearly picturesque as he strode towards the window—the quiet scuffing of his boots against the brick, the soft billowing of his shirt caught in the wind, and the piercing concentration in his golden eyes that never wavered from the open window above.
A tiny droplet of sweat ran down his temple—not from exertion, but from anticipation.
His eyes remained keen, his breathing relaxed. Just a little further—
His fingers grazed the windowsill. He eased up. Carefully, he set both hands against the stone sill and hauled himself up until his chest was flat against the window frame. He held his breath, golden eyes cautiously peering in.
Then—he peered in. His golden eyes contracted.
Inside... Soft golden light filled the room—a magical lamp hung suspended near the ceiling, diffusing a warm radiance like melted dawn. The chamber was exquisitely covered with shades of green and white. Delicate carvings on the walls were partially concealed by sheer white drapings trimmed in emerald.
A crystal chandelier dangled from the ceiling, casting soft glints upon a pale jade carpet. Smooth, silken rugs partially covered the whitewood floor, polished to a high sheen. By the window, a white lily, held in a tall porcelain vase, gently swayed to and fro in the breeze.
And then—his gaze rested on the bed.
In the center of the room was a huge canopy bed, its bedding woven clouds. Snowy white silk with delicate green embroidery. A form was on it, turned away from view, hidden almost entirely under the soft blanket.
One thing only was apparent: as he moved, the slight rise and fall of her shoulder under the green silk blanket—and dark hair cascaded over the pillow like a waterfall of ink.
Leon’s eyes squinted. Suspicion, interest, and a queer sense of familiarity roiled within him.
Is that her? he asked himself.
Still holding onto the windowsill for balance, he leaned forward a little and whispered to himself,
He arched an eyebrow. "Oi, system. Are you sleeping or what?"
A drowsy mechanical voice eventually buzzed in his head, sounding like it had just awakened from a long slumber.
[Mmm. No, Host. I’m completely awake.]
Leon raised an eyebrow, a smile in his eyes.
"Well, if you’re listening and awake, mind giving me a hand? Can you check and see if the same person I set out for is really in there?"
[Host, if you like, I can run a target and surface scan on the person in the room to establish their identity.]
There was something peculiar in the voice—still robotic, but with a mischievous undertone.
Leon’s lips curled. "Ahem... I forgot you were able to do that."
[Indeed, Host. You very often forget many of my capabilities.]
Leon emitted a soft snort through his nose, lips twitching marginally as he held onto the windowsill.
"Tch... Fine, then. Scanners, yes? Can you just scan her?"
But he smiled to himself. Despite the chill of the stone under his palms and the fall that waited below, the exhilaration of the instant warmed him. The stars above seemed to twinkle more brightly. The two moons on the horizon appeared as if they nodded at him in approval.
[ Affirmative. Scanning target...]
A gentle bell rang inside Leon’s head.
[Scan complete. Displaying target identity.]
A soft light developed in Leon’s eyesight as the system interface started to manifest itself—clear, traced with fine runes. The scan line glowed softly, curving through the room from the bed outwards.