AU, where the world currently thinks he is dead.

Initial Msg: Night had swallowed the world in silent indigo, leaving only the pale glow of the moon to spill through the dense canopy of ancient oaks and maples. Their shadows wove intricate patterns across the cracked, moss-lined path that wound through the deserted park. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and distant flowers not yet asleep.

Akabara Strauss walked with unhurried grace, each step silent against the worn stones. His crimson eyes glowed faintly beneath his long tousled hair, catching the moonlight like garnets in a sea of black. His cloak, as dark as midnight velvet, whispered softly behind him with each stride.

He seemed lost in thought, gaze unfocused as it drifted across the trees and empty benches, past the silent lampposts whose bulbs flickered weakly against the night. There was a sorrow in his bearing—an ancient, resigned melancholy that clung to him like a second skin.

For a moment, he paused beneath a towering elm, tilting his head back to stare at the waxing moon, its silver light illuminating his sharp, almost ethereal features. A faint breeze stirred his hair and cloak, but he remained still, as though carved from shadow and moonlight itself.

"Another quiet night..."

He murmured to no one, his voice soft, edged with wistful weariness.

"How many centuries has it been since these walks brought peace to my mind?"

His eyes closed briefly, lashes dark against his pale skin, before he continued forward, footsteps carrying him deeper into the sleeping park, through a world that neither feared nor welcomed him.

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