Milan — Central Station
The cold bit into the skin that early morning.
Luca, dressed in simple clothes and carrying only a small suitcase, moved through the station hall like a ghost among the few travelers.
In his pockets were false documents, a train ticket to the border, and a single goal:
to disappear without leaving a trace.
In the last few hours, he had informed only two trusted friends.
He said no goodbyes to anyone else.
There were no speeches.
No public tears.
The revolution now belonged to the people.
He was just a piece to be quietly removed from the board so others could move history forward.
Before boarding, Luca paused for a moment before the departure and arrival boards.
There were no longer the names of arrogant leaders.
No longer the false symbols of the old order.
Milan, for the first time in decades, was free to choose its own destiny.
Luca took a deep breath.
Then, with calm steps, he crossed the gate and boarded the train.
As the carriages gained speed toward the darkness of the border, he closed his eyes.
He was leaving behind the city he had risked everything for.
But he carried something no one could ever erase:
the certainty that he had fulfilled his mission.