He awoke to tiredness and listlessness, drowsy in a way that sank into his bones rather than clinging to his thoughts. His body felt heavy, unresponsive, as though someone had draped a lead blanket over him in the night. No matter how much he willed himself to move, his limbs refused to cooperate. Even breathing felt like work.
He stared at the ceiling for a long while, unfocused.
Eventually, he sighed and rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket closer. Maybe it was better to give in. Just for a little while. Just long enough to forget. He had accepted worse before—accepted dying on that mountain not so long ago, cold and broken and convinced that was the end of him.
Then his eyes snapped open.
Something hardened behind them, sharp and sudden. Grim determination rooted itself in his chest, burning through the lethargy like a spark to dry tinder. He growled under his breath and forced his body upright, muscles protesting as he threw the blanket aside.
Both of them.
He sat there for a second, hunched and breathing hard, before swinging his legs out of bed. "Not today," he muttered.
His routine followed by sheer force of will. The shower was hot—far hotter than usual—and he stayed under the stream longer than he should have, letting the water pound against his shoulders until his skin prickled and reddened. Steam filled the small room, fogging the mirror completely.
If this really was his last day on Earth, then he was going to enjoy the hot water while it lasted.
Afterward, he dried himself slowly, pulled on a fresh set of clothes, and stepped out into the hallway. The academy felt wrong this morning. The people he passed looked much like he felt earlier—hollow-eyed, sluggish, shoulders slumped as if carrying invisible weights. No one spoke unless they had to. No one lingered.
The winter solstice loomed over them all like an execution date, and its presence was impossible to ignore.
The cafeteria was worse.
Silence hung heavy over the room, broken only by the scrape of utensils and the occasional cough. Most people didn't eat at all. Teenagers sat slouched at tables, staring at nothing, their faces pale and drawn. The atmosphere was so thick with dread that he half-expected something monstrous to tear its way through the walls at any moment.
Honestly, that might have been preferable.
The Legacies were the exception, of course. They sat straighter, spoke in low voices, and maintained their composure—but even they weren't joking today. Whether that was restraint or genuine empathy, he didn't care enough to speculate.
He went straight to the coffee machine.
His fingers hovered over the buttons, his mind wandering, until he pressed the metal casing three times in a row instead. The dull thud echoed louder than it should have. He flushed faintly, glancing around to make sure no one noticed, then corrected himself and ordered properly.
The cup slid out with a soft hiss.
He took a sip as he walked toward his usual seat.
Ah. That helped.
He sat down and glanced across the table, where the only other occupant sat quietly. A young blind girl, her posture straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes were a striking blue—beautiful, almost luminous—but empty of pupils.
She couldn't see a thing.
Even after all this time, her Flaw still struck him as needlessly cruel. Blindness wasn't just physical; it gnawed at the mind, at independence, at dignity. In the Dream Realm, it was practically a death sentence. That was why no one else sat with her. To the other Sleepers, she was a walking corpse, a reminder of what awaited them.
He supposed that said something about him, that he didn't mind.
He was halfway through his coffee when she spoke.
"Happy birthday."
He froze.
Slowly, he turned his head, confusion etched across his face. Had he imagined that? He glanced behind him. No one else stood nearby. His gaze returned to her.
She was facing forward, expression unchanged.
"…Thanks?" The uncertainty in his own voice made him wince.
The girl simply nodded, as if confirming something only she understood, and returned to her silence.
Weird.
Then again, everything about her was. Sometimes it felt like she wasn't really human at all—more like a statue animated just enough to pass. Maybe it was her beauty. Maybe her calm. Maybe it was his own paranoia whispering in the background.
Wouldn't be the first time.
When he finished his drink, he stood, gave her a small nod—maybe goodbye, maybe forever—and left the cafeteria behind.
The halls of the Academy felt almost familiar now, though that only made leaving them stranger. His feet carried him where he intended without hesitation, toward the one place he knew he needed to visit.
The botanical lab.
The old man was exactly where he expected him to be, hunched over a table, examining a flower with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb. He lifted it, turned it, scribbled notes, then paused when he sensed another presence.
He smiled when he looked up.
"Ah," he said warmly, straightening his back. "Come to see this old man off one last time?"
"Something like that," he replied, surprised at how easily the laugh came.
They talked for fifteen minutes—maybe more. The old man spoke quickly, eagerly, cramming advice and half-formed theories into every spare second. He rattled off last-minute tips, corrections, warnings, and encouragements, as if trying to stuff an entire lifetime of knowledge into a single conversation.
By the end, he was out of breath.
He took a sip of water and leaned back, studying the young man in front of him. The room fell quiet, the hum of equipment filling the silence. Finally, he sighed, the weight of sincerity settling into his voice.
"Keep yourself safe out there," he said. "And remember—no matter how tough the Dream Realm becomes, it can never overcome the human spirit."
He didn't trust himself to say much in response.
He thanked his teacher instead. For the lessons. For the patience. For pretending this wasn't goodbye.
Then he turned and left.
The halls felt darker on the way out.
Time to face the music, he thought grimly. Just another thing trying to chew him up and spit him out.
"Well," he muttered under his breath, a crooked smile tugging at his lips, "you bastard—I'm one tough snack to chew on."