It was something hard to explain.
While reading the letter, he hadn't felt anything - not consciously. But something underneath, buried deep in the body he was now wearing, something that didn't belong to him, had felt a sorrow that was difficult to understand from the outside.
'Is this Encrid's feelings?'
Jin wasn't sure.
He sat there for a moment and thought about his life back on earth. It wasn't a life he could call entirely without regrets, but it wasn't a bad one either. He had been aware, in the quiet way you become aware of things you don't discuss, that he was a little broken in places. He had made peace with that. It had never caused him problems he couldn't manage.
This was different.
Whatever this was - it wasn't his grief. But it had come out of his eyes and it had used his face to do it, and that was a strange enough thing that he sat with it for a while before he could move on.
He set the letters aside and rubbed his eyes.
This isn't the time to get emotional. He had to leave for the Wall in the morning. There wasn't much time left.
He needed rest.
He didn't know what the road would bring - twelve days, possibly more, through northern territory he had only read about. Better to be sharp when the sun came up than to sit here in the dark pulling at feelings that weren't entirely his.
'Don't think about it now.'
He left the desk and moved to the bed. The mattress received him the same way it had before, with an unexpected softness that his current body was clearly more accustomed to than he was. He pulled the blanket over himself and closed his eyes.
He thought he might not be able to sleep because of so many thoughts going through his head, but surprisingly, he was asleep before he had time to think of anything else.
✧ ✧ ✧
The School was loud.
Not like the usual way due to students making noise. It was different today. The Corridors had a different energy, like energy that came from people who normally didn't belong there.
Parents moved through the hallways alongside the students, and the whole building felt slightly off balance because of it.
Among them, a boy walked towards the conference room without thinking about it.
The conference room was large. Two chairs were pushed together at each desk, one for the student, one for the parent or guardian. Most of them were already filled with people who were performing composure while actually being nervous.
Students straightened in their seats. A few parents already wore the expression like they had already decided their reaction and were simply waiting for the number that would justify it.
The boy walked to the very end and sat at his desk.
The chair beside him was empty.
He looked at it once and then looked at his boots.
His boots were the kind that had been good once and had gotten to the age where the good was mostly gone, but the share was all that remained. He looked at them carefully and with great attention because there was nowhere else particularly comfortable to look.
The homeroom teacher came in with the marksheet list. She was a small woman who wore her authority practically without any ceremony.
She looked at the room, took everything in and began.
It started with the introductions - usual remarks about the term, thanking the parents and students, thanking the teachers, director and others.
Then came the main course - the marksheets.
She went through them in order of rank, which was a standard method.
When she pulled through the first sheet from the top of the stack, the marksheet which belonged to rank one, something changed in her face.
It was small and brief. Her eyes moved hopefully towards the end of the row.
There she found him and found the empty chair beside him, too.
The expression behind her eyes changes, which she quickly puts away.
She placed the sheet at the bottom of the stack and called the second-ranked student instead.
The meeting continued around him.
Praise from parents whose children have done well. Tense quite scolding at a few desks and occasional bursts of genuine happiness. A mother who covered her mouth with both hands, a father who clapped his son on the shoulder harder than he intended.
While all that happened, the boy kept his eyes on his boots.
The chair beside him was still empty.
At some point, the thing in his chest that he had been managing stopped being manageable, and tears started rolling out.
He was crying.
Sobbing silently as he looked at the tears that fell on his boots. His shoulders didn't move, his breath stayed even, but his eyes were doing something he couldn't stop.
Nobody noticed him.
The room moved lively - the praises, the scoldings, the happiness, the ordinary and complete lives of everyone else in it - and he sat at the end of the row with the empty chair beside him and nobody noticed.
Maybe if someone had said something. Even one person. Even just a hand on the shoulder or just an acknowledgement that he was there and the chair was empty….Maybe that day would not be the last day he cried. Maybe he would have been a little less broken.
But nobody did.
✧ ✧ ✧
Jin opened his eyes.
He was staring at the ceiling of the Encrid's room.
He lay still for a moment and then brought the heel of his palm up against his eye and pressed it there.
"What," he said to the ceiling.
The ceiling had nothing useful to others.
He pressed harder.
"Of all the things."
Before his thoughts could linger deep, three sharp knocks at the door caught his attention.
"Young master, it is almost the sixth bell."
"I know," His voice came out rougher than intended.
There was a pause for a few seconds.
"...Are you well, young master?"
"I'm fine. Come in."
Another pause, and Gus replied in a low tone.
"Should I come back in a-"
"I said, Come in."
The door opened, and Gud entered with a tray.
Jin sat up lethargically, feeling irritated from the dream he had just had. He reached for the clay cup and drank without waiting for it to cool, which was a mistake, which he accepted as deserved.
Gus just watched him with wide eyes.
"Is everything prepared?"
"Yes, young master. Horses are ready, and the provisions are loaded."
"Good."
He stood up, stretching his body a bit. While doing so, he looked around the room once-the bottles, the desk, the letters, the portrait-and turned away from all of it.
"Then let's go," he said. "I've had enough of this room."
✦ ✦ ✦