Avin stirred from his sleep with an unusual sensation — warmth tugging at his lips. For the first time in... longer than he cared to measure, he woke with a smile.
A faint, quiet smile, the kind that clung to the corners of his mouth as if embarrassed to be there. He stretched lazily, savoring the rare comfort of it, before sitting up on the edge of his bed.
"This guy has no adaptation skills," he muttered under his breath, grin widening. The dream lingered in his mind — Avin flailing against simple technology, baffled by elevators, panicking at toilets. It was absurd, but gods, it was hilarious.
A yawn ripped out of him. He slapped a palm over his mouth as his arms stretched wide, joints popping in protest.
"So stupid..." he chuckled to himself.
Then his foot caught something.
He pitched forward. "Fuck!" He caught himself on the bedframe, eyes darting down.
"Why are you still here?" Avin barked at the inanimate box, fury swelling despite knowing perfectly well it could never respond.
The suitcase stared back in silence.
He exhaled through his nose, crouching beside it. His fingers brushed the polished surface. "...They really got everything I need, huh?"
That phrase stirred something. A memory uncurled like smoke, faint but stubborn.
"The book!" he exclaimed, snapping upright. He rushed toward the chair Miranda had used when tending to him.
And just like that, her name was enough to dim the room. Miranda. The image of her, tending him with quiet care, rose in his mind. The guilt returned, heavy and sharp.
But this time, he shook it off.
"Leave what is in the past in the past," he whispered firmly.
He snatched up the book, stuffed it into the suitcase.
The lid snapped back against his nose.
"Ouch!" He clutched his face, glaring at the bag. "You little—"
He slammed the lid again.
BOING. It popped back up.
This time, he dodged, eyes narrowing. His patience snapped. With a growl, he stomped the suitcase with all the force he could muster.
The bag stayed shut. Finally.
"Victory..." Avin muttered, chest heaving from his ridiculous duel. He clicked the locks shut with hurried hands, sealing it in place.
The shower washed away sweat and irritation alike. Toothpaste stung his tongue, clothes slid over his skin with casual comfort. By the time he wandered into the dining hall, he was clean, refreshed, and starving.
The room was empty — blissfully so. A long table stretched, meals laid neatly across it. For once, no audience, no piercing eyes.
He sat, forked food into his mouth, chewed... and sighed.
As bland as ever. The dishes looked extravagant, jeweled with garnish, but tasted like wet cloth. He ate only what he had to, then pushed the plate away.
Back in his room, silence pressed in again. He sat, suitcase locked at his side, trying to steel himself for the day ahead. The Academy. Whatever it was, whatever waited, he needed to be ready.
His eyes drifted left.
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Something new stood there.
A mannequin, draped in a royal outfit. Black as midnight, trimmed in gleaming gold.
"...What the fuck?" Avin muttered, shooting to his feet. He stormed toward it, dodging the suitcase this time. "Do these people just walk into my room when I’m not here?"
He ran his fingers along the sleeve. Smooth fabric whispered under his touch, sturdy yet soft. He pressed, felt the hidden strength in the weave.
"This..." He stared at it, enraptured. "I quite , actually."
The knock broke his trance.
Avin’s head snapped toward the door.
"Young Master," a voice called. "The carriage to the academy is ready. You are being awaited."
Avin straightened. "Ah. Yes. I’ll be right there."
He hurried into the outfit. The jacket slid over his shoulders, regal and snug. The gold trim caught light as he fastened the clasps. The trousers fit with tailored precision. He studied himself in the mirror briefly, and for the first time, he looked every inch the noble he pretended to be.
Grabbing the suitcase, he marched out.
Outside, the carriage waited. Horses stamped their hooves, snorting clouds of mist into the morning air. Three guards stood at attention beside it, armor polished.
And then there was Leo.
Leo, with his green eyes and that ever-present snake-like smile. He waved at Avin, cheerful, too cheerful.
"Morning," he said, voice dripping with practiced charm.
Avin forced a polite nod, approaching. Leo gestured toward the carriage.
Avin climbed in, settling onto the cushioned seat. Leo followed, taking the seat opposite him. One guard climbed into the driver’s bench outside, reins in hand.
CRACK. The whip snapped, the horses surged forward, and the carriage rolled into motion.
Silence filled the cabin. Only the creak of wheels and clop of hooves broke it.
Avin leaned back, staring at the window. The weight of the journey pressed on him. He lasted longer than he expected before breaking.
"How long till we get there?"
Leo looked up slowly, reluctance plain in his face. "...By sunset."
"Okay," Avin muttered.
The silence stretched again, thicker this time.
Finally, Avin tried again. "What exactly is the academy?"
Leo’s eyes flicked toward him, annoyance sharp. "You ask a lot of questions lately, Young Master."
Leo sighed, tapping his foot three times before continuing. "It makes sense you don’t know anything about it."
He straightened, sarcasm lacing his words. "After the Hero fought off the first Calamity, he had the bright idea to train the future generation. And how would he do that, you ask?"
"The Academy!" Leo interrupted with exaggerated optimism. His voice echoed in the small cabin, dripping with mock cheer.
Avin narrowed his eyes, irritation prickling.
"The Academy trains swordsmen, magicians, god-folk like us... even scholars. Nobles and commoners alike may join, because the Hero believed in equality. A foolish belief." His lips curled. "That belief led to his downfall."
He exhaled, sinking deeper into his seat. "It has many great teachers. It produces armies for peacebuilding and other causes. Is that enough for you?"
Sunlight streamed in through the window, catching on Leo’s green eyes. For a moment, they gleamed sharp as blades.
Avin lowered his head, thoughts heavy. "Hero? Calamity? All of this is new to me..." He looked up again, curiosity sparking.
Leo sat with arms folded, frown carved into his features.
"Geez... mood swings," Avin thought, staring at him. "He was smiling at me earlier."
But questions still itched at him.
"If the Hero invented teaching... maybe he was from Earth. Maybe I could—"
Avin leaned forward. "So... the her—"
Leo pressed a finger to his lips.
Avin flinched. "I was just asking a ques—"
"Shut it." Leo’s voice was sharp now, his entire body tense. His eyes darted, scanning the world beyond the window.