The day had passed, and neither he nor Sunny had found even a moment of rest. The weight of exhaustion settled over them like a suffocating fog, yet as the clock struck 8:00, there was no time to linger in fatigue. Without a word, they left their dormitories, stepping into the dark passageway—a corridor carved by shadows, its silence pressing against them like unseen hands. The distant murmurs of the waking world felt like echoes of something greater, something inevitable.
When they reached the main hallway, it was as if they had stepped into another reality altogether. **Bodies upon bodies, shifting, murmuring, a chaotic sea of faces—so many people, too many people.** Never in their lives had they seen such a gathering, and amidst the throng, two figures stood stark against the chaos, like phantoms refusing to blend into the crowd.
**The silver-haired beauty**—her presence commanded attention, yet something about her felt off, wrong. She carried the weight of countless emotions, each one clawing at her from the inside, each one a wound she refused to acknowledge. And yet… over all those emotions, there was something else. **A veil. A strange, oppressive indifference.** Or was it discipline? **Stoicism? Resignation?** Whatever it was, it twisted her aura into something unreadable, something chilling.
And then, **the other one.**
Far in the back, hidden against the wall, **a silent blonde-haired enigma.** She did not stand—she clung to the surface behind her like something that had already collapsed, something that did not belong among the living but remained simply because it had nowhere else to go. **Her presence was delicate, ethereal—but there was something in her. Something suffocating.**
As Dawn and Sunny parted ways, Dawn drifted toward the back, his movements careful, deliberate. **The closer he got, the more he felt it—the flood of emotions tangled in her soul. Despair. Helplessness. Sorrow so deep it felt carved into her bones.**
She was drowning, but she had long since accepted it.
She was **not fighting to breathe.**
Her small frame carried a kind of elegance—**not the elegance of royalty, not the elegance of confidence, but something fragile, something forced.** Grace without peace. Beauty without warmth. And yet—her eyes, the eyes that should have radiated something once **brilliant**… were closed.
He stopped just before her, his voice steady but careful.
*"Excuse me… are you okay?"*
She flinched. A small yelp broke through her lips, as if his voice had shattered the quiet barrier keeping her from reality. A delicate, trembling hesitation lingered in the air.
*"Y-yes, I am fine."*
A lie. A brittle, exhausted lie.
*"Are you sure?"* Dawn pressed, his voice gentler now. **"Something tells me you aren't."**
She inhaled sharply. Then, softer, **emptier**—
*"I'm quite sure, actually… And besides, it's not just me. Nobody is really fine—we just act like we are. Everyone in this room has clawed their way out of the worst experience of their lives. It's hard to be fine."*
Dawn watched her carefully, searching past the words, beyond the veil she had forced over herself. **She was hiding something. No—she was suffocating in it.**
*"But you're different,"* he murmured. **"It's as if you've already given up entirely."**
She exhaled, a sound that carried more weight than words ever could.
*"I guess that's true. I mean… I was handed a death sentence by the spell."*
Something sharp twisted in his chest.
*"How so?"*
Her voice was fragile, **but the truth was brutal.**
*"My flaw… is that I'm blind. Apparently, an Oracle is meant to see only the future or the past—never the present."*
Silence. A thick, suffocating silence.
Dawn swallowed, **his mind racing.**
*"I see… That's a horrid flaw indeed,"* he said at last. **"But what do you mean by Oracle? Are you saying you can literally see the future?"**
A faint, ghostly smile flickered across her lips.
*"In my dreams, yeah."*
His eyes widened—**a flood of possibilities crashing through his mind.**
*"That's… quite the ability,"* he said slowly. **"You could be invaluable. You could recall past events, solve mysteries—even your own. You could guide us, warn us, prepare us."**
He paused, then—his voice turning lighter, warmer.
*"You'd be a monster—a very good one, though."*
Her lips parted, and for the first time, there was a flicker of **something else.**
**Not despair. Not sorrow. Something delicate.**
Hope.
It was **small**, but it was there.
And for the first time, she smiled—a tiny, graceful thing **filled with quiet relief.**
And Dawn smiled back.
Sunny's POV:
When they reached the main hallway, Sunny felt his breath hitch. **So many people. Too many.** The energy in the room was suffocating, a thrumming pulse of unease and fragile survival. He could see it in their eyes, **the remnants of terror, the weight of memories none of them would ever truly escape.**
But then—he felt something else.
Dawn had slowed. His sharp eyes had locked onto **two figures in the crowd**, his expression shifting, darkening, as though he could **see something no one else could.**
Sunny followed his gaze.
First, the **silver-haired beauty**—a presence that should have been commanding, that should have radiated something magnetic. But instead, there was something distant about her, something closed off. **She wasn't just standing in the crowd; she was isolated, even here.** And then—
The **blonde-haired girl at the back.**
Unlike the first, she didn't attempt to mask her isolation. She was **woven into it.** A quiet specter against the wall, her frail form almost **too still, too restrained**—as if she were afraid that moving too much might make her crumble entirely.
And without a word, **Dawn moved toward her.**
Sunny felt a strange pull in his chest. He stayed put, **but he watched.**
Dawn approached like someone drawn by something unseen—his movements slow, deliberate, careful.
And as the conversation unfolded, **Sunny felt himself frown.**
Dawn was **different.**
He was always perceptive, always sharp—**but this was something else.**
Sunny listened as Dawn spoke, watched as the blonde-haired girl—**Cassie**—reacted to his words. He saw the way Dawn **studied her,** the way his voice softened, **the way he reached for something beyond what most people would bother with.**
And then—
Cassie smiled.
Sunny's breath stilled.
She had carried a heaviness so tangible it felt suffocating, and yet **Dawn had managed to carve through it, even just a little.**
And for the first time, **Sunny truly noticed it.**
**Dawn was changing.**
He wasn't just analyzing people anymore. **He was reaching for them. He was acting. He was—**
Sunny's thoughts cut off as Dawn suddenly turned toward him and **yelled his name into the crowd.**
*"Sunless, get over here!"*
Sunny exhaled sharply before pushing forward, making his way toward Dawn and Cassie, his thoughts still lingering on everything he'd just witnessed. **Something was happening. Something was shifting.** And somehow, he knew—**this was just the beginning.**