From the moment he stirred awake, an uneasy feeling settled in his chest. It was as if the day itself was cloaked in an unsettling aura. Even the cheerful melody of his alarm clock, which had filled the room with a bright tone just yesterday, now echoed with an ominous undertone, sending chills down his spine. He shook off the strange sensation, convinced he was merely overthinking things as he moved through his morning routine.
With a practiced grace, he brushed his teeth, splashed cold water on his face, and donned his uniform, but the feeling lingered, an unshakeable weight on his mind. Finally, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and reached for his headphones, ready to enter the world. Yet, as a precaution, he decided not to queue up any music, keeping the silence around him intact, hoping it might quell the disquiet that stirred within him.
The entire neighborhood seemed to envelop him in an unusually thick silence, making him wonder if it had always been this way. Perhaps he hadn't noticed before, lost in his world with music blaring through his headphones, drowning out the sounds around him. As he rounded the corner, a familiar sense of apprehension washed over him; he almost forgot about the daily assault he expected from Jason. The bright flash of a red shirt at the edge of his vision jolted him back to reality, prompting him to leap aside just in time.
With a deep sigh of relief at escaping yet another close call, he glanced back at Jason. The young man was practically vibrating with adrenaline, a triumphant grin plastered across his face as he reveled in his near success. "At least one of us is having a good morning," he mused bitterly, feeling a heavy sense of exhaustion settle in his bones as he continued.
As he pressed on with his journey, a heavy sense of foreboding enveloped him like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over his thoughts. Every fiber of his being screamed danger, leaving him unable to focus on the world around him.
A familiar, bitter feelings bubbled to the surface, and he found himself longing for power—any kind of power—that could shield him from harm, rather than living in a constant state of anxiety about his safety. Yet, he resolutely pushed those thoughts aside, refusing to give in to the self-pity that threatened to consume him. He had made a silent vow to himself to no longer allow such feelings to take root, determined to rise above the turmoil that threatened to overwhelm him.
He arrived at school earlier than usual, a quiet morning enveloping him in a veil of stillness. With an hour to spare, he took the time to gather his thoughts and organize his books meticulously according to his schedule. The tactile feel of the worn spines and crisp pages in his hands offered a reassuring sense of control. After carefully selecting a notebook that had seen better days, he tucked it under his arm and headed out, ready to face the day's lessons.
His first class was mathematics, a subject that often served as a welcome distraction from the swirling thoughts that occupied his mind.
As he stepped into the classroom, an unusual emptiness greeted him—desks that were typically filled with students lay barren, their absence casting an unsettling shadow over the space. Adjusting his focus, he decided to delve into the complexities of the Farda issue instead.
Reflecting on the past, he recalled that the war had officially ended nearly a decade ago when he was just five years old. After three long decades of conflict, a treaty had been signed, forcing a delicate balance: the planets were evenly divided between the two factions, while the uncharted territories remained a tantalizing mystery, ripe for exploration.
Despite the cessation of hostilities, the relationship between humans and the Farda was far from amicable. Trust was a fragile thread, with one side reluctant to extend an olive branch and the other harboring a sense of superiority that kept them at odds.
The situation was complicated, leading both sides to maintain their distance unless circumstances required their coexistence, such as during shared meals.
The aftermath of the war had left scars that ran deep, and questions hung heavy in his heart. He always harbored a disquieting uncertainty about his parents' fate. While he couldn't confirm it, he instinctively felt they might be among the countless victims lost to the war. After all, the government had provided him with a modest yet comfortable place to live and financial support for his needs, a lifeline he suspected was linked to his parents—perhaps funds saved in their memory or insurance money that had come too late. His memories of them were faint, reduced to a warm, shadowy feeling that occasionally washed over him.
Living in a district known for its luxury, he held a unique position. Although he resided on the lower-income side of a high-end area, he never experienced the pangs of hunger and only needed to take on summer jobs to supplement his lifestyle.
His apartment, a spacious oasis featuring a wide sitting area, an open kitchen that brimmed with potential, a cozy room to retreat to, and an indoor bath—a luxury many could only dream of—was a testament to the fortunate hand he had been dealt. He never let a day pass without expressing gratitude to his apparent guardians—wherever they may be—and to the government that had provided him with this life. In a world rife with uncertainty, he recognized the luck that threaded through his existence, even amid the shadows of his past.
he didn't notice the an hour had already passed. he looked around and for some reason there was still no single student in the class. he wandered if today was a particular holiday.
He reached for his phone scrolling though it he did not find any evidence of his suspishions. he then looked outside the window noticing that the school cortyarg was completely empty even