Dawn had crawled lazily over the island of Exodus, but the sun itself seemed unwilling to shine.
It was cold outside. Fog blanketed the entire island.
Dante had been sitting on his bed for a while now, shirtless, eyes lost in the void, eyelids still heavy, hair a tangled mess as if he had spent the night battling nightmares.
Eventually, he rose quietly and reached for the uniform neatly folded over the chair.
The deep navy-blue uniform of House Igris.
Over his chest, just above the heart, sat the badge personally handed to him by the Academy's director, Archon Thymeris.
A brooch forged from a metallic alloy, depicting a flame encircled by three lines.
A symbol of gratitude. Or recognition. Maybe even a burden.
It was the honor awarded to the heroes of the convoy—those who had stood their ground while others fled.
An honor, sure. But one that painted a target on his back. An honor Dante could have done without.
