The world was still cloaked in a shadow when Ezekiel stirred.
His dark brown- almost black eyes fluttered open, lined with grey bags, a sign that he was still tired despite having just slept. His slightly long black hair shifted slightly on his pillow as he shook himself in an attempt to wake himself up.
No alarm.
No voices in the hallway outside his room.
Only the soft, fragile rhythm of people breathing.
Amy, his younger sister lay curled beside him, small frame tucked into the crook of his arm. His younger brother Sam lay tangled somewhere beneath a mountain of blankets, and Eli, Sam's twin had half-slid off the edge of the mattress, the plastic lightsaber clutched tightly in one hand like a charm to ward off nightmares.
For a moment, Zeke lay Still. Listening.
There was a sanctity to the silence, not the suffocating, brittle quiet that haunted the house most days, but something gentler. Reverent. As if the air itself was holding its breath, sensing that this morning was unlike the others.
Zeke moved slowly, carefully separating himself from the warmth of his siblings. His steps were muted, deliberate as he crossed the room, he retrieved a worn, old bag from behind the door clothes still spilling out of the zipper, a sign that he packed in a rush. Looking through the bag for a second- he grabbed a folded jumper and began to dress in the faint light creeping through the hinges of the door.
He didn't want them to wake.
Not because he couldn't face them, but because if Amy blinked those already sad eyes at him, or Sam stirred and mumbled his name… if Eli sat up and called out, clutching his toy like it was his heart…
He might not leave at all.
On a scrap of paper, he scribbled a few lines. Jagged, rushed, but enough.
Be good to each other.
I'll be back.
Stronger.
Love you always – Z.
He folded it once, then again, and gently pressed it into Amy's small hand. She would read it to them.
One last glance.
He burned the image into memory- a silent promise to carry with him.
Then he stepped into the hallway of the silent house, floors creaking slightly as they adjusted to his weight.
The silence hit him, a hospital kind of stillness that made the walls feel further apart than they were. A hollowness, like the house had already begun to forget him.
His mother's door remained closed.
His father's snores - faint, steady came from somewhere beyond the hallway.
No goodbyes.
None expected.
None wanted.
The front door let out a sound as he opened it, he froze, breath caught, until the hinges stilled again.
Then, with careful hands, he pulled it shut behind him. Click!
Outside, the world was filtered in a shadowy grey as if projecting Zeke current state of mind.
The street was quiet, dimly painted by the earliest brushstrokes of dawn. The sky had yet to ignite, resting in that in-between moment - the color of deep bruise fading into pale steel.
Each step toward the station echoed inside him like a drumbeat, dull but resolute.
Familiar houses passed by quietly, the ghosts of childhood memories flickering behind every fence and corner.
It was only a fifteen-minute walk, but today, the distance stretched.
With every footfall, he felt the tether loosen.
...
At the platform, few shared the space - a man in a crumpled suit, a teen with headphones buried deep, a weary traveler dragging a suitcase behind her. None looked his way. He preferred it that way.
The train approached with a low growl, headlights piercing the morning mist like twin blades. As it slowed, he tightened his grip on the strap of his bag as he moved towards the carriage door.
One step.
Then another.
He crossed the threshold, and the doors closed behind him with a hiss - final, absolute.
A seat by the window welcomed him. He sank into it, the cushion scratchy beneath him, the scent of metal and old coffee clinging to the air. He leaned his forehead against the glass, exhaling slowly as the neighborhood began to slide away.
Familiar streets blurred into motion.
Houses. Trees. The corner store.
And then- Gone.
He didn't cry. Part of him had hoped he would.
He was didn't know why.
The train rumbled on, minutes flowed by.
The sky peeled open slowly, turning from dull grey to soft fire - oranges and golds streaking across the heavens like whispered promises. In the distance, a shadow rose, jagged and strange. The city.
A voice crackled through the speakers. Male. Robotic.
"Arriving at Northcross Station. Please exit here for Velmira City."
Velmira City. Named after a wind-spirit, said to carry lost voices across the lake. Those who followed her whispers found something even they didn't know they were missing- or so the story went.
Looking out at the hazy views beyond the window Zeke began to steel his resolve, becuase soon, he would be thrust into a whole new world, one that he wasn't used, one he didn't even know if he was prepared for.
Zeke lifted his gaze towards the city in the distance as it unfurled in full view.
It grew from the land like something ancient and dreaming - all blackstone and silversteel, curved bridges arching like spines across narrow towers. Floating glass walkways shimmered in the dawn, catching fractured light like blades. The towers bore sloped, temple-like rooftops and archways carved with runes that pulsed with soft luminescence.
Windchimes swayed from high balconies, casting crystalline lights throughout the air.
Modern elegance, with an ancient breath.
And at the center of it all, nestled deep within the city's heart, the academy.
Institutum Virtutis Arcanæ.
The name alone sent a ripple down his spine.
Latin always made things sound like spells. Heavy. Final.
And perhaps it was.
Closer now, the air seemed to change. Buzzing. Charged. As though the city itself could sense his arrival.
The train slowed as the brakes shrieked softly.
He rose, slinging his bag onto his shoulder.
The crowd surged, faceless, fast, carrying him through the doors and down the steps.
It hit him all at once.
The noise. The color. The sheer density of life.
Screens flickered on every corner - advertisements, news reels, dramatic footage of students mid-combat or mid-flight, arcs of fire all playing to orchestral crescendos. Pedestrians rushed past him with purpose. Coffee in hand. Luggage wheels clattering. Voices rising and falling in every direction.
He stood still overwhelmed by the chaotic sight.
The chaos didn't swallow him.
It didn't hurt him.
It didn't even touch him.
Because it wasn't their chaos anymore.
It was his.
And for the first time in years-
Zeke wasn't running from the storm.
He was walking into it.