Cablan's eyes fluttered open, the morning light seeping through the cracks of his worn-out curtains. His body resisted, clinging to the remnants of sleep, but a voice pierced through his haze.
"Wake up. Come downstairs and eat your meal." It was sharp and unyielding, yanking him back to reality.
He groaned, turning over. "It's my last vacation day... Just let me sleep." His voice was muffled by the pillow.
Without warning, the blanket was ripped off him, the chill biting his skin. "Get up. We're waiting," she snapped, her tone brooking no argument.
Reluctantly, Cablan dragged himself from the warmth, the dream already fading from memory as he stumbled down the creaking steps. His parents sat at the table, their eyes on him. They spoke, their voices a distorted hum, flickering between clarity and static. His vision blurred, words overlapping, slipping through his grasp like sand.
Something was wrong. His head throbbed, and suddenly, a whisper echoed in his ears.
"Wake up." The voice was clearer this time, sharper. "Why are you crying, Cablan?"
Cablan blinked, his hand brushing against the dampness on his cheeks. Tears. He hadn't even realized. His fingers curled, wiping them away with the edge of his sleeve. "Riba...?" His voice was strained, uncertain. "Was I...crying?"
She stood at his bedside, arms crossed, her gaze softened just a fraction. "You've been having these dreams more often lately. What was it about?"
Cablan paused, the remnants of the dream slipping further from his grasp. "I...I don't know. But it felt like...something important. Something I lost." His hands clenched reflexively, as if trying to hold on to that fleeting sense of loss.
"Something important?" Riba raised an eyebrow. "What did you lose?"
He shook his head slowly. "I don't know." His voice lowered, almost a whisper. "And...please don't tell Mom and Dad about this."
Riba sighed, her expression softening. "I won't. But come downstairs and eat. They're waiting. They need to leave for work soon."
"Alright...I'm coming," Cablan replied, forcing himself to his feet.
Riba left the room, her footsteps fading down the hallway. Cablan lingered for a moment, the shadows of his dream still clutching at his thoughts. He rubbed his eyes, shaking off the remnants of sleep, and dressed quickly. His mind kept circling back. What was that dream? No matter how he tried, the memory eluded him, leaving only an aching emptiness behind.
Downstairs, his parents sat at the modest wooden table, their hands folded over their laps, eyes expectant. He joined them, the aroma of freshly cooked food wafting up to him. It did little to lift the weight pressing down on his chest.
"Next month," his mother began, her voice steady but edged with a forced cheerfulness, "we'll be going to the Magic Academy for your admission."
Cablan nearly choked on his first bite, coughing before looking up. "But...the fee is enormous. People like us...we barely have enough for food. How—"
"We've made arrangements," his mother cut in, her tone final. "You love magic. You have the talent for it. We can't let that go to waste. All you need to do now is study hard for the entrance exam."
Her words hung heavy in the air. Cablan swallowed hard, the food suddenly tasteless. "Okay...I understand. I'll work hard." His voice was soft, but resolute.
His parents exchanged a glance, something unspoken passing between them. Then his father stood, stretching his back. "We need to go. Work won't wait for us. Study hard, Cablan. We'll see you at dinner."
They left, the door closing behind them with a finality that settled uneasily in Cablan's chest. How are they planning to afford it? he wondered, his gaze drifting to the threadbare curtains and cracked floorboards. Their small house spoke of struggle, of sacrifices piled upon sacrifices. He clenched his fists. I have to pass that entrance exam. There are fifty thousand applicants and only ten scholarship spots... His jaw tightened. I have to make it.
After breakfast, he left the house, the sunlight casting long shadows over the uneven cobblestone streets. At the corner, Zoysia was waiting. Her ears twitched at his approach, her eyes bright with that unyielding spark of life.
Zoysia, the elf girl. Their paths had crossed during the harshest winter the town had seen in years. Lightning had split her family's home apart during a storm, the structure reduced to splinters and ash. No one went to help—no one but him.
He had pleaded with his father, begged him to come along. But his father's face had hardened with grim acceptance. "In a storm like that...no one survives."
But Cablan hadn't accepted that. He had pushed through the biting winds, the snow that stung his cheeks raw, trudging through waist-deep drifts until he found the remnants of her home. Blood stained the snow, pooling around broken timbers. Her parents lay still, their bodies shielding something small, something fragile.
Zoysia. Covered in blood but still breathing. He had pulled her from the wreckage, his hands numb and trembling. She had survived, barely. And from that day, their fates had been entwined.
Now, she stood before him, her eyes sharp. "You look tired."
Cablan smirked, shrugging off the weight of his morning. "Bad dreams."
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she nodded. "Come on. You promised to practice magic with me today."
He hesitated, his mind flashing back to his parents, to the academy, to the crushing weight of expectations. But then he met her eyes, that familiar fire burning there. He couldn't refuse. Not today.
"Alright," he said, his voice firm. "Let's go."