Doni KnightSun's life was a tapestry woven from the threads of ordinary routine. He
was a student at a small, unassuming college, where the days bled into each other like
watercolor on a canvas. His mornings were a symphony of beeping alarms, lukewarm
coffee, and the rhythmic crunch of toast. He navigated the halls of his college, a maze
of brick and ivy, with a practiced ease, his head buried in textbooks, his mind adrift in
the mundane. There was a predictability to his existence that bordered on boredom, a
sense of stagnation that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.
He had a small circle of friends, each as ordinary as the next, their conversati