The morning sun spilled over the sleepy little town of Halewood, painting the rooftops gold and waking the world in slow waves.
In two quiet houses, separated only by a white wooden fence and a narrow strip of grass, two lives stirred—as they had every morning for the past five years.
Caelum Verrian, silver-haired and calm-eyed even at five, sat on the edge of his tiny bed, already dressed neatly in his pale blue uniform. His tie was crooked. Again.
"Button up, sleepy genius," came the soft call of his mother from the kitchen.
He was always up early. Always composed. But when it came to ties and shoes, he still needed a nudge.
Next door, Lysia Grey yawned and kicked her blanket off.
Her hair was a soft, silvery mess. Her cheeks were puffed with sleep. She tumbled out of bed like a dream in motion—chaotic and beautiful. Within minutes, her mother was brushing her hair while Lysia hummed to herself, tying her shoelaces in criss-cross loops that made no sense but somehow stayed together.
And as always, at precisely 7:10 AM—
Knock knock.
"Cael's here~!" Lysia chirped, dashing to the door barefoot.
The Walk to School
Halewood Elementary was only three blocks away.
They walked there hand in hand every morning.
Sometimes, she skipped and dragged him along.Other times, he slowed to help her pick up pebbles she swore were magical meteorites.
They talked about silly things—like what clouds tasted like, and why frogs jumped but cats didn't.
Lysia once declared she would invent a flying bicycle so Caelum wouldn't have to walk.
He smiled gently at her. "I like walking with you."
She blinked.
Then grinned. "Then I won't invent it after all!"
Classroom Chaos and Quiet Geniuses
Class 1-B was filled with noise.
Five-year-olds had energy like wild magic.
But at the center of the storm sat two calm islands:
Caelum, hands folded, solving math puzzles three grades above him.Lysia, doodling a spaceship powered by toast crusts and jelly.
They sat together, of course.
He corrected her handwriting sometimes.She painted tiny hearts beside his name on shared worksheets.
Their teacher, Miss Aluna, often stopped to stare at them.
"They're… oddly perfect together," she whispered to herself.
During reading hour, Caelum would read aloud. Slowly. Gently. For her ears only.
During art class, Lysia would draw the two of them in crayon. She always gave Caelum a sword. And wings.
And once, during lunch, she whispered to him behind her rice ball:
"Cael. When we grow up, let's live in a house with a big garden and no homework."
He nodded.
"And a telescope," he added.
She lit up. "Yes! To find new stars. And name them after us!"
After School Moments
At 3:00 PM sharp, their mothers would wait at the gates.
Lysia would always spot Caelum's mother first and shout, "Auntie Renna! Cael solved twelve puzzles today!"
Caelum would gently tug her sleeve. "Lys, it's not a contest."
"It's not," she grinned. "It's bragging rights!"
They'd walk home. And every time, they'd pause at the old gum tree two blocks from school.
There, they'd sit on the roots and share cookies.
Once, Lysia leaned her head on his shoulder.
"Cael," she whispered. "Promise we'll always be together."
He looked at her.
And even at five years old, with all the knowledge of a universe once burned, he knew this was a vow that mattered.
"…Always," he whispered.
And she smiled.
At Home: Two Houses, One Heart
They'd wave at each other through their windows every night.
Caelum's desk faced his window.
Lysia's bed was beside hers.
And they'd write notes on whiteboards, hold them up, and giggle.
"Don't forget your lunch tomorrow!""I made extra cookies—trade you for a star sticker!""You looked cute when you fell asleep in science class.""I was thinking! My eyes were resting! >///<"
That night, Caelum sat in bed, eyes on the stars above.
His immortal mind held a thousand galaxies, ten thousand spells, and memories of blood-soaked fields.
But here, in this world—
All he needed was her laugh.
And she had given it freely.