Morning came slow — gray, cold, and quiet.
Ejay sat in the ruins of what used to be a storefront, arms wrapped around his knees. The corpse of the failed Sleeper lay a few meters away, already half-covered in dust. He hadn't slept. Couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw its face again — twisted, broken, empty.
His arm throbbed where it had cut him. The wound wasn't deep, but it burned. Infection, probably. He didn't even have a bandage.
He stared down at his hands — still stained with dried blood — and exhaled slowly."This world sucks," he muttered. "Like, aggressively sucks."
His stomach growled in protest. His last granola bar had vanished hours ago. He'd checked every corner of his backpack — nothing. No food. No water. No clue what to do next.
"Maybe dying wasn't such a bad idea after all," he grumbled.
A sound cut through the silence.
Soft. Rhythmic. Boots on gravel.
Ejay tensed immediately, pulse spiking. He grabbed the bent metal rod beside him and pressed against the wall, listening.
The footsteps stopped.
"Not bad," a voice said — low, feminine, calm. "You're alert, at least."
Ejay turned, weapon raised. The figure standing a few meters away wasn't a scavenger.
She was tall, lean, and armed — black armor with faint silver trim, hair pulled back, eyes sharp and steady. Her presence filled the space like gravity itself.
"You're… not another zombie thing," Ejay managed, lowering the pipe slightly.
She arched an eyebrow. "Zombie thing?"
"Yeah, uh, gray skin, broken soul, screams like dial-up internet?"
That earned him a blink — and then the smallest hint of a smirk. "You mean a Failed Sleeper."
"Sure," he said. "Let's go with that."
She studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing. "You killed one?"
Ejay shrugged. "It tried to murder me. I hit it until it stopped moving. So… yeah, I guess?"
The woman stepped closer, crouching beside the corpse. Her expression didn't change, but something in her eyes flickered — a mix of surprise and curiosity.
"No weapon marks," she murmured. "Clean spatial disruption. You're Awakened."
"People keep calling me that," Ejay said, rubbing his neck. "Still don't know what it means."
She stood, brushing dust off her gloves. "It means you survived the Spell. You have a Soul Core. And that makes you dangerous."
"Yeah, I've noticed," he muttered. "Everyone I meet either runs away or tries to kill me. Great hospitality."
Her gaze flicked to his pocket. "You have an memory?"
He froze. "Uh. Maybe."
She held out her hand. "Let me see."
"Yeah, no," Ejay said immediately. "Last time I gave someone something shiny, they stole my wallet."
Her eyes sharpened. "I'm not going to steal from you."
"Uh-huh. That's exactly what a thief would say."
She sighed — long, patient, tired. "You're new."
"Got that right."
"What's your name?"
"Ejay," he said, then paused. "Or… Wayfarer, apparently. Some disembodied voice decided that was my brand."
That got another smirk — small, fleeting, but real. "A true name?....Wayfarer. Fitting."
"I'd prefer 'Guy Who Wants to Go Home,' but sure."
She gestured down the street. "You shouldn't stay here. More of those things come out after sundown. If one found you, others will."
"Yeah, I noticed," he said. "Any chance you know somewhere less corpse-adjacent?"
She hesitated, studying him again. "The Academy's intake period hasn't started yet. One month until the Winter Solstice. But they'll take a stray if I vouch for you."
Ejay blinked. "Academy? As in… school?"
"Training ground," she corrected. "For Awakened. You'll die on your own out here. There, you might learn how not to."
"Wow," he said dryly. "Great sales pitch."
"You can stay here and starve," she said evenly, "or follow me and maybe live."
Ejay stared at her for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. But if you sell me to cultists, I'm haunting you."
Her lips twitched. "Noted."
They walked in silence for a while. The city stretched endlessly — broken roads, skeletal buildings, the faint hum of machinery far away. Every few minutes, Jet glanced back to make sure he was still following.
He kept pace, though every muscle ached. His mind buzzed with questions — about this world, the Spell, his Aspect — but for once, he kept his mouth shut.
After an hour, the outskirts thinned. The air grew cleaner. Distant towers rose like teeth on the horizon — the Academy.
Ejay stared, breath catching. "So that's it?"
"That's it," Jet said. "Sanctuary, training, food. And rules. Lots of them."
"Can I request fewer rules and more food?"
"Not how it works."
He sighed. "Figures."
She stopped suddenly, turning to face him. "You've got potential, Wayfarer. But this world doesn't care about potential. It only cares if you can survive it."
Ejay met her gaze — tired, wary, but determined. "Then I'll learn fast."
Jet nodded once, approving. "Good."
As they started walking again, Ejay looked down at his pocket — at the ring hidden inside. It was cold now, silent. But the power in his chest pulsed steady, alive.
For the first time since arriving, he didn't feel completely alone.
Still miserable, still lost, still terrified.But not alone.
And as the twin suns rose behind them, painting the ruined skyline in gold and red, Ejay followed Jet toward the Academy — toward hopefully lots of good food and rest.