Mikhail didn't close the book immediately.
His hand remained on the table, his fingertips touching the paper, as if to ensure everything written was accurate. The small lamp in the corner of the table burned quietly, its light thin and ordinary—too ordinary for a night like this.
He took a deep breath. His left chest felt full, not tight, but dense. Like something he hadn't yet named. Slowly, he closed the notebook. Then Scriptura Caelestis lay on top. The corner of the sacred book was soft against the wooden table.
A small sound. Real. It was enough to pull him back fully into the room. He stood.
His body felt heavier than usual, as if he had traveled a long distance, even though he had only walked down the corridor. He walked to the corner of the room, to the water jug he had prepared since the afternoon. A thin steam still lingered on the surface of the warm water.
He poured it into a small stone basin. The air touched his skin first. Warm. Comfortable. Real. He washed his face slowly. Air flowed from his forehead to his eyes, to his cheeks, to his chin—carrying with it the remnants of dust, the lingering tension, the lingering sound of stones hitting the floor.
CLACK.
The sound resurfaced in his head.
He paused, his hands resting on the edge of the basin, his head lowered. Drops of water fell back to the surface, forming small ripples.
If Ivan had been a second late…
His breath escaped slowly through his nose.
He splashed air on the back of his neck. It was cold this time. Deliberately. The sharp sensation brought his thoughts into focus, like a line drawn straight amidst chaos.
The water didn't erase anything that had happened.
But at least, his body trembled without him realizing it.
When he was done, he dried himself with a thin cloth. His movements were slow, mechanical, but not empty. More like someone trying to return to his "normal self."
When he turned toward the bed, the robe was waiting for him there.
It lay neatly on his narrow mattress—pale blue fabric with thin silver lines along the edges. Lunin's prayer cloak. Simple. Serene. It seemed like part of a routine.
Yet tonight, nothing felt routine.
His hand paused for a moment on the cloth.
This afternoon, he had nearly died. Tonight, he would stand in the hall, praying as if nothing had happened.
Strange.
He lifted the robe and put it on. The fabric touched his shoulders, cool for a moment, then adjusted to his body temperature. He smoothed the front, pulled the fabric over his shoulders so it fell straight, and tied the thin strap around his waist.
When he glanced at the small mirror on the wall, his reflection stared back.
His face looked the same. But his eyes weren't. Not bolder. Not more afraid. More… aware. As if something inside him was now awake and wouldn't go back to sleep.
Would tonight's prayer feel different too?
Or was it just me who had changed?
He looked up from the mirror before his thoughts could get too deep. The table lamp went out. The room immediately grew darker, lit only by the light from the hallway filtering through the crack under the door.
He opened the door.
The door had barely opened halfway when Mikhail nearly collided with two figures outside. The Rev. and Eric. They were clearly walking quickly down the corridor—and stopped abruptly upon seeing him. The Rev. was the first to react. He immediately stepped closer, his face no longer one of panic—but of suppressed anger.
"Are you crazy?" he said softly but sharply, keeping his voice from echoing. "After what happened just now, you just disappeared?"
Mikhail blinked, still adjusting to the light in the hallway.
Rev pointed at him, frustrated. "We just reported to the Keeper and went straight to your room. It was empty. You weren't there."
Eric stood slightly behind, but his face was just as tense. His arms were folded across his chest, his jaw clenched.
"We even asked Ivan," Rev continued. "He opened the door a crack, but he didn't say anything. He just said you weren't there."
Mikhail swallowed softly.
"Oh…" his voice was low. "I… went to the painting corridor."
Eric immediately raised an eyebrow. "Of course," he muttered dryly.
"Seriously?" Rev rubbed his face roughly. "The most abnormal place in this entire building, and you think that's a good idea after nearly having your head crushed by a rock?"
Mikhail didn't answer immediately. His pale blue robes moved gently in the air currents in the corridor.
"I just want to make sure of something," he said finally. His voice wasn't defensive. More like someone tired of explaining something he couldn't even explain to himself.
Rev stared at her for a few seconds, then shook his head slowly. "You two are weird," he muttered. "Ivan ran like a shadow chasing him. You ran after him and went down that cursed painting corridor alone. And we all have to pretend this was just a 'construction accident'."
Eric exhaled softly. "We've reported it to Luminar David. The area is temporarily closed. They said it might be an old retaining stone that's cracked."
He paused, staring at Mikhail more intently.
"But I was standing there. The stone fell straight down. No wind. No vibrations." A small silence fell between them.
From the end of the corridor, several other students passed by, also wearing cloak. The sound of footsteps and rustling fabric filled the space, but their conversation felt separate from all that.
Rev finally took a deep breath. His anger subsided, replaced by an unacknowledged worry. "Next time," he said more quietly, "don't just disappear. At least tell us. We think something's wrong with you."
Mikhail lowered his head slightly. "Sorry."
Not because he was scolded. But because, for the first time, he realized—he wasn't the only one involved in this thing that was starting to move.
Eric had just patted Mikhail on the shoulder when quick footsteps sounded from the end of the corridor.
Not student footsteps.
Heavy. Firm. Rushed.
Luminar David emerged from around the corner in his formal robes half-draped, as if wearing them while walking. Behind him, two Keepers followed—one carrying an extra fold of robes over his arm, the other a steaming tray of food.
They headed straight for the three children.
"Mikhail," Luminar David's voice was low but clearly filled with concern he didn't hide. "Are you fine?"
His gaze quickly swept over Mikhail's face, shoulders, and head—making sure he hadn't missed any injuries.
"I'm fine, Luminar," Mikhail replied, a little stiffly.
Luminar David nodded once, then immediately asked, "Ivan?"
Eric answered first. "Still in his room. He doesn't want to talk much."
Luminar David's jaw tensed slightly—not in anger, but like someone who had expected the answer.
"Good. I'll take care of him."
The Keeper carrying the tray stepped forward, handing Mikhail the food without a word. Warm bread, light soup, and herbal drink—a recovery meal, not a typical dinner. "You eat first," Luminar David said, his tone now firm, like a gentle command. "Your body is barely out of whack. Shock often comes later."
Mikhail hesitated. "But… I want to join the Lunin prayer."
Luminar David stared at him for a few seconds. Taking his time. Not just his physique—but his resolve.
"alright," he said finally. "After eating your food."
He turned to Eric and Rev, gesturing briefly at them. "both of you. Prepare yourselves. Eat. Don't go straight to the hall on an empty stomach."
Rev nodded quickly, this time without any sarcasm. Eric simply replied, "Yes, Luminar."
The corridor felt different now. Narrower. More solemn. The wall lamps still burned warmly, but the presence of the Keepers made it feel like a space that had just passed through—not just a dormitory hallway.
Luminar David had reached halfway, but paused. His voice was softer when he spoke again, almost only to Mikhail. "You did nothing wrong by remaining standing." It was an odd sentence. Not entirely comforting. Not entirely explanatory.
Then he walked away toward Ivan's room, the Guardians' prayers following him. Mikhail stood holding a tray of food, warm steam rising slowly to his face.
For the first time since the stone fell—
he actually felt his hands still trembling slightly.
Mikhail returned to his room with a tray in both hands. The door closed softly behind him, cutting off the faint sounds of the hallway. The small room greeted him with its usual silence—a wooden table, a narrow bed, the Scriptura on the table like an inanimate object, oblivious to anything.
He set the tray on the table.
A faint steam still rose from the soup. The warm smell was simple—bread, light broth, a hint of spice. Nothing special. But his body only realized he was hungry after it was all finished.
He sat down.
The first spoonful went in slowly. The warmth went down his throat, his chest, his stomach—like lighting something that had been extinguished. His hands were still a little stiff, but his movements became steady as he ate. Each mouthful made the world feel a little more real, a little more solid.
The sound of stone hitting the floor briefly resurfaced in his head.
CLACK.
The spoon stopped in midair. He took a breath. Swallowed. Continued eating. Not for the taste. To make sure his body was still here.
The bread was gone first. The soup was half gone. The last of the herbal drink had a faint bitterness, but it was soothing. After he finished, he sat for a few seconds longer, his hands resting on the table, staring blankly at the Scriptura without really seeing it.
I'm still alive.
The words didn't sound dramatic in his head. Just a quiet fact.
He stood, setting the tray aside. His hand touched the white robe he'd been wearing. The fabric felt light, but tonight it seemed to have its own weight.
From outside, the students' footsteps began to sound more regular—in the same direction. Toward the worship hall. It was time to start. Mikhail walked to the door, paused with his hand on the handle. His chest rose and fell slowly. Not afraid. Not calm, either. More like someone who knew tonight wouldn't be the same.
He opened the door. The hallway light greeted him, warm but dim. Then he stepped out.
Lunin's service ended without anything he could pinpoint as "strange," but that was precisely what made his chest feel heavy. The soft chanting, the steady prayers, the pale blue light from the hall's tall glass windows—everything was as it should be. Too as it should be.
As soon as the line was dismissed, Mikhail didn't wait.
He didn't chat. He didn't look left or right.
He walked quickly, almost hurriedly, down the now-deserted corridor. The wall lamps dimmed, the shadows of the pillars stretching across the stone floor. The sound of other students' footsteps could be heard far behind, as if the world were moving at a different pace than his.
His robes rustled softly against his feet with each step. His hands were cold.
I just want to sleep.
Not because he was sleepy. Because consciousness felt too heavy tonight.
He reached his room, opened the door, and then closed it a little more quickly than usual. The sound of wood against frame rang loudly in the small room.
It was quiet.
He didn't immediately turn on the extra light. The light from the hallway filtering in from the gap under the door was enough to cast shadows around the table, chairs, and bed.
His robe was removed without much movement, laid casually on the mattress. Normally, he would have straightened it. Not tonight.
He sat for a moment on the edge of the bed.
Shoes off.
Socks.
His breath was long, coming out slowly, as if his body had just been given permission to rest after enduring something all day.
Ivan's face flashed.
That look.
Not surprise. Not confusion.
knowing.
Mikhail lay down.
The thin mattress supported his body, but it felt like a slow fall into something deeper than just cloth and straw. He turned his back, facing the wall. His hands were drawn to his chest, fingers unconsciously grasping the fabric of his own clothes.
The corridor outside was still faintly alive—the last footsteps, the door closing, the distant sound of water.
Then slowly, everything subsided.
Mikhail's eyes were closed, but his brow was still slightly furrowed, as if even on the verge of sleep his mind hadn't quite let go of the day.
Eventually, exhaustion triumphed over rest.
And he fell asleep quickly—not peacefully, just exhausted.