The sound was muffled. A voice—soft, soothing—echoed from beyond a haze. Rin sat in a dim field of shifting light, the colors bending like smoke. His mother knelt beside him, patting his head with a warmth he hadn't felt in years. Her lips moved, forming words, but the sound didn't reach him.
His eyes trembled, trying to focus. She was smiling… but her face was blurred, like a painting caught in the rain. He tried to speak, to hold her hand, to remember more—but the image began to slip.
A faint glow caught his eye. On her wrist, just beneath her hand, a symbol pulsed gently: an hourglass. It shimmered before fading with the dream.
A sharp BEEP BEEP BEEP snapped him awake.
Rin sat up in bed, his breath uneven. A tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away without thinking and stared at the stained ceiling. Another morning in the same decaying room. "Another dream…" he muttered.
The place reeked of old smoke and rust. Crumpled bags, empty cans, and worn clothes lay scattered across the floor. The sun barely touched this part of the city—its light swallowed by gray smog and towering ruin.
He sighed, dragging a hand through his black hair. "What the hell was that symbol…?"
But already, it was slipping away.
His gaze drifted across the mess, then landed on the broken clock on the wall. He groaned. "ugh...What should I do about all of this?"
Then he stood. "Well, better hurry. Can't miss the first day of the academy."
As he got ready, he passed an old orb embedded into the wall—a communication device from an age long gone. Cracked and barely working, it flickered once, then stayed silent.
Before leaving, Rin paused by the door. He looked back at the room, at everything it was and wasn't. "See you next year," he muttered. "Maybe I'll never see you again."