The soft crackle of a borrowed fire spirit cast flickering shadows on the dorm walls, its gentle flame barely holding back the night. Isaac sat on the couch, a worn book open in his lap, the pages turning slowly beneath his steady fingers. His face was blank, but his eyes held the weight of a thousand sleepless nights.

  Mars shuffled out of his room, rubbing his eyes, his hair a mess. He paused at the sight of Isaac, a pale silhouette against the dim glow.

  “It’s almost three in the morning,” Mars mumbled through a yawn, leaning against the door frame. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

  Isaac didn’t look up. “No… I get nightmares.” His voice was soft, a whisper swallowed by the night.

  Mars blinked, his sleepiness giving way to a gentle concern. “You need to sleep eventually.”

  Isaac turned a page, the sound of paper crinkling filling the silence. “I’m using my ability to send mana directly into my brain. It keeps me awake. There are some side effects, but I no longer need sleep.”

  Mars sighed, his expression settling into a mix of worry and resignation. “That doesn’t seem healthy.”

  “Maybe not.” Isaac’s lips pressed into a thin line. “But it’s preferable.”

  A quiet stillness hung between them, only broken by the occasional flicker of the fire spirit. Mars pushed away from the wall, walking over and sitting across from Isaac.

  “Wanna talk about it?” he asked gently. “The nightmares?”

  Isaac hesitated, his fingers tightening around the edges of the book. “Sure, I guess… My home was attacked when I was a kid. A group called the Crows.”

  Mars’s expression shifted, a shadow of recognition crossing his face. “I remember them. They tried to manipulate my father a few years ago. Almost made him do something… bad.”

  “Yeah… they’re horrible people.” Isaac’s voice wavered, the first crack in his calm fa?ade. “But it’s not the attack or even my parents' death that haunts me.”

  Mars leaned forward, his gaze steady and warm. “Then what?”

  Isaac’s shoulders sagged, his hands trembling just enough for the pages to quiver. “My sister… she was sick in bed during the attack. I… I didn’t go back for her. I escaped by myself. I abandoned her.”

  A single tear slipped down his cheek, catching the light of the fire spirit before vanishing into the shadows. “Even if there was nothing I could’ve done, I still… I still regret my choice.”

  Mars didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he let the silence sit between them, a quiet promise that he was listening, that Isaac’s regret had a place to settle and breathe.

  The dim fire spirit continued its gentle glow, casting warm shadows across the room as Mars settled into the chair opposite Isaac. His presence filled the space with a sense of comfort, a reminder that the night didn’t have to feel so vast and empty.

  “Here,” Mars said, his voice soft yet steady. “I’ll stay up with you. It’s not good to be alone so often.” He said as he offered a genuine smile.

  Isaac returned a small, hesitant smile of his own. “Thanks.”

  An easy silence settled between them, not uncomfortable but welcoming. Mars glanced at the worn book in Isaac’s hands. “So, what are you reading?”

  “It’s a novel by Sirius Blackwood,” Isaac said, turning the book to show the cover. “'Project: Imagine.' It’s a fantasy novel. Honestly, though? The ending sucks. It’s too sad. Definitely one of his worst works.”

  Mars chuckled, the sound light against the darkness. “I haven’t read that one. Honestly, go ahead and spoil it. Odds are, I’ll never get around to it anyway.”

  Isaac exhaled, a mix of amusement and resignation. “Alright. So, the main character, Nikolai Dostoyevsky, goes on this quest to bring his wife back from the dead. A god agrees to help him, but only if he sacrifices two kids. He calls them 'the keys’. In the end, Nikolai does it—kills both kids. But instead of the happy ending he was promised, the god stabs him in the back and uses him to destroy the world. The book ends as everything crumbles to dust. It just... ends. Feels incomplete, like the story itself died before it finished.”

  Mars raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “People always joked that Sirius was from another world. Maybe that's just his previous life's story.”

  Isaac shook his head, a soft sigh escaping him. “I doubt it. If he really was from another world when he became an apocalypse, he would’ve succeeded in ending this one too. He did it once—should’ve been easy to do it again.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Mars said, leaning back into the couch.

  “Besides, there's this character named Markus Valentine, he seemed like way more of a formidable hero than Valor, anyway. If it was a real story, he would’ve stopped him for sure.”

  Their laughter and joy filled the room, quiet but genuine, stretching through the late hours. And as the fire spirit’s glow began to fade with the approach of dawn, neither noticed the passing of time. For just a little while, the night did not belong to shadows but to two boys who had found comfort in the simple act of talking.

  The student council office was bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp, its light pooling over stacks of neatly arranged papers and casting long shadows on the walls. Warren sat at the large desk, a pen in one hand and an open book in the other. His eyes moved slowly across the pages of ‘Project: Imagine’, his lips curling into a faint, bittersweet smile.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  The door creaked open, and Leonardo stepped inside, his silhouette framed by the dim hallway light. “It’s quite late, you know,” he remarked, crossing his arms with a playful smirk. “I keep telling you the student council needs more members than just yourself.”

  Warren chuckled, setting the pen down and brushing a stray strand of hair from his eyes. “I’ve finished my work for now. Just taking a break, rereading my favorite novel.” He tapped the book’s cover, its title, ‘Project: Imagine’, catching the light.

  “Really? That’s your favorite?” Leonardo raised an eyebrow, the hint of a grin on his lips. “You really are an odd kid.”

  “I’m a fan of the characters,” Warren said, his voice softening. “Especially the Valentine brothers. Though, if I’m honest, the story feels… incomplete. The way it’s written, it doesn’t seem like the world ended instantly. I imagine, for a short while—maybe a few months—there were survivors.”

  Leonardo’s curiosity was piqued, and he leaned against the door frame. “Survivors? Which characters do you think made it past that bad ending?”

  A thoughtful silence hung between them, and Warren’s fingers brushed against the edge of the page. “Definitely the Valentine brothers. I’d bet that crazy priest survived as well. There are probably a few others too… the ones who never gave up, no matter how dark it got.”

  Leonardo snorted a laugh. “Maybe you should write some fan fiction. Well, don’t stay up too late. The world needs its model student council president bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

  With a wave, Leonardo disappeared down the hall, leaving Warren alone once more. The silence settled around him, thicker now, a weight pressing against his chest.

  His gaze fell back to the book, the words on the page blurring as a tear slipped down his cheek. His voice, barely above a whisper, trembled with the weight of years lost.

  “Wallace Valentine,” he murmured, his fingers tightening around the book. “Such a familiar name. We were so close to saving her. I wonder if we made it in time… if the first key could have been saved.”

  His shoulders sagged, and he closed his eyes, the room growing colder with the memories that seeped into the present. “I wonder how it ended for you… my dear brother. Markus, are you in this world as well, or is it just me… and our old friend, Nikolai?”

  Tears continued to fall, each drop a testament to a story left unfinished, to a world lost, and a hope that still smoldered in the ashes of what once was.

  The training grounds were bathed in the soft morning light, dew clinging to the grass and the air crisp with the promise of a new day. Isaac stifled a yawn as he trudged forward, Mars dragging his feet behind him, dark circles under his eyes from their late-night conversation.

  Ahead, Karma stood with his usual nonchalant demeanor, leaning against a wooden post with his arms crossed. He waved lazily as they approached. “Hey, took you long enough. That’s your roommate, right? I remember him from the entrance exam.”

  Isaac nodded. “Yeah. What about you? Did you get stuck with a crappy roommate?” His tone was light, teasing.

  Karma rolled his eyes, the movement exaggerated behind his face mask. “Some weird guy named Deon. We don’t talk much. He keeps saying weird stuff like I’m not using my regalia to its full potential. It’s creepy.”

  “Good luck with that,” Isaac smirked. “So, let’s get this test started. How does this work exactly?”

  Karma shrugged, unfazed. “Try infusing mana into the tattoo. See what happens.”

  Mars, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, frowned. “Why are we out here, anyway?”

  Isaac hesitated for a second before answering. “To test out this boon, the Emperor gave me. He sorta… marked me as his apostle.”

  Mars opened his mouth to respond, a mix of curiosity and concern on his face. “Well, here's what Mr. No—” His words cut off, and his eyes went dull, as if a veil had fallen over his mind. His voice turned flat, monotone. “A friend of mine who happens to be an apostle said you just need to focus on the marking. The tricky part is figuring out what the boon does.”

  Karma straightened, his easygoing expression sharpening just slightly. “That was… weird.”

  Isaac’s brow furrowed, but he nodded, pushing forward. He closed his eyes and focused his mana into the crimson centipede tattoo winding around his arm. At first, nothing happened. The air remained still, his skin cool beneath the ink.

  Then, a sudden burning sensation spread from his wrist to his shoulder. He gritted his teeth as the tattoo began to shift, the centipede's segmented body unraveling and reassembling into a string of words.

  “Sorry brat, I didn’t give you any abilities. I just want to keep an eye on you. —Emperor Valor”

  Isaac’s mouth fell open, his fingers trembling as he read the message. “So… it’s just for monitoring me? Do you think he heard us last night?”

  Before anyone could answer, the tattoo twisted again, the burning sensation sharper, more insistent.

  “Yes, I did. Next time, I’ll kill you. —Emperor Valor”

  A heavy silence fell over them. Even Karma, who usually seemed unflappable, looked uneasy.

  “What a shame,” a new voice broke through, soft yet unsettling. “To be marked by that man. Though, there are worse gods to desire you.”

  A figure approached, his footsteps impossibly quiet against the gravel path. He was young, with pale skin and hair that seemed to shift between colors under the light. His eyes were a dull yellow, unblinking, his expression calm to the point of vacancy.

  “That’s my roommate,” Karma sighed, his exasperation only half-joking.

  Deon stopped a few paces away, his gaze fixed intently on Isaac's arm. His expression remained unreadable, but his voice held an unsettling calm. “Even if you cut your arm off, you're still stuck under that man's eye. Just be grateful he bothered to warn you he's watching.”

  Mars, ever the cautious observer, adjusted his glasses slightly, the lenses catching the early morning light. “What do you know about him?”

  Deon leaned in closer, his head nearly touching the tattoo. His breath was soft, but his words were sharp. “He's the cause of most of the world's issues. If the Crows hadn’t tried assassinating him multiple times, I'd almost think he was the Wing of Pride. Complete scum.”

  The reaction was immediate. The tattoo on Isaac's arm flared with crimson light, the intricate design warping and shifting. In an instant, a blade formed—dark ink turned to hardened blood, a spear of violence thrust directly at Deon.

  But Deon moved with a fluidity that defied human reflexes, his body shifting to the side as the blade sliced through the air, embedding itself into the ground. A faint sizzle echoed as the earth smoldered beneath the weapon's crimson edge.

  Deon chuckled, the sound light and almost genuine. “What a dangerous attack. I imagine that could kill me fourteen times over.” His lips curved into a smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You really should control your temper. I happen to hold the boon of your greatest enemy here.”

  Isaac's pulse thundered in his ears, his arm still tingling from the sudden surge of heat. Karma stepped forward, his expression both exasperated and wary. “Don't pick a fight with a tattoo, weirdo.”

  Deon straightened, brushing invisible dust from his coat. “No need to worry. Surely our great Emperor won’t get mad over a few childish taunts.” His tone dripped with mockery, each word an echo of defiance.

  He turned to leave, his movements unhurried, as if the encounter had been nothing more than a mild distraction. Just as he passed the edge of the training grounds, he spoke again, his voice a low whisper carried by the wind. “Besides, in a few years' time, the leader of the Crows will kill you anyway.”