The next morning, the golden orb of Solara slowly unveiled itself—not rising from the horizon like in ancient tales, but emerging into presence, washing the Primordial Academy in a warm radiance that spread from sky to soul. Its appearance banished the faint traces of moonlight and stars, drawing a clear line across the heavens as if declaring: it is my time now.
In the dormitory, Dawn stood silently before the desk, dressed and ready, eyes scanning the old map once more. His body barely moved, his breath even, yet Gary—sitting up in his bed—couldn't help but notice something... strange.
"So... we're really doing this?" Gary asked, stretching his arms with a groggy grin.
Dawn didn't answer immediately. He rolled the map with careful, exact movements. Too precise, Gary thought. Not the kind of absentminded care a person gives to parchment—but the kind of control one exerts when they need to be in control.
"I'm not dragging you," Dawn finally replied. "You volunteered."
Gary laughed. "Right. I suppose I did. It's rare to see you so... animated about something. Makes me curious."
Dawn nodded without expression. "Let's go."
Gary swung his legs off the bed, watching Dawn with veiled interest. He doesn't blink as often as others. His posture is always too straight. And his silence... it doesn't feel empty—it feels like it's watching you back.
---
Outside, the two walked beyond the towering boundary walls of the Academy. The guards barely glanced at them. No one thought twice about students leaving to explore—especially not Dawn, who always gave off an aura of silent authority.
The meadows were their first step—silver-green grasses swaying under Solara's golden presence, the wind laced with the scent of dew and sun-warmed soil.
They walked in relative quiet for a while until Gary, ever the talker, broke the silence. "So... about this place we're going to. You think we'll find what you're looking for?"
Dawn's silence lasted just a heartbeat too long. "I don't know. But I have to try."
Gary side-eyed him. "That's the first time I've heard you say you don't know. You always seem like you have everything figured out."
"I used to pretend I did," Dawn murmured. "Now I know better."
Gary smiled at that. The honesty was... refreshing. But then again, even that felt practiced, like a truth that had been rehearsed.
---
The terrain grew wild. Dense woods swallowed the sunlight, and tree-filtered rays fell in golden spears across their path. Strange animals rustled in the underbrush—fox-rabbits with luminous tails, gliders that zipped across the treetops with faint, chiming noises.
Gary stopped once, peering up into the canopy. "You hear that? That clicking? That's a signal call. The gliders communicate across trees. Smart little things."
Dawn merely glanced up. "Useful."
"You're not very fun to travel with, you know," Gary chuckled. "You're like a statue with a map."
Dawn shrugged. "You talk enough for both of us."
It was a teasing line. Almost charming. But Gary noticed something again—when Dawn smiled, it never reached his eyes.
There it is again... that tension underneath the calm. As if his skin doesn't quite fit. As if something inside him is waiting—no, trying—to be normal.
They moved through rocky outcrops, navigated through vines, and climbed a particularly steep cliff where Gary lost his footing. Dawn caught his arm without hesitation, his grip strong and unfaltering.
"You alright?" he asked.
"Yeah. Just didn't expect climbing to be part of the journey."
Dawn pulled him up with effortless grace. Gary blinked—how had he not noticed the sheer power in those lean limbs? It didn't look like strength born of training. It felt... forced, like the body had been re-molded into something stronger but not necessarily better.
They finally reached the top. And there, the valley spread out before them—a great open bowl beneath the heavens, and at its heart: the lake.
It shimmered with otherworldly stillness, reflecting Solara's presence with perfect clarity. Mist hung like a guardian across its surface. At the center, a lone island stood quiet, ancient, untouched.
Gary exhaled slowly. "This is it, isn't it?"
Dawn nodded, eyes locked onto the water. His face held something that Gary hadn't seen before—an emotion difficult to name. Hope, maybe. Or fear. Or perhaps a hollow yearning that had never known a name.
They made camp by the lakeside. As twilight approached, Solara began to recede—not setting, but simply dimming, fading gradually from the sky as the celestial balance shifted. The stars returned, not in clusters but in order, each one claiming its place as night began its reign.
Gary watched the flames of their campfire dance in the reflection of Dawn's eyes. He turned away quickly, pretending to stoke the fire. Whatever he's looking for… it's not just knowledge. It's for the sake of survival. A matter of Life and Death.
And even though he didn't say it out loud, Gary felt it in his bones: Dawn was not whole. Something in him was twisted—not physically, but beneath the surface. A dissonance between who he was and what he was becoming.
Still, Gary didn't speak it. Instead, he leaned back against his pack and stared up at the stars.
He didn't know yet that this journey, this fire-lit evening by a quiet lake, would one day be remembered across all nations—as the beginning of a friendship that changed the course of the world.
And neither did Dawn.
But the lake watched silently.
And the island waited.