The fire crackled softly outside the tent, its orange glow barely piercing the thin fabric walls. Lucien lay curled beneath a thick blanket, yet he shivered—not from the cold of the floating island night, but from something much deeper. His breath was shallow, his brow damp with sweat. In his dreams, the hospital's fluorescent lights buzzed. The cold tiles beneath him were sticky with the remnants of spilled soup. His frail hand reached for the door, but it remained shut. Laughter echoed in the halls—his father's, sharp and unforgiving. His mother's silence, a louder condemnation than any words. And then, the blinding headlights.
He awoke with a strangled gasp, clutching his chest. The sky was still dark, only faint silver lining the horizon. He wiped his face with trembling hands, trying to steady the pounding in his chest.
"Another nightmare?" a quiet voice asked.
Lucien turned toward the opening of the tent. Aeris stood there, wrapped in a silvery-blue cloak, her pale hair glinting with morning dew. Her eyes, usually so composed, softened.
He didn't answer. His throat was dry. He simply nodded.
She stepped in and sat down beside him, not saying anything at first. For a long time, they just sat there, listening to the wind rustle the trees beyond the camp.
"Do they always come back like that?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Lucien hesitated. Then, he nodded again.
Aeris looked away for a moment. "When I was little," she began, surprising him, "I used to dream I was drowning. Cold water. Darkness. I'd wake up gasping, just like you. And the worst part was... no one ever came when I cried."
Lucien's gaze slowly lifted to her.
"But you're not alone now," she said, turning back to him. "Not anymore."
He wanted to believe that. So badly. But the words wouldn't come. So instead, he whispered, "They hated me."
Her breath caught, just slightly. "Your family?"
He nodded. "Everyone. After he died..." Lucien stopped, his voice cracking. "My grandfather... he was the only one who cared. Music was all I had."
Aeris reached out gently, placing a hand on his.
"They broke me," he whispered. "I thought dying would end it. But... the pain followed."
Aeris didn't pull away. She didn't say anything meaningless like you'll be fine or it gets better. Instead, she simply sat there, hand in his, letting the silence speak.
The first rays of sun began to filter through the tent. Golden. Soft.
"You're strong," she said finally. "To survive all that... and still be here."
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The weight in his chest didn't vanish, but it shifted—just a little.
Lucien looked down at their hands. "Why are you being so kind to me? You don't even know me."
Aeris tilted her head slightly. "Maybe I don't. But I know the look in your eyes. I see it in the mirror sometimes."
There was something broken inside both of them, he realized.
They sat like that until the rest of the camp began to stir. One of the guards passed by and paused, raising an eyebrow at the sight before quickly continuing on. Aeris stood at last and stretched.
"Come on," she said. "Let's get something to eat. I have something to show you later."
Lucien didn't ask what. For the first time in this new world, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he could breathe a little easier.
As he followed her out of the tent, the wind carried with it a different feeling. Not hope, not yet. But perhaps... the first step toward healing.