Chapter Four — Morning Motion
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The sound cut straight through Max's thoughts.
His eyes snapped open as the last wisps of gathered essence dissolved back into the room like mist under sunlight. The quiet stillness he'd been wrapped in vanished instantly, replaced by a sharp, familiar panic.
"…Shit."
He twisted, scanning the room until his gaze locked on a thin wall-mounted panel. The alarm pulsed a soft amber, utterly indifferent to his internal crisis.
I'm late.
The thought surfaced in his mind alongside a couple of Kaelion's memories—each bringing about mixed feelings.
Still, Max groaned and pushed himself to his feet.
His body responded smoothly and sharply. There was neither stiffness nor any lingering heaviness from sitting still for hours. If anything, he felt more… awake, alive in a way he could barely describe.
No time to think about it.
He hurried across the room into the wash space and stepped through the cleansing frame. The construct hummed, warmth and pressure rippling over him. In seconds, sweat, dust and microscopic residue vanished, leaving him dry, clean, and faintly energized.
Max blinked.
"So… cool."
He stepped out already pulling on fresh clothes from the wall unit. By the time he finished dressing, his breathing had evened out. The earlier panic faded as muscle memory—Kaelion's—took over, guiding his movements without conscious thought.
Down the stairs. Two at a time.
The scent of warm grain cakes and spiced broth rose to meet him.
"Kaelion!" a voice called from the kitchen. "You're late."
Aunt Marilyn stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back in a loose knot that looked like it had lost an argument with time. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes sharp as ever.
"You're going to have to sprint over again, aren't you?"
Max opened his mouth—then stopped.
For half a second, he was confused about why she was referring to him as kaelion. He almost corrected her.
"I—uh—overslept," he said instead, reaching for a plate.
She snorted. "That's what happens when you train till stupid o'clock. Sit. Eat."
He obeyed automatically, dropping into the chair and shoving a piece of food into his mouth.
The taste shocked him—warm, rich, layered. Compared to this, Earth food seemed painfully flat.
Marilyn slid a bowl toward him. "Don't rush like you're being chased. You'll choke."
"I'm good—this is really good," Max muttered around a mouthful.
Her brows lifted just slightly—Clearly wondering what happened to the kaelion who regularly called her cooking "nutrient sludge"—but she let it go.
For a few quiet moments, the only sounds were utensils on ceramic and the faint hum of the city drifting in through the windows.
Then softly, without looking at him, Marilyn spoke.
"Kaelion, I know that the evaluations are close but…" she began, "just don't overdo it, okay?"
Max paused mid-chew.
"…I won't," he said.
She hesitated for a moment, then added even more softly, "You don't need to break yourself trying to keep up with everyone else."
Max froze—just barely.
"…I know," he said.
The words landed heavier than she realized. only, it was too late, as kaelion had literally died trying.
She studied him for a moment longer, then turned back to resume cooking. Whatever she saw—or didn't—she deemed enough.
A minute later, he was done and out the door.
Tulip City unfolded around him in motion.
Floating transit rails hummed overhead as sleek carriers glided along transparent tracks. Holo-displays rippled across building faces—announcements, ads, public updates—shifting in crisp waves of colour.
People moved everywhere: academy students in fitted jackets, workers deep into routine, armored evolvers chatting casually on street corners.
Max slowed without meaning to.
Seeing this through Kaelion's memories hadn't done it justice—not even close.
The scale. The beauty of it. The way technology, essence, and everyday existence blended so seamlessly it felt… natural. Effortless.
He passed a woman strolling casually while a hovering bot floated beside her, carrying a bag that was comically large compared to it. Ahead, a man shimmered—then vanished—only for wind to brush Max's face a second later as the man reappeared across the street.
It was impossible not to stare. to wonder. to marvel.
This world wasn't just advanced.
It was everything a sci-fi enthusiast like him had even imagined and more.
He flexed his fingers as he walked, faintly aware of the surrounding essence shifting around his palm. A subtle sensation—easy to miss if you weren't looking for it.
Just not him.
Having lived an entire life in a world without essence, the difference was like being hit in the face with a glaring light after spending several years in the dark.
"Oi! Kael!"
The voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
He lifted his gaze only to realize he had gotten to the academy gates without realizing.
The structure rose ahead in layered spires of glass and alloy, connected by suspended walkways like veins beneath skin. Energy barriers shimmered along the perimeter, and streams of students flowed through open gates without pause.
"Oi! Kael! Wait up!"
Max turned just as a figure jogged toward him—shorter than average, jacket half-zipped, hair tied back in a careless knot.
She skidded to a stop, hands on her hips, breathing hard.
"You vanished yesterday," she said. "Thought you finally snapped and joined the monk districts."
Recognition hit instantly.
Lira.
His—Kaelion's—friend. His only one.
"I—uh—had stuff to deal with," Max replied.
She narrowed her eyes. "You look… different."
His heart thumped.
"Different how?"
"Like you slept." She shrugged. "Which is suspicious as hell."
"Come on. First lecture's about to start. You miss another one and Instructor Halvek will nail you to the wall."
Max blinked—confused at the multiple mood swings but still hurried behind her.
They merged into the crowd of students, steps syncing with the flow heading inside.
A faint current of essence brushed his skin as he crossed the threshold of the academy gate. And the academy swallowed him into its rhythm, its noise, its expectation.
Max exhaled.
And Kaelion's life officially began—Again.
Only this time, his was the will driving it.