I fell asleep early yesterday.
It wasn't intentional. I just… shut down. I stayed in my room for hours doing anything I could to keep myself busy—doodling shapes that made no sense, folding paper scraps into crooked animals, counting the cracks in the wall until the lines blurred. I would've kept going all night if my body didn't betray me. Exhaustion crawled up my spine and finally dragged me under.
I woke up early like always.
At this point, waking early isn't something I decide. It's a reflex. A survival habit carved into me like a scar:
Get up before Dad.
Move before his voice can find you.
The air in my room was cold when I sat up. My blanket slid off my shoulders in a heap, and for a second I sat there, staring at the wall, feeling that familiar pressure in my chest—like the whole house might crack open if I made the wrong noise.
I shook it off.
I grabbed casual clothes: a grey shirt threaded with tiny specks of white, like dust caught in light, and my loose grey pants that didn't cling to my legs. They made me feel… less small. Less reachable.
The hallway outside my door was dim. I moved quietly, stepping around the spots I knew creaked, and slipped into the bathroom. Cold water hit my face like a slap. Sharp, bright, grounding. I lingered in that sting longer than I needed to.
After washing up, I headed for the door, socks gripped in one hand, shoes in the other. I glanced toward the living room.
Dad was asleep on the couch.
His chest rose and fell beneath a threadbare blanket, one hand hanging off the edge. Even asleep he looked ready to strike—jaw locked tight, fingers curled.
For a moment I froze. My mind replayed memories without asking: his hand grabbing my arm, his voice like gravel and spite, the crack of something breaking—maybe the wall, maybe me.
I tore my eyes away and forced myself forward.
I glitched through the front door. When I got outside, I slowed down.
The air was crisp, carried by a faint fall wind. The world looked so beautiful in autumn, like someone draped a warm filter over everything. Leaves curled and drifted down like tiny dying stars.
I walked the long path to school.
I made sure to step on every leaf I could, listening to the satisfying crunch under my shoes. It was stupid, but it felt good. Normal. Human.
Walking alone has always been easier. Less noise. Less pressure. Less chance of him.
A shiver crawled up my back at the thought of Dad's voice still chasing me. I looked over my shoulder before I could stop myself.
Nothing. Just trees.
I forced a breath in. Then out.
Instead of the past, I tried focusing on the present—on Sha and Ava. On the possibility that maybe, hopefully, we'd have the same classes today. The idea made something warm stir inside me.
The school came into view.
It wasn't big—small enough to fit Redwick's size. The building was old but well-kept, with red brick walls and sharp white trim. Above the entrance hung a broad banner: a raven spreading its wings, stitched in black thread.
The Redwick Ravens.
I kind of liked it. What I didn't like was the giant eye above it, above everything, The watching eye of god, or its other name the eye of Axiara.
I walked through the doors. The man at the front desk waved at me like he always did.
I waved back, smiling just enough to seem like a normal kid with a normal morning.
They've long since stopped asking why I arrive so early. Eventually they just… accepted it. Let me in.
I sat in the main office in the same spot I always do: a chair across from the desk, next to a tiny side table cluttered with random papers. I leaned back into the chair and scanned the room. A few teachers filtered through, grabbing supplies or making copies.
One of them—Ms. Karrel, the history teacher—walked by with her usual bright energy.
"Hey, Ray!" she said, waving.
I smiled reflexively. "Morning."
She reached toward me—only to grab a stack of papers from the desk—but the motion was too fast, too close.
My heart stopped.
My brain didn't see her hand.
It saw him.
That night: his fingers locking around my ear, dragging me closer, yelling until my head rang. The pain, the humiliation, the way I'd covered my ears afterwards because I swore I wouldn't let him touch me again.
My hands shot up before I could stop them, covering my ears like a child.
"Ray?" Ms. Karrel's voice softened. "Honey, are you okay?"
I forced my arms down, swallowing hard. "Yeah… yeah, I'm alright."
She didn't look convinced, but she had to go—morning duties or class prep or something teacher-like. She told me to have a good day and rushed out.
I could feel the people at the main desk glancing at me. Not judging—just worried. That somehow felt worse.
Kids started filtering in. Backpacks dragging, conversations buzzing low. I scanned the crowd out of instinct more than curiosity.
Then I saw her—Sha.
Her small wings tucked close, hair a bit messy from the wind, eyes alert. She spotted me instantly and veered off course into the office.
"Who's that?" one of the women at the desk asked, looking at Sha.
"She's a friend," I said.
Sha introduced herself politely. A moment later, Ava walked in behind her, silent as always. Together the three of us waved goodbye to the office staff and stepped out into the hallway.
"What's your first class?" I asked.
Sha dug in her bag. "Um… reading and writing."
My schedule fluttered in my hand. "That's mine."
Her face lit up. "Wait—really?"
I nodded, unable to stop my smile.
Ava drifted behind us like a shadow, quiet but present. She didn't have the same class, but she walked with us until we had to split off, giving a small wave before turning a different direction.
Sha and I walked into our classroom.
I always sat near the front—less chance of things happening behind me, less noise, more predictability. She slid into the seat next to mine without hesitation, wings folding neatly against her back.
The teacher, Ms. Renwell, stood at the front of the room organizing papers.
She was one of my favorites—fun and kind, but she could snap into serious mode instantly when needed. I respected that balance.
Class started smoothly. Words blurred on the board, pencils scratched against paper, students whispered when they thought she wasn't listening.
Then I heard it.
Him.
Well—not him.
A student. But he was loud, laughing with his friend like the room belonged to him.
He was always troubled.
Always ignoring boundaries.
I glared at him, but he didn't notice.
Ms. Renwell slammed her book onto the desk.
The sound detonated in my skull.
I wasn't in school anymore.
Dad slammed the door.
The crack echoed.
My whole body locked.
Fear gripped every part of me like teeth sinking in.
His voice rising.
The wall is shaking.
My breathing sped up.
The present and memory twisted together—Ms. Renwell's voice berating the troublemaker mixing with Dad yelling at me. The loud student muttered an apology, dragging his chair against the floor.
A screeching, splintering sound.
Like something breaking.
Like that night.
My hands flew to my ears instinctively, trying to block out the noise, the memory, all of it. My vision tunneled. The edges of the room melted into dark shapes. Faces blurred.
Someone said my name.
A voice, faint, worried. Sha's.
"Ray? Are you okay?"
Her hand reached toward me—
And panic flooded me like ice water.
I slapped her arm away, hard.
Too hard.
Her arm snapped back and hit her chair with a sharp bang.
The sound jolted me out of the episode.
My hands dropped guilt flooding my face.
I stared at Sha—really saw her this time—her wings tense, her eyes wide, not scared but confused, worried.
"I'm…" My throat closed. "I didn't—Sha, I didn't mean—"
She leaned forward instead of back.
"Ray," she said softly. "What's wrong?"
The damn broke, tears hit before I could stop them. Hot, humiliating, unstoppable. My breath hitched and collapsed in my chest. The room wasn't loud anymore—it was too quiet, suffocatingly quiet. Every eye in the class was on me, but all I could look at was Sha.
Sha, who didn't flinch.
Sha, who didn't pull away.
Sha, who didn't look at me like I was broken.
She reached again, slower this time.
And I didn't hit her.
I didn't move at all.
Her hand touched my shoulder—her glove feeling cold but somehow comforting.
The teacher approached slowly, kneeling beside my desk.
"Ray," Ms. Renwell whispered, "let's step outside, okay?"
I couldn't speak. I just nodded.
Sha stood immediately, like she thought she had to come too.
Ms. Renwell hesitated… then nodded to her.
So the three of us stepped out of the classroom.
The hallway was quiet. She stood on one side of me, Ms. Renwell on the other. My breathing finally slowed enough that the world stopped spinning.
Ms. Renwell spoke first.
"You're not in trouble. You're safe."
I nodded again, wiping my face with my sleeve. It didn't help. I felt like I was wearing my fear on my skin.
Sha's voice was small but steady.
"Ray… do you want me to stay with you?"
I opened my mouth—but the words stuck.
Did I want that?
Did I deserve that?
Her eyes softened.
"You don't have to talk," she said gently. "I just don't want you alone."
The lump in my throat swelled painfully.
I looked away, blinking hard.
"…Stay," I whispered.
Sha stepped closer, wings rustling softly.
For once, I didn't flinch.
And maybe it was the autumn light through the window, or the crisp air in the hall, or the way Sha didn't treat me like something fragile—
—but something shifted inside me.
Something small.
Something new.
Something like hope.