The morning sunlight burst is almost annoying, especially when it's trying to hit you straight in the face.
Summer, particularly, is a relentless beast; even the shirt it falls upon is left no mercy, as if the sun itself is fulfilling the need to iron the fabric.
The summer here is that hot—no exaggeration. All the coolness of dawn is quickly replaced by a heat that is terribly, gratingly annoying. Now, imagine trying to wake up in that climate. Pretty annoying, right?
Despite the irritation, I crawled out of bed, fixed my disheveled hair, and picked up that "naturally ironed" shirt. I changed my bottoms and finally splashed some water onto my face—an act I regretted as soon as I did it. The water felt like it had been exported directly from hell.
Then came a breakfast made of fridge leftovers and the looming need to attend the so-called "Academy," which imparts so-called "important lessons of ultimate greatness."
Yes, bullshit.
They claim to impart both practical and theoretical lessons to ensure the next generation is better adapted to the absurd conditions of the never-ending war occurring in the outermost orbit since the 20th century. The program seemed effective at first, but once upon a time, corruption found its place in the system. And that's why I'm now spending almost three hours in a theoretical class that was supposed to take only ninety minutes.
The lecturer was briefing us on the same historical context he reads repeatedly every few weeks. At first, it was interesting—at least somewhat—but over time, even a lullaby became more pleasant to the ear than this. Half the class was drifting in their own daydreams, a quarter were in actual dreams, and a handful of hyperactive students were the only ones keeping up with the bullshit of our dear lecturer as he asked fill-in-the-blank questions about a nonsense history book.
The clock seemed to slow down metaphysically. The only thing keeping me tracked on the passage of time was the window located right behind the clock. Outside that small opening, clouds kept moving through a blue-grey sky streaked with pollutants and annoying sunlight.
My seat is tucked into the back right corner. Between me and my window, there's another student daydreaming, though she somehow follows the lecture silently. Her name is Amara. Her brown hair, dark eyes, and soft skin really suit her, especially with the sunlight contrasting against her features. For a brief, momentary event, I actually took the time to admire that beauty.
"Pleasing to stare at me that much?" Amara whispered, seemingly breaking free from our professor's hypnosis.
"I see Princess is secretly enjoying my invasive gaze," I replied.
"Ridiculous," she said with a here-we-go-again face.
"Not the time for that, prince. What do you think of the coming awakening ritual?"
"I think the sunshine really suits you," I dodged.
"I'm not a fan of burning myself, especially in this hot-as-hell weather."
"Well, if not the sun, then how about a servant of the Twilight Sun? You wouldn't have to burn that much, would you?"
"Hmm, I'll consider it. Anyway, what about you?"
With that question came an adorable, worried look in her eyes.
It was a valid concern. An orphan like me has no external support. I have "no talent"—or at least, no particular talent according to the standards they use to grade people here. It's only logical that a "Princess" like her would worry about her friend.
Yes, she's a real princess.
Seems like we need to go over that boring bullshit once again.
Here we go.