𝐊𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐚 ➸ 𝐅.𝐇

𝟏𝟎. 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲'𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫.

"Not that keeping track of time really matters when you're dead, but sure, let's add an apocalypse to the agenda."

[KALOSPIA]

—"CANT YOU ever just give me a break."

"You should've killed me when you
had the chance."

"I have my regrets."

         NOVEMBER 1st, 1989.
                                        The Commission.

               

—A GENTLE BREATH STIRRED the silence, and his eyes fluttered open—each a radiant testament, pools of their own individual iridescent hues— his gaze swept across the vaulted ceiling, its ancient carvings winding in elegant whorls.

Light filtered through tall windows, gently tracing his features as if unsure of where to rest.

    Each pulse brought a dull ache that echoed through his head, an unwelcome rhythm to the quiet around him. The bed beneath was unnaturally soft, like he'd sunk into a cloud he didn't remember stepping into yet his limbs were stiff, and heavy, as if they hadn't moved in days or even weeks.

     His gaze shifted upwards, over the vaulted ceiling's intricate beauty— high, arching, and elegant, with old-fashioned moulding that curled in intricate patterns. The room around him was dimly lit, warm amber tones bouncing off dark wood furniture. Shelves lined the walls, filled with odd trinkets, books, and relics he couldn't quite place. A desk sat in the corner, polished, almost clinical, though a vase of fresh mint leaves gave off a light scent, the only thing that seemed remotely alive in the stillness.

    Slowly, Julien sat up, his movements met with a subtle resistance—as though the very air held a sacred weight, pressing him gently back. His breath quickened, a tightness constricting his chest as he tried to piece together his last memory, The last thing he remembered—no, he couldn't remember.