CHAPTER 1: SYMBOL OF CONNECTION AND LONELINESS
A day before 'now' had happened.
Franchise: Dawn Romantica
Century Timeline: Seventh Century
Symbolisms of the Prophecy Being in this World: Connection and Loneliness
Sole Location: Malaysia
State: Interrupted.
***
Nine years ago, I chose the wrong route—
the route that was never meant to be mine.
And ever since that day, every year when it comes around, I've been having the same dream. A silhouette of a boy I don't know appears before me. Every time, he says the same thing:
"I'm coming to save you."
I never understand what it means. I've tried asking who he is, or what he's talking about—but the dream always ends right after he says those words. I've tried interrupting him before he could speak, but no matter what I do, he ignores me and repeats the same line.
Until one night.
On that same recurring day, he finally said something different. No explanations, no answers to my questions. Only this:
"I'm here. Don't close your eyes."
And just like that… the dream ended.
I still have no idea what he meant. Maybe I'm just slow, but I'm not Wyne. Even Margaret couldn't connect the dots—she'd probably just call it creepy anyway.
Oh well. I'll just forget about it. I've got better things to do than overthink some weird dream.
What I really need to do is grab my camera stand, set up the lights, face the lens, and start—
vlogging.
That's right. I'm an Influencer. And being an Influencer is the route I chose. So, to keep it right… I must smile for the audience—
Cring! Cring! Cring!
…Cring! Cring! Cring!
After nearly twenty minutes of ringing, Trizha's alarm clock finally succeeded in dragging her out of a six-hour deep slumber.
She shot up, startled, her mind wiped blank of everything—the dream, the boy, the words.
Just as she said… unimportant.
"Mmm… ngh…"
Groaning, Trizha sat up, hair messy and glittering gold beneath the sunlight. Her long, wavy strands shimmered like waves on the sea.
Still half-asleep, she lifted her pillow and pulled out her phone. Yes, she slept on it. Yes, radiation be damned.
Her screen lit up—and there she saw it.
Multiple messages.
Not one, not twice, not thrice, not even four of them or quintuple. There were many. All from her fans—strangers. People she does not know, nor does she believe deserve this much.
[Izha! Shoutout for me!!]
[Hey Izha, remember me? I vouched for you!]
[When's your next live video?]
[We miss you!!!]
Praise. Attention. Validation. The usual.
She huffed quietly. It was flattering, sure—but exhausting. Fame had its price, and Trizha knew it too well.
But those messages weren't the reason why taking out her phone became the first thing she took — in fact, she noticed that someone is constantly spamming her messages.
That's what caught her attention. It was Wyne.
[WHERE THE HECK ARE YOU?! ME AND MARGARET ARE TIRED OF WAITING FOR YOU AT THE BUS STOP!!!]
Trizha blinked, eyes widening at the message written entirely in caps.
"Bus stop…?" she muttered.
Scrolling up, she saw several missed calls. Dozens.
"Ugh… what the heck…" she groaned, rubbing her face.
Still not connecting the dots, she decided to ignore it for now. She stretched her arms, yawned, and shuffled out of bed. Her lips felt dry; she needed water.
Sliding on her slippers with her toes, she stood up—then froze.
Her eyes fell on the alarm clock.
7:27 a.m.
"…Huh?" She squinted. "Wait. Wasn't I supposed to wake up at—oh crap."
Her eyes widened. "Seven forty-five! SCHOOL!"
"SHOOT—!"
She bolted. Grabbed her bag. Snatched her uniform from the closet. She was moving faster than her brain could think.
7:29 a.m.
She dashed downstairs, weaving through siblings and family members—people she lived with, but never truly shared blood with.
"Mom! Mom!!" she yelled, nearly skidding into the kitchen.
Her mother, Claria, was there reheating Trizha's breakfast. Upon seeing her daughter's frantic entrance, she sighed, shaking her head.
Trizha scratched her neck sheepishly. "Hehe…"
"Tsk, tsk. Sit down and eat. Fast. None of my children leave with an empty stomach," Claria said.
"Okay, okay."
Trizha sat, though the words my children echoed faintly in her head. She wasn't Claria's by blood—but Claria never treated her any less.
Trizha wolfed down her food, barely chewing.
"Slow down. You'll choke," Claria warned softly.
Minutes later, Trizha slung her bag over her shoulder and rushed out the door without a goodbye.
7:36 a.m.
Claria watched her leave, concern heavy in her chest. Whatever choices her daughter made—the life she built through decisions—it was clearly wearing on her.
"Take care of yourself… if I'm not around," she whispered.
Outside, Trizha sprinted down the sidewalk, the morning air whipping her hair. The city stirred awake around her: birds fluttered, dogs barked, footsteps echoed.
Her face was familiar—too familiar.
"Izha!"
"Hello!!"
"Can we get an autograph?!"
A group of fangirls waved papers in her direction.
"Uh—sure!"
She quickly signed their papers, smiling nervously before rushing off again.
7:37 a.m.
Her heart pounded as she ran, streets blurring past. Each passing car felt like a near-death experience, yet she didn't stop.
More fans appeared. More cameras. More noise.
This was her life now—shaped by decisions she made years ago.
To connect with people.
To influence them.
That's what it means… to be the Symbol of Connection.
7:40 a.m.
Panting, she reached a crosswalk and bent over, hands on her knees, gasping for breath.
"Meow~"
She turned her head. A black cat sat beside her, gazing up with curious, cat-like eyes.
"Awww…"
She smiled, pulling out her camera for a quick picture. The cat posed perfectly, tail flicking.
"Sorry, no time for you…" she said, smiling apologetically before pocketing her camera.
The cat meowed softly and walked away in disappointment.
She sighed to herself, then turned back to where she was looking in front
But then… there 'he' was. And she froze.
Across the street stood a boy about her age, dressed in the same school uniform as hers.
He was staring directly at her.
Those eyes—sharp, feline, constricted. That expression— unreadable.
Goosebumps crawled up her arms. Her breath hitched. She couldn't move, couldn't even blink.
He just stood there. Watching.
The world seemed to stop around them.
Trizha couldn't help but stand there speechless, unable to move a muscle, fearing that a single inch of her movement will make that man do something terrible.
Four minutes before class began.
And time… was already running out.