Today was David's first day at the Academy.
He stood in the center of his room with his duffel open on the bed, staring at it like it might argue back. The walls felt too familiar—scuffed corners, sun-faded posters, the faint smell of old paper and clean linen. Every detail belonged to a life that had already ended.
The house was quiet in a way it had never been before.
Not peaceful.
Hollow.
No voices drifting from the kitchen. No footsteps down the hall. No soft argument between his parents about which tool to pack and which to leave behind. No laughter.
No return.
He folded his uniform shirt carefully, smoothing the fabric until the creases lined up, then placed it at the top of the bag. Deliberate. Like he could make order out of absence if he moved slow enough.
His hand hesitated over the book.
He didn't call it a book in his head anymore.
Not really.
It was weight. It was a door. It was the last thing his parents touched for him.
He slid it into the bottom of the bag and wrapped it in an extra layer of cloth as if that would keep it from changing him while he slept.
Or keep him from changing because of it.
He zipped the duffel closed, then stood still and listened to the silence again.
Somewhere inside that silence, a memory surfaced—his mother kneeling to fix his collar when he was younger, her hands warm and steady.
Courage. Patience. Your heart.
His throat tightened, but he didn't let it spill.
He moved through the estate slowly. Past the kitchen. Past the hallway mirror where his father used to straighten his jacket and wink at his own reflection like he was about to win a bet.
He didn't go near the teleporter room.
Not yet.
Instead, he walked to the front door and stopped with his hand on the lock.
A part of him wanted to whisper goodbye the way people did in stories.
He didn't.
He locked the door with a firm click.
Then he stood there for one extra breath—just long enough to feel the weight of what he was leaving behind.
"I'm not staying behind again," he said, so quietly it was almost nothing.
And then he stepped outside.
The morning air hit his face, crisp and bright. The crystalline sky above Earth scattered sunlight into pale streaks that made the world look too clean for what it had taken from him.
David adjusted the strap of his duffel and started walking.
Not rushed.
Not uncertain.
Deliberate.
Every step was a decision.
The Academy wasn't going to replace what he lost.
But it would give him something else.
A way forward.
A way to become someone no one could leave unprepared.