Like every other high school, the students of Ravenwood Academy know nothing more beyond the world of their own teenage lives -- a world of classes to pass, social reputations to live up to, and dirty little secrets to keep.
But when strange dangero...
Where he was, he didn't quite know. But where he was, standing on a cliff, grass beneath his feet, was somewhere strange and beautiful and familiar.
Above him was the sky on fire, a tapestry painted in seamless layers of orange and yellow and blue. An expanse of creased, dark blue silk ended below, at the foot of the cliff, crashing onto the rocks in white froths, their sounds a calming, peaceful roar in his ears. The wind blew against his still figure like a gentle passing embrace.
The boy took a breath. Then—
"This is it," said a gruff voice. "The last of our days."
"And after midnight, we shall never lay our eyes on the horizon again," sighed another voice, the most articulate of his friends.
A moment's silence, as the breeze washed over their still figures, the sun dipping slowly into the sea.
"And what lies beyond that?" asked the only girl among them, her voice barely a whisper. "What shall become of us?"
"That we shall only know when the time comes," replied a new voice, smooth and boyish, the youngest of them.
"And the perils beyond?" the boy heard himself ask. "How are we to face the unknown?"
For a while, no one spoke, every one of them unsure and quietly anxious. The wind blew towards them once again, just as the sun sank gracefully into the sea, finding its resting place in the dark waters.
"Together," the boy with the gruff voice said. "We face them together."
Something beeped—once, twice, thrice.
Sander's eyes cracked open at the sound. He found himself in the shadows, far away from the cliff and the horizon, and he could hear the noise no more than a couple feet away, on the bedside table where an alarm clock sat. His eyes settled on its face, "5:30" flashing in light green digits. The blond boy reached a hand over, pressed down a button. Silence.
For a moment, he simply lay in bed, in the quietness of the room, wiping away the sleep from his eyes—until something made a low rumble, a sudden deep-throated sound. Sander lay there, still and startled, as the creature—whatever it was—whistled out air. Then came another rumble, and an exhale of breath, and the same deep-throated noise.
He glanced over to the other side of the room, where Damien lay sprawled across the bed, looking more passed out than having fallen asleep. Still fully dressed in a black tee and jeans and socks, the sheets creased beneath his heavy form. At the bottom of the bed were his shoes, one sneaker upright, the other upside down on the floor.
Sander smiled to himself, remembering. If it weren't for his intervention yesterday, he was sure a fist, not an alarm clock, would've woken him up right now. And so he decided against waking his roommate, as a subtle gesture of thanks, allowing Damien more time to recharge. Besides, after yesterday's events, he needed the sleep.
Sander sat up, pulled the sheets away, got out of bed. He didn't want to be late. He wanted no more trouble after yesterday . . .
A quiet sigh escaped his lips.
Yesterday had done enough.
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