The room was almost swallowed by darkness when the morning wind pushed the curtains aside. Rays of sunlight poured in, chasing away the shadows and slowly filling the space with warmth. On the bed lay a young man, just waking—his eyes open, yet his body still clinging to the comfort of sleep. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, drifting into a distant realm of thoughts.
Suddenly, a sound from the door snapped him back to reality.
"Richmond!" a voice called. "Get ready for school. Dinner's ready."
Startled, the boy jumped up and rushed into the bathroom, bathing as quickly as he could. He came out wrapped in a towel and began searching for something to wear. Finding nothing clean, he dug through his dirty clothes and picked the least worn ones. He put them on, though the smell was still unpleasant. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he hurried downstairs to the dining room.
His mother stood there, well-dressed and ready for work. She had a youthful figure, and her blonde hair fell freely as she finished preparing breakfast. Richmond sat down, and she brought his food to him. As she leaned closer, she paused, sniffed his clothes, and gave him a strange look. Without a word, she hugged him tightly, then returned to her own breakfast.
Richmond sniffed his clothes again. This time, his mother's scent had washed away the bad smell. He stared at her blankly as she chewed her toast, then pointed her fork at his plate, signaling him to eat. He tried, but his appetite was gone. Soon, he was lost in thought again, absentmindedly playing with his food.
His mother noticed his silence. She sensed something was wrong, but she knew he wouldn't talk even if she asked. Remembering his odd behavior over the past few days, she tried to convince herself it was just adolescence—her boy growing up. Still, the quiet worried her.
"Richmond," she said.
No response.
"Richmond!"
He snapped back. "Yes," he replied calmly.
He grabbed two slices of toast. "I'm off to school. I'll drop you on the way before heading to the office."
She was already late and knew he meant well. They exchanged goodbyes, and Richmond stepped outside, skateboard in hand.
He passed through his lonely hometown as he did every day. When he reached the bus stop, the bus was gone. Realizing he was late, he sped through the woods, pushing faster and faster. As he burst out toward the city, he came upon a construction site—too fast to stop.
He hit a log and launched into the air.
Midair, he spotted the bus. He landed on a shop tent, pulled off a wild stunt, and sailed clean over the bus. Grabbing a streetlight, he waved. The bus screeched to a stop, and Richmond climbed aboard, successful and breathless.
He took a seat at the back—crowded and uncomfortable. The ride to school was nearly two hours, and before long, sleep claimed him.
He dreamed.
A battlefield stretched endlessly before him. One man stood alone against thousands—men and beasts alike. Blood and wounds covered him, his clothes torn. Long, silver hair flowed down his back, stained dark. Weapons lay scattered across the ground.
He raised his hand toward a crimson moon hanging in the sky, his face unseen.