The sky above him was gray, as if it had absorbed all colors just as he had absorbed all disappointments. His steps were heavy, his clothes stained with the dirt of the back courtyard where he had spent hours searching, digging, inspecting. His breath was ragged, not from exertion, but from that crushing feeling… the feeling of helplessness.
Zeinith entered his room and closed the door behind him with a muffled sound, then threw himself onto the chair near the window. There, where he used to watch the academy as if it were a chessboard, each piece holding meaning… except today.
"Nothing. Damn it, nothing!" He slammed his fist on the table. The water cup shook and some of it spilled on the scattered papers, but he didn't care. He looked at his hands, cracked from digging, dirty from searching secret rooms. "Ethan..." he murmured the name as if it were a curse, or a desperate prayer.
