Leonel's eyes snapped open.
He didn't even bother to look around, he just stared at the ceiling above. It was a simple ceiling, a white one he could see through the mesh that was the canopy of his bed.
It wasn't particularly interesting. At least, it wasn't interesting for much other than what it represented.
It represented that he could see, that when he breathed, air came in and his lungs expanded, that he was alive.
Leonel didn't need anyone to tell him what that meant. He didn't need to be there to see how the war ended, or what it meant for him to be lying here completely intact.
He had no idea where he was, but it felt like that didn't matter at all. That was absolutely worthless information and there was nothing worth learning about it. He didn't even care about the fact there was a familiar figure leaning on the window sill of an enormous opening.
Cool wind blew in and the light curtains shifted from side to side.
