A groan escaped Atlas's lips as he cracked open one eye. His dorm room was filled with the morning light, as he craved sleep. Classes. The word hung heavy in the air, a lead weight on his already sluggish motivation. But a flicker of awareness sparked within him - government funding. Three days a week was the bare minimum. With a sigh, he hauled himself out of bed.
The bathroom offered a fleeting moment of hope. Perhaps a new hairstyle would chase away the looks? Fingers combed through his hair, sculpting a few different shapes, each one promptly discarded. His reflection stared back, the mismatched eyes a constant reminder. He swept his hair across his forehead, muttering, "What am I even doing?" under his breath.
The crispness of a new shirt offered a sliver of purpose. He dressed quickly, a well-rehearsed routine. The dining hall, a bustling hub of social interaction, was a minefield he chose to avoid today. Instead, he grabbed a quick bite on the way to his first class, the familiar comfort of being alone.
Atlas navigated the winding staircase to the school rooftop, with the city s beneath him . He savored the view, a breakfast of cool morning air and the distant hum of the city. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment of quiet reflection. It was shattered by the jarring sound of the morning bell. Atlas jolted awake, the tranquility dissolving as quickly as the morning mist.
He sprinted towards his first class, cursing the tight schedule. A collision sent him sprawling into a figure with purple hair. Before he could apologize, a booming voice roared, "Are you blind, freak? Don't you see her?" A figure, Cobham, shoved him aside roughly.
Atlas, momentarily stunned, opened his mouth to speak, but Cobham cut him off, demanding an apology. The witch, however, surprised him. Ignoring Cobham's demands, she extended a hand and said, "Stop it. My name's Remus. What's yours?"
Atlas, bewildered, snatched his hand back and bolted. Reaching the classroom door, he caught his breath, the day's chaos already swirling around him. "It hasn't even been a whole day," he muttered under his breath before pushing open the door and entering class
The classroom was a sea of hushed whispers as Atlas made his way to his seat. A clumsy stumble sent him crashing to the floor, a chorus of laughter erupting from his classmates. Mortified, he scrambled to his feet and slumped into his chair, burying his face in his hands.
The teacher entered the room, her voice cutting through the stifled laughter. As she called out names, Atlas tuned out, his mind racing. When his name was called, louder and sharper this time, he jolted upright. "Yes, ma'am," he stammered.
"Good of you to join us today, Atlas," she replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I was about to mark you absent." A ripple of laughter swept through the class.
Atlas sank back into his chair, a wave of self-doubt washing over him. "Why did they even give me this scholarship?" he muttered to himself. "I'm not even smart."
Head down and lost in thought, Atlas shuffled between classes, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He wasn't trying to be inconspicuous; it was more a shield against the world.
In one class, they delved into the legend of a vampire who wielded the ultimate power – time magic. The teacher described him as the pinnacle of magical prowess. Atlas scoffed internally. "If I could control time," he thought, "I'd probably use it for selfish reasons anyway." He muttered under his breath, "Maybe that's why I don't have such powers." A shiver ran down his spine as he learned the vampire's tragic fate. The immense power had been his undoing. Apparently, in attempting to warn others of the coming deceptors attack through time travel, the vampire himself was consumed by the magic.
As the lunch bell rings, Atlas dodges the dining hall and heads to a food stall. With his lunch in hand, he ascends to the rooftop, seeking solitude. But as he steps onto the rooftop, a bucket of water is dumped on his head. Sighing, he looks up to see Cobham's friends. They jump down, shove him aside, and taunt, "That's for this morning, you mismatched color-eyed freak," before laughing and disappearing, leaving Atlas drenched and alone.
Atlas lay shivering on the cold, wet floor, a soft sob escaping his lips. His thoughts turned inward, filled with self-pity and resentment. "This is all my parents' fault," he muttered to himself. "If I had been born normal, I would have fit in. If only one of them had stayed, I could have handled school. They brought me into this world and then abandoned me."
The idea of ending his life crossed his mind, but he dismissed it, lacking the courage to carry it out. Instead, he gathered his damp jacket and shirt, hanging them to dry, before forcing himself to return to class.
Atlas returned to class, damp and disheveled, just as the lunch bell rang. His classmates exchanged disgusted glances, muttering about how he'd even gotten into the academy. Ignoring their scorn, Atlas slumped into his seat and drifted off to sleep.
The end-of-period bell jolted him awake. As he headed to his locker, he found his books shredded, the damage unmistakably the work of claws. A werewolf attack, he realized. Yet, he couldn't fathom why he'd been targeted.
Atlas clutched his ruined books and headed back to his dorm. As he approached, he noticed his door was opened.A wave of dread washed over him. Had he forgotten to lock it? Closer inspection revealed the lock had been broken.
Inside, his room was a chaotic mess. A chilling message was scrawled on the wall: "Leave our academy." A shiver ran down his spine as he took look at his scattered belongings.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the hallway. A burly figure appeared, his form looming large. "What do you want?" Atlas stammered, his voice barely audible.
"I'm Zephyr, a werewolf," the stranger replied. "I saw what they did to your room. Tried to stop them, but they overpowered me."
A glimmer of hope ignited within Atlas. Perhaps he'd found an ally. "You're Atlas, right? Let me help you clean up."
But then, reality struck. He was an outcast, despised by everyone. "Leave my room," Atlas barked, his voice filled with bitterness. "If you wanted to help, you would have stopped them!"
Zephyr, confused and hurt, retreated. As Atlas collapsed onto his bed, his mind drifted back to a painful dream , a past dream that seemed to haunt his every move.