Serian sat at his desk, staring at the blank lines of his assignment. He had spent the entire night ignoring it, watching as Edward struggled to write his own answers, as Sienna grumbled about mana threads, as exhaustion settled over all of them like an unavoidable shadow.
But now, alone in the quiet of the room, he picked up his pen.
Happiness.
When I see saplings sprout and trees bloom.
Sadness.
When time ends and autumn comes.
Anger.
Perhaps... betrayal.
Fear.
Perhaps... being alone.
His handwriting was neat, each stroke steady, yet the words felt unfamiliar to him. Cryptic and brief, but each one held a weight he hadn't acknowledged before.
Serian leaned back, tapping his fingers lightly on the desk.
What am I doing?
He was a god. He shouldn't care about these things. But… wasn't that the problem? Ever since he arrived in this world—trapped in this human shell—things had begun to feel different.
He didn't understand it at first. It was uncomfortable, like wearing clothes that didn't fit. The way Edward's eyes lit up at the mention of dessert. The way Sienna sulked when she failed at something but perked up when she succeeded. The way fear and excitement mixed in their classmates' voices when they faced real battle.
The way humans felt things so deeply.
Serian had watched civilizations rise and fall under Yggdrasil. He had seen new worlds born like infants taking their first breath. He had watched the slow decay of dying planets, the collapse of dimensions, the endless cycle of creation and destruction.
But he had never been part of it.
He had been the observer. The recorder. The god who watched and did nothing.
He pressed the tip of his pen against the paper, staring at the word fear.
Is this what fear is?
A memory surfaced—an ancient one, from before he took this form.
Standing under the vast roots of Yggdrasil, feeling the weight of eternity pressing against him. The endless flow of time, the cycle repeating over and over. Watching everything he recorded crumble into dust. Every world, every life, every soul—gone. And yet, he remained. Always watching.
Alone.
The pen wavered slightly in his hand.
Serian had never cared before. He had told himself it didn't matter. He had seen other gods lose themselves to emotions, to the pain of loving something so temporary. They tried to hold on, tried to stop the inevitable, only to shatter when they failed.
So he had chosen not to care.
It was easier that way.
But now…
"Serian, you still awake?"
Edward's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
Serian glanced toward the bed where Edward lay, half-asleep, his voice groggy but curious.
"Yeah," Serian answered simply.
Edward rubbed his eyes. "You actually writing that dumb assignment?"
Serian looked down at the paper, at the four simple answers.
"...Yes."
Edward let out a tired laugh. "Man, you're weird. You struggle with emotions, but you can do insane things like making mana threads and dodging attacks before they even happen. You're like a genius in all the wrong places."
Serian hummed, tapping his pen against the desk. "I suppose."
Edward yawned. "So? What did you write for happiness?"
Serian hesitated for a moment before answering, "Saplings. Blooming trees."
Edward blinked. "What?"
Serian turned slightly to face him. "Seeing things grow."
Edward looked at him for a long moment, then let out another small laugh. "Huh. That's… kind of nice, actually. Didn't expect that from you."
Serian didn't reply.
"And sadness?"
"Autumn. The end of time."
Edward frowned. "That's… poetic. A little depressing, though."
Serian merely nodded.
"What about anger?"
"...Betrayal."
Edward raised an eyebrow. "Damn. Didn't know you were that deep."
Serian exhaled slowly. "Perhaps."
Edward stretched, his tiredness weighing down his movements. "And fear?"
Serian was silent for a long time.
Edward waited, his gaze half-lidded but attentive.
Finally, Serian spoke. "...Being alone."
Edward blinked. "What? But you're always alone. You don't seem to mind it."
Serian's fingers curled slightly around the edge of his paper. "Perhaps I do not mind it," he said quietly. "But that does not mean I do not fear it."
Edward didn't say anything right away. He just stared at Serian, the weight of those words sinking in.
After a moment, he muttered, "Huh. You really are like Vincent, you know that?"
Serian turned to him. "Vincent Rutherford?"
"Yeah," Edward said, resting his head back against the pillow. "Back when he was in ethics class, he wrote something similar. But instead of being alone, he wrote being forgotten."
Serian's gaze flickered.
Edward let out a deep breath, his exhaustion finally overtaking him. "You and my brother would've gotten along… or maybe you'd just sit there staring at each other like weirdos."
Serian watched as Edward drifted into sleep.
He looked back at his assignment, reading the words again. Each answer was a piece of himself—one that had been buried for so long under the weight of eternity.
Perhaps, in becoming human, he was starting to understand.
And that thought…
It wasn't unpleasant.
The next day, Serian stood in front of Kael's desk, his paper neatly placed before the instructor. He waited, hands behind his back, as Kael scanned the words with a blank expression.
A long sigh escaped Kael's lips. He pinched the bridge of his nose before setting the paper down.
"Redo it," Kael said flatly.
Serian blinked. "Why?"
Kael looked at him, unamused. "Because this isn't a report on the changing seasons. It's about you." He tapped the paper with his finger. "These are pretty words, but they don't tell me anything real."
Serian tilted his head. "They are real."
Kael sighed again, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache. "Serian, let me ask you something. Do you actually understand what you wrote?"
Serian hesitated. "…I think so?"
Kael leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "No, you think you do. But you don't feel it." His sharp gaze met Serian's. "And until you do, this assignment isn't done."
Serian frowned. "So what do you want me to write?"
Kael gave him a tired look. "Something honest."
Serian stayed quiet.
Kael exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed. "You have until the end of the semester to redo this. Try again, Serian."
Serian took the paper back, staring at it as he left the office.
Edward, who had been waiting outside, smirked. "Failed, huh?"
Serian glanced at him. "It's not a test."
Edward shrugged. "Still sounds like a fail to me."
Serian sighed. This assignment was turning out to be more complicated than he expected.
*****
Sienna frowned, arms crossed as she sat on the cafeteria bench. No matter how she thought about it, it didn't make sense.
"So let me get this straight," she said, looking between Edward and Serian. "We already passed the entrance exam, so why was the field trip the real first trial? Isn't that just nonsense?"
Edward let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples. "Didn't you read the pamphlet?"
Sienna blinked. "There was a pamphlet?"
Edward groaned. "Unbelievable." He turned to Serian, who was sitting beside him, tilting his head innocently like a lost rabbit. Edward swore Serian was the smartest and the most clueless person at the same time.
"Alright, listen up," Edward began, leaning forward. "The academy is divided into two courses. First, there's the normal academy, where students enroll to get jobs, become hunters, or do whatever they want. Standard education, normal training." He tapped the table for emphasis. "And then there's us."
Sienna raised an eyebrow. "Us?"
"The militarized course," Edward clarified. "For the talented awakeners—the ones who can be trained to fight monsters, lead squads, or serve in the high-risk divisions."
Serian blinked. "So we are in a militarized course?"
"Yes, Serian," Edward deadpanned. "What did you think we were doing?"
Serian thought for a moment. "Attending school."
Edward groaned again, running a hand through his hair. "Anyway," he continued, "after passing the entrance exam, students are given a week. A week to train, understand monsters, get used to weapons, and catch up to speed. Then they get thrown into the field trip to see who can survive under real pressure."
Sienna furrowed her brows. "So the entrance exam wasn't even the real test?"
Edward shook his head. "Nope. The week after the exam was to see who could handle it. Those who dropped out? They got moved to the normal academy classes. But the ones who endured?" He pointed at himself, then at Serian. "We moved forward."
Sienna let that sink in. "So the field trip was basically a way to sort out who could adapt, who had potential, and who was just lucky in the entrance exam?"
"Exactly," Edward said, nodding. "It wasn't just about skill. They wanted to see who was determined enough, who could learn fast, and who had the experience to survive. That's why a bunch of students disappeared after the trip. They got reassigned."
Sienna sat back, staring at the ceiling. "That's… kind of brutal."
Edward shrugged. "It's reality. You think they're going to waste resources on people who can't keep up?"
Serian, who had been listening quietly, nodded. "That makes sense."
Edward turned to him. "You didn't know this either?"
Serian shook his head. "I just thought a lot of people didn't like the school and left."
Edward gave him a look. "You really didn't read the pamphlet, huh?"
Serian tilted his head again, as if trying to remember. Then, after a moment, he nodded. "Ah. I used it as a bookmark."
Edward smacked his forehead.