The first thing I noticed was that my lungs hurt less than they should have.
The second thing was that the ceiling above me was aggressively respectable.
No yellowed plaster. No water stains. Just clean white, broken by the neat grid of dim yellow light. The dorm room at the Institut d'Études Intermondiales was still smaller than any prestige brochure would admit, but it had been built by people who believed in use rather than luxury. That alone felt like an upgrade.
I lay flat on my back and waited for a certain sarcastic fellow
A translucent window slid into the edge of my vision.
[Sleep duration: 4 hours, 47 minutes.]
Short pause.
[Sleep quality: 31%.]
“That’s not how you say good morning,” I muttered.
[Body vitals: Heart rate elevated. Oxygen saturation borderline. Muscular fatigue high.]
The bunk above mine creaked as someone turned over. Voices drifted through the thin wall from the corridor—water running, a door slamming, the muffled curse of someone who had discovered that Institute-standard toiletries did not include caffeine.
“You let me sleep less than four hours,” I said quietly. “On the first morning.”
[You elected to lie down at 02:08. Lights-out was at 22:00. Your suboptimal life choices are not under my direct control.]
“Fair”
I pushed myself upright. My arms complained but held. The beds here had actual mattresses, which made it easier to sit up and harder to pretend I’d been through worse.
The dorm room was a narrow rectangle—two bunk beds, four lockers, a single long desk under the window. On the opposite bed, my roommate’s blanket was a mound of breathing irritation.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and let my feet hover for a second before landing on the floor.
I dressed in a bit more presentable clothes.
Pale, sharper cheekbones, hazel eyes that had seen one life and were trying to focus on the sequel. Dark hair that refused to do anything cinematic. Thirteen, on paper. More than that in all the places paper didn’t measure.
I fixed my collar.
“Enough for breakfast?”
[Enough to not be seen as a beggar] the archive judged
The corridor outside was already busy.
I checked the time.
07:48 A.M
Mess hall breakfast window closed at 08:30, according to my roommate.
I closed the door and started walking.
The main dining hall for western wing was a whole separate building, a broad rectangle of glass and steel. The wooden doors were polished dark brown.
Inside the air smelled like steam, spice and sugar.
Students were standing in a line taking the food from the long counter with different types of dishes.
The seating was random, yet I could see groups of students already formed. Marking corners as their territory for the years to come.
I took my food focusing on a more protein based diet. Corn soup, Rice and tofu.
“Good morning,” the serving auntie said without looking up.
I took my tray and scanned the room.
Some kids clustered by guild, crest metal flashing at their collars like small. Some arguing like the rest of the world didn’t exist. A duo sitting in the middle corner scrolling social media on their tablets.
I’d spent a first life reading rooms like this—coaching centers, hostels, government libraries—measuring who had what and how they wore it.
Here, the variables had—but the math looked familiar.
I took a seat near the back, at a table half-occupied by others with blank collars. No one looked up. One boy was revising something on a thin tablet, thumb. Another chewed mechanically, gaze fixed on the far wall.
I tasted the food, “Mmm”
It was…good. Not the likes of what you get in a luxury hotel but better than what I could have afforded back in the Vasantpur
I ate slowly, giving my stomach time to remember that we were no longer living on library tiffins and factory leftovers.
[Caloric load: moderate. Nutrient density: acceptable. Sugar content: lower than average.]
The archive noted.
I finished my food, returned the tray, and stepped back out into the corridor.
Morning still had on its clean, indecisive light. Classes hadn’t started yet. The schedule pinned outside the hall listed orientation sessions, faculty introductions and other briefings.
Most people were out of the dorms on the road, parks, some people were exploring the academic building. I walked aimlessly while checking the shops.
The Institute had been designed like someone had taken four different philosophies of architecture, argued about them for ten years, and then decided to keep everything.
The campus map they’d handed us last night was still folded in my pocket, but I didn’t need it. Yet.
I took one of the side paths off the main spine.
Martial domes rose ahead situated in North near Combat Track students —white curves of composite material, ribs of reinforced metal, sliding doors retracted halfway to show the glimpse of mats, equipment racks, and the faint glitter of conjured energy where someone had already started showing off.
I saw a group of students with armor and arsenal outside the martial dome laughing and gulping water down. Seeing their smooth and perfect physique I once again checked my loose t-shirt and trousers.
I moved past.
Dormitory wings came next : rows of identical windows, small balconies, laundry lines already trying to colonize railings. Some balconies had plants.
The sun hid behind a large spread of dark clouds
I was now at what people would call Eastern Block. The shops were more about food and Fruits rather than armour, Weapons etc.
There was also a vast hemispherical dome but pitch black with several rotating dish antennas, the kind I only saw in movies in my previous life
The crowd was less but there were several logistic support centers and electronics shops here.
I could also see some couples here and there but anyways continued to go forward.
There were total of four Hospitals, each assigned to every block.
The sky had turned grey and rain threatened to spill at any moment. The band on my wrist buzzed.
I tapped on it.
The orientation classes for freshers is scheduled to be tomorrow.
Reporting Time :9:00 AM
Venue: Central Auditorium, Central Tower
Uniforms would be delivered by today evening to all new students
“And here I was worried about what I should wear”I muttered relieved
[Affirmative, you only have 5 pair of clothes, 3 of which are for casual wear]
I checked the time it was now 12 in the noon.
I checked my Institute account, there was an amount displayed there in Euros.
Entry stipend: small. Enough for necessities that weren’t real necessities if you looked at them the wrong way. Not enough for luxury.
Across the lane, a boy in a lavish jacket tried on three different versions of the same hoodie while his friend and the shop attendant gave feedback.
It wasn’t surprising.
Back in Vasantpur, the gap had been between kids whose parents could pay for coaching centres and kids whose mothers packed tiffins inside factory mess. Here, the lines had shifted to guild sponsorships and House obligations.
Wealth was never subtle if you’d trained your eyes.
I moved on returning to my hideout.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
[ STAT WINDOW ]
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Name: Arin Valen Age: 13 (Almost 14 )
Race: Human Title: None
Health Status:
☠ Terminal Pulmonary Degeneration [Stagnated]
☠ Chronic Oxygen Deficiency [Improved]
☠ Frail Constitution [Improved]
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
BLOODLINE
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None
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SKILLS
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Null Craft (2/5)
Omnilingual (0/5)
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ARTS
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Art of Stellar Vessel (1/5)
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SPECIAL TRAITS
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[Fading Breath]
Every physical action rapidly exhausts the body.
[Unbroken Will]
Mental resistance greatly exceeds physical limitations.
[Curse of Despair]
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
KARMIC POINTS
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[Karmic Coins: 50]