[center][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjcyLjBhNzU0ZC5SR0ZwYlhsdmJpQk1iMjVrWlEsLC4wAAAA/dr-sugiyama.regular.png[/img][/center]
In his dream Daimyon walked a long, winding road embedded onto a vast hillside. The sight of encompassing greenery accentuated by a few rocky peaks rising above, the hushing sound and breezing touch of the wind that fluttered the many blades of grass—it was all exceptionally vivid. The hill, however, did not give any cause for wonder and awe: without as much of a tree or a even a colourful flower in sight, it was rather drab. The sky was cloudy, the sun did not shine to guide the traveller's path. And yet he went on, tired but driven forward by an inscrutable force.

Something struck out at the side of the dirt road that caught his eyes right away. An injured white swallow writhed in the grass, a tiny flash of red trickling down its wing. Daimyon stopped and knelt down beside it right away.
[color=seagreen]“Oh no...who did this to you, little friend?”[/color]
He murmured, gently gathering the bird in his hands. Before he could pick it up, though, it cried out in pained chirps which made him withdraw.
[color=seagreen]“Oh hmm...let me see what I can do for you...”[/color]

His attire was a loose-fitting set of worn brown garments, and he tore a sheet of cloth from the arm to fashion a bandage for the small wound. Holding the swallow, he carefully wrapped it around its wing and fastened it. The bird seemed to respond favourably, trying right away to flap its wings. It looked like it only needed a little help.
[color=seagreen]“There you are, friend. Ah, I wish I could stay with you until you fully heal, but I've no doubt you're also aching for the skies...come on, then!”[/color]
He picked it up, this time without resistance, taking one last moment to marvel in its pure beauty, before he extended his arms and...

[hr]
...let out a groan as he woke up. His limbs felt heavy but his head felt the heaviest, like he had spent the entire last day memorising ancient Greek classics. He had to stay lying for a few more minutes before he could even sit up, though thankfully the dull ache cleared quickly. Suddenly feeling much brighter, he stretched out his numb arms and legs and reached for his notebook on the bedside table.

[i]...and caught nothing but air.[/i]

His heart sank and his head turned so quickly that his neck almost broke into it. Despite his best attempts he was not an orderly man, but there were a few things he never forgot to do—such as placing the small book onto the table every night before heading to sleep. And yet, this morning, the plain brown table was empty.
He sprung up like he was shot out from the barrel of the gun and began frantically searching around in his room. The usual sense of composure and easy-going attitude that he had usually emanated was nowhere to be seen right now as he turned everything upside down amidst panicked murmurs to himself. He checked everywhere he could: under the bed, on the writing table—which actually had two books on it but not his notebook—, the wardrobe—including going through the pockets of every single outfit stored in there—, the bathroom, he even opened up the [i]first-aid kit[/i] in a desperate last-ditch effort.

To no avail. His notebook, his trustworthy companion throughout the years, his treasure trove of poems and memories and so much more, was [i]nowhere to be found.[/i]
And to rub salt in the wound, his pen got lost with it.

He sat back down on his bed, and tried to recover from the shock. Without the sole anchor of familiarity in this unknown place among unknown faces, the unruly tides threatened to push him out to the endless sea, never to find shore again. He took deep breaths, whispering ‘calm down’ time and time again. Words did not work this time however, and he had to take a cold shower to regain at least some of his presence of mind. Once out and dressed, he grabbed his e-handbook—which was still at its place, or else he would have really lost his mind—and browsed it for a few minutes before getting out of his room and walking down towards the break room.

The long hallway was quiet, but the break room was lively—in the sense that there were people in there, not that those people were in any way qualified for the definition. The morning daze still hung over most, although some discussions were already ongoing. Daimyon, however, was not here for any of that: he was not in the mood for chatter, he did not feel hungry, and even Jezebel's ‘affection stand’ was not something he considered in the moment.

[color=seagreen]“H-has anyone seen my notebook?”[/color]