[img]https://i.imgur.com/roaeg9T.jpeg[/img]
[right][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/right][right][sup][color=#d4af37][b]#d4af37[/b][/color][color=2e2c2c]...[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]...[/color][url=https://i.pinimg.com/1200x/ae/ec/41/aeec41c9603d4710f907d9caa143f394.jpg][color=9b9b9b][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url][/sup][/right]
[indent][indent][color=#808080]The first hint of morning was not a sound but a change in the quality of the darkness. A gilded line pierced the cabin’s shadows, laying itself across the floor and setting the guitar’s finish alight with a soft gleam. Elias drifted upward from sleep gradually, his consciousness returning to the feel of the instrument’s neck still cradled in his loose grip, his fingers twitching with the ghost of a chord.[/color]

[color=#808080]He blinked slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust. In the stove, the fire had faded to a bed of coals that pulsed with a rhythmic light. A persistent ache had taken root in the muscles of his back, a direct consequence of his awkward posture through the night, yet the weariness that clung to him felt cleaner now, like the honest exhaustion that follows a spent gale rather than the coiled pressure that foretells one. For a long while, he didn’t move, simply listening to the low whisper of the wind beyond the walls. As always, his head was clear, devoid of the fuzzy residue that often followed a turbulent party night, and in its absence, there was no immediate surge of regret. There was only the silence and his own presence within it.[/color]

[color=#808080]Eventually, he pushed himself up and crossed to the window. The landscape beyond was rendered in shades of silver and grey, while the lake in the distance was framed by a glittering border with a blanket of mist hovering over it like a spirit unwilling to depart. He laid his palm flat against the cold pane, and a circle of condensation briefly flowered under his touch, receding almost instantly to leave behind a faint imprint.[/color]

[color=#808080]It was then that the cabin’s speaker, a part of his welcome package he’d scarcely noted the previous night, crackled to life. A voice, clear, direct, and jarringly alert, filled the room.[/color]

[color=#86a8ad]"Good morning, campers. This is your new leader, River, speaking. It is currently 7:30 a.m. on January 1st. Your first training will begin in 1 hour, at 8:30 a.m., in the arena. Please arrive promptly and dress accordingly."[/color]

[color=#808080]The voice vanished, leaving behind an electronic hum that quickly faded into silence. Elias released a slow breath. Structure. A schedule. It was straightforward, and for that, he was grateful. A simple directive to build a day around was exactly what he needed.[/color]

[color=#808080]He returned the guitar to its stand with a reverent touch, then ascended the stairs to the sleeping area. After laying his duffel and jacket on the bed, he continued into the bathroom. The shower handles groaned in protest as he twisted them, but within moments, steam was billowing, clouding the glass and filling the small room with a damp heat. He stepped under the spray and let the scalding water needle his skin, feeling it slowly dissolve the rigid knots along his shoulders. A staticky sensation prickled just beneath the surface of his forearms, an innate reaction to the sudden temperature shift. But he breathed deeply, drawing the energy back inward, containing it. The lesson was an old one, learned in a small adobe house with faulty wiring: panic begets sparks. Control begets calm.[/color]

[color=#808080]The water hammered a steady percussion against the base of his skull, the place where all his tension seemed to congregate, and he stood there until he felt the tight weave of his thoughts begin to slacken. Afterward, he turned the water off and stepped out, clearing a swath across the fogged bathroom mirror with the heel of his hand. After, he dressed with a focused purpose: a dark, slate-colored compression shirt, black training pants that ended just above his ankles, and the well-worn running shoes he’d packed on a whim back in Albuquerque. His fingers found the familiar shape of the bronze thunderbolt pendant at his throat, and he tucked it securely beneath his collar. [/color]

[color=#808080]His gaze then fell upon the jacket Tapeesa had left for him. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the fabric, before finally lifting it and pulling it on. The act felt like a quiet declaration, a refusal to fully accept the banishment her gesture had implied. As he settled the jacket on his shoulders, however, his knuckles brushed against the side pocket, feeling the stiff, forgotten shape within.[/color]

[color=#808080]Elias frowned, unzipping the compartment. Buried inside was a sealed plastic bag, its contents visibly deformed, and the shape within collapsed into an unrecognizable mass. He retrieved it, holding the bag up to the light. The sandwich was still technically there, though the bread had been compressed into a dense, damp slab, its edges darkened from prolonged confinement. A faint, yeasty odour escaped when he pressed the plastic, and for a long moment, all he could think to do was stare, the memory evading him. Then it returned with perfect, almost painful clarity: the low rumble of his stomach, the soft certainty in her expression, her hand slipping the bag into his pocket.[/color][color=#0bbdaf][i] “Just in case.”[/i][/color]

[color=#808080]At the time, he’d dismissed it as a generic kindness, the sort of maternal instinct she might extend to anyone looking slightly lost. He’d even felt a flicker of irritation, interpreting it as condescension. A snack for a stray. But in the stark light of this new day, he saw it differently. Perhaps it hadn’t been automatic at all. Perhaps it had been a specific, deliberate act of noticing [i]him[/i].[/color]

[color=#808080]There was a poignant, almost tragic simplicity to the object now—a small, tangible proof of a goodwill that felt like it belonged to another lifetime. It was utterly ruined, a sad little monument to a moment of connection that had not survived the night. And yet, its very existence here, in his hand, felt significant. It had endured their conflict, a silent witness to a kindness offered before the fallout.[/color]

[color=#808080]The absurdity of the situation was not lost on him. He had been ready to discard the jacket and everything associated with it, and yet here was this stubborn, physical reminder of a gentler interaction.[/color]

[color=#808080]Elias turned the bag over in his hand once more, then let out a soft, humourless laugh.[/color][color=#d4af37] “You’d probably kill me if I actually ate this,”[/color][color=#808080] he murmured to the empty room. The bag gave a rustle when he lowered it, its weight insubstantial but somehow heavy all the same.[/color]

[color=#808080]He carried it downstairs and knelt before the hearth. Easing the stove’s grate open, he revealed the embers within, still glowing with a deep, passionate heat. The obvious, clean solution was to consign it to the fire and to let it blacken and vanish into ash. A full stop.[/color]

[color=#808080]But he didn’t. [/color]

[color=#808080]It wasn't a matter of sentimental attachment exactly; he had never been one for holding onto things. It was, instead, a form of respect. Acknowledgment that the gesture itself still had value, even if everything that followed had gone wrong. That small act had at least outlasted their brief peace, and there was a strange dignity in its endurance.[/color]

[color=#808080]He rose, carrying the bag with him to the window. The glass was cool beneath his fingers as he set it down on the sill beside the outline of his earlier handprint. Morning light caught the plastic at just the right angle, scattering it in a fractured glimmer, and for one absurd moment, the ruined sandwich looked almost precious. A jewel made of memory.[/color]

[color=#808080]He turned from the window. The cabin now felt less like a place of banishment and more like a waypoint. Pulling the door open, he was met by a rush of cold that stung his lungs. The sun, though pale, was gaining strength, setting the frost on the path ablaze with a billion tiny points of light. He tucked his hands into his pockets and began to walk.[/color]

[color=#808080]The arena was not far. As he entered, the air shifted, becoming warm and thick as it had been the night of the party. A handful of other campers were already there, either scattered across the rows of benches that rose in a wide crescent around a central field where an obstacle course was arranged, or talking amongst each other to the side somewhere. Elias felt no intimidation at the sight of any of it, even the course, only a detached curiosity. He merely climbed the stands until he found an isolated spot midway up.[/color]

[color=#808080]He sat, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head as a makeshift pillow. He let his eyes fall shut, not to sleep, but to rest in the liminal space before the day truly began.[/color][/indent][/indent][hr][sub][color=9b9b9b][b][i]Location: Elias's Cabin-->Arena 
Interactions: N/A
Mentions: River, Tapeesa, everyone else already in the arena [/i][/b][/color][/sub]