He was only half aware of the insistent beeping of the phone beside him, groggily thinking that the siren in his dreams was real. Or, was he still asleep? Perhaps he was awake. It was hard to tell. He loathed the few minutes in the early morning when his foggy mind couldn’t tell the difference between truth and reality—when he was unable to tell apart the blankets brushing against his skin from a suit of armor, the few rays of sunlight that seeped through his blinds from a raging fire, or the desk that sat beside his bed from a solemn dragon.

It’s not that he disliked the confusion these few quiet moments brought on; no, not at all. He did dislike, however, when the sound of his alarm finally burst through the fog, and he was forced to accept that he wasn’t what his dreams promised him. He was only another sleepy teenager, grumbling as he threw off his blankets to get ready for school.

He went through the same exact routine he did every morning, save for the weekends: get up, brush his teeth, throw on a freshly washed T-shirt and jeans, and eat a bowl of Mini-wheats that was hardly appealing, even in the morning. He much—really—preferred Reese’s Puffs, but his mom refused to buy them anymore, claiming they were ‘going to give him a million cavities’. It aggravated him a little; after all, he was a little too old for his parents to be dictating what he ate. But he kept his mouth shut, like he usually did, in hopes that he wouldn’t stress out his already exhausted-from-work mom.

Before he knew it, he was standing outside of his house, waiting for school bus 21, which was always late. He figured it was because the bus driver never failed to have a donut in hand in the mornings, and couldn’t find it in himself to begrudge the man for wanting something to boost his energy when he had to watch over a rowdy group of kids. And he could appreciate the fact that even if the man was late, he was at least consistently late, always arriving at 7:25 sharp.

He took a glance at his watch—his grandfather had given it to him, and despite that the popularity of wrist watches was much lower than it had been in the old man’s day and age, he couldn’t find it in his heart to just toss it in a drawer and let it become another knick knack. Anyway, it wasn’t terribly bulky, and it’s dusty golden color reminded him of the leaves on a tree he just couldn’t draw right the other day. It was the one right outside his window. A group of baby blue birds had recently hatched on one of the branches nearer to the house, and he was unable to resist the urge to draw them flapping their tiny wings and squawking at their mother.

He did pretty good job, too, if he said so himself. Though it took a while, he managed to perfect the look of confusion on one of the chick’s faces as it stared at him, and blend together different shades of blue to make it’s feathers really pop out. But, no matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to get the color of the leaves right. Being rather early in the fall, the leaves were a blend of different tints of gold and red, adding a certain brightness to the dull bark and grass when the wind caught them in its grasp.

Drawing was one of the few pastimes he could actually claim to wholeheartedly love—not to say he was the best at it. If someone told him to sit down and draw, say, a bowl of fruit, he wouldn’t be able to do. He could draw it fairly accurately, of course, but the drawing wouldn’t have any of his perspective; which was what made art so special in the first place. Only when he looked at something and felt a click in his mind, as if everything made sense, did he truly get the urge to let his pencil and paints take over.

Maybe if he tried a different method of shading he could finally color to leaves right? Or, perhaps he could leave them black and gray, to contrast with the vibrant blue of the birds? But he really wanted to capture the way the leaves looked in the sunlight. . .Maybe he could—

A sharp honk sounded right in front of him, causing him to flinch and stiffen much more than the scare actually warranted. He quickly lowered his gaze, unwilling to meet the amused stares of the kindergartners at the front of the bus. It’s not as if this was an unusual occurrence. He tried to pay attention, he really did, but he always ended up getting lost in his thoughts—much like one would get lost in a maze—and subsequently missing the arrival of the large vehicle.

He kept his eyes on the ground as he trudged up the steps of the bus, saying a rushed ‘good morning’ to the bus driver, who tried to mumble a reply through his chocolate glazed donut. He sat where he always sat, the fifth seat back on the right. It’s not as if they had assigned seats or anything, but he always sat there, and felt a little off whenever it was taken and he was forced to sit elsewhere.

He finally lifted his gaze once he got comfortable, or however comfortable someone could get in the leather seats, and was immediately met with bright, excited blue eyes. It didn’t startle him, though, because he had been expecting it. The little boy that sat in front of him, who had loudly introduced himself as ‘Xander the First Grader’ the first time they met, had a habit of sitting on his knees and leaning over the back of his seat whenever the older boy sat down.

“Hey, hey!” Xander grinned widely with the loud greeting, before putting his hands over his mouth and laughing, as if he had just told a joke. “Hey, Rom! Guess what I have today?”

Rom winced as the kid’s sharp voice hurt his ears, adding to all the other chatter already taking place. But, he still offered faint smile to the boy, unable to actually be irritated. After all, Xander was one of the only people even remotely close to his age that he consistently talked—the first grader had moved in a house down the street last year, and their dads had hit it off quickly, sharing a love for the same hockey team.

“What is it?” Rom raised his eyebrows. “Another chocolate bar? Or maybe two?”

Xander only rolled his eyes in response, sticking out his tongue. “Noooo. Only you get that excited over chocolate!” He cleared his throat, lifting his chin slightly. “I have something way, way cooler.”

Before Rom could even hope to respond, Xander had already shoved a small object in his face, his grin back to full voltage. “See, see? Tell me how awesome it is!”

The skin around Rom’s eyes wrinkled as he squinted. It looked like any ordinary plastic T-Rex—but, wait, if he looked closer, he could in fact see that each tiny scale was a different color that seemed to reflect the light that shone on it. Even the beady black eyes were painted a swirl of varying shades of black and gray.

Rom couldn’t help but be a little impressed at the figure. He was a sucker for art, after all. He let out an impressed whistle before looking back up. “Handmade. . .?” He asked.

“Yup, yup, yup~” Xander winked at him, or at least tried to. It was more of a twitchy blink. “I knew you would see its greatness, Rom! You’re very perpe. . .cepive? Perplex. . .”

Rom resisted the urge to laugh, knowing it would only aggravate the boy. “Perceptive?” He offered, used to Xander’s jumbled vocabulary by this point.

“Yeah, that! You’re very that!” Xander rose the dinosaur higher up in the light, causing its scales to almost have an ethereal glow. “My dad made it for me. I had to beg him for ageees, you know? He’s so lazy! Oh, wait,” The boy took a moment to breath, before starting up again.

“I bet you could make something just as awesome! You’re like. . .like an art wizard! I bet you could make a real dinosaur.” Xander bared his teeth in an imitation of what a dinosaur would look like, showing off one of his missing front teeth.

Rom let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, right. Let me get right to that. Hmm. . .” He tapped his chin, as if he was actually contemplating it.

“I’ll need  a lizard, some bird eggs, a few four leaf clovers, and a couple of teeth. Oh. . .and probably a sacrifice for good measure. Dinosaurs get really hungry.” He let his eyes widen for comical effect. “I heard they think little kids are really yummy. Especially ones by the name of Xander.”

Xander shook his head wildly, nearly dropping the toy dinosaur in the process. “Eww, no! I’ll stick with my nice, dinosaur-that-doesn’t-eat-me, okay?” It came out as a question, as if he was really afraid Rom would make a T-Rex that would eat him.

Rom let his shoulders sag, letting a puff of air pass his lips in feigned disappointment. “Darn. I’ll have to find another sacrifice, then.”

Xander’s face scrunched up as he opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short when a sharp crash simultaneously filled the air and jerked the bus. Rom barely had time to blink before the bus was flipping onto its side. The moment was almost serene, as if it was a slow-motion scene in a movie, before a few high-pitched screams broke the tranquility.

Rom was barely managing to hold onto his seat before the gravity of the moment caught up with him. His eyes locked with blue for the second time that morning, before Xander was pitched forward over his head. Rom opened his mouth in a shout of surprise, but no sound came out. He tried his utter best to turn around and catch the boy, but lost what little grip he had on his seat.

He could hardly register where he was as his body was sent flying into the opposite wall of the bus as it continued to roll. And then to the roof. And then—he didn’t even know anymore, and the only thing he could grasp onto was the sharp pain in his leg and blur of colors that seemed to engulf him.

And just like that, the confusion came to a sudden halt. Though his head was still spinning, he didn’t feel like his body was being tossed around any longer, which was probably good. It did take him a few moments to register where he was, though. His legs and head were kind of numb, but he could feel the glass and gravel pressing into his hands, and he could clearly see the calm blue of the sky above him. Somehow, he had landed outside of the bus.

He let out a choked groan as he turned his head to the side, trying to spot where the bus had finally stopped. If it had stopped. Xander. Xander had flown right over his head—he was so small, Rom could’ve grabbed him, should’ve grabbed him.

Rom was unable to spot the sharp yellow of the bus, though. Whether because it was out of sight or his vision was too blurry, he wasn’t sure. He did, however, catch the sight of his reflection in one of the jagged pieces of glass beside him. Green eyes and a messy mop of brown hair that was concerningly mingled with red greeted him. He tried to make sense of his appearance, his thoughts too mingled with the fog that only seemed to come when he first woke up from a dream. But he hardly had a chance, before his reflection was replaced with a blue that seemed far too dark to be the sky. A blue that had an odd glint and jaggedness to it.

He turned his dimming gaze back to the sky—or, what had been the sky. Now, he met the eyes of a creature that had only appeared in his most exciting dreams and most horrific nightmares. His gaze met eyes that were so different from that of Xander’s dinosaur figure, so different from any he had seen before. Yet, the blue shade of the orbs almost seemed familiar. Well, almost, if the eyes hadn’t belonged to what he could only call a dragon. And as if the events that had just transpired in the past few minutes finally caught up to him—or this was really all just some cliche movie—he promptly passed out

___________________________________________________

She groaned into her pillow as sunlight shone in through the window, reflecting off the crystal floor and right into her face. Gods, she hated dreaming. She wished, for once in her life, she could just fall asleep and wake up the next morning without any muddled visions clouding her thoughts. And this morning, it was made even worse by the dull throb that seemed to pulse through her mind.

With a quick intake of breath, she sat up, her woolen blankets falling to the floor in one swift motion. She jumped out of bed just as hastily, knowing if she lingered the urge to fall back asleep would be too strong. She simply stood there for a moment, letting the sunlight from the open window soak into her skin, and the smell of bread cooking from downstairs calm her headache.

Her nose wrinkled in distaste as her gaze landed on a clunky pile of metal in front of her door. Armor, to be exact. She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, letting a frustrated sigh pass her lips.

“Didn’t I tell you, Sercan?” She murmured to the air, her enunciation growing sharper with each word. “I don’t need that flimsy junk you call armor.” Honestly, though, she wasn’t surprised. Whenever, and she means whenever, Sercan got an idea in her head, it was almost impossible to persuade her to just stop. Well, it wasn really no matter. She didn’t plan on wearing the ridiculous outfit.

Instead, she crouched in front of the woven basket beside her bed, pulling out one of her few treasures. One of her dearest gifts. It was a simple tunic, much less noticeable than the shiny armor that laid a few feet away, but instead of metal or cloth it was covered with a rather different material. Varying shades of blue scales were sewn into every inch of the shirt, causing it to almost ripple like water whenever it moved. Yes, this armor was a million times better, and would protect her from almost any stray Luxbris that dared to come her way. Her eyebrows drew together in distaste as she caught her reflection in the scales.

Her brown hair was as messy as usual, sticking this way and that all on its own. Honestly, maybe she should just let Sercan cut it all off. Or, actually, that might be a rather bad idea. At least, even though her head was still throbbing, the green in her eyes kept the glow that even the intense blue of her shirt couldn’t dull.

She let out a puff of breath before slipping the tunic over her head—much easier to get on than metal armor, naturally—and bounding over to the stone encircled window. For the first time that morning, she grinned, the sight below equivalent to a warm ‘good morning’. Dragons and humans alike, each of various shapes and sizes, dotted the fields below and beyond.

One of the larger dragons, with multi-colored yellow and brown scales, sat up straight and flicked her tail as both small dragons and toddlers slid down her back. Another dragon—not nearly as big, but getting there—watched the scene with a tall, bulky man. They glanced to each other every so often, as if they were sharing a conversation.

A shout drew her attention to two girls practicing their Viropiko a few meters away, their wooden staffs quietly thudding against each others as they spun and swung at one another. The shorter girl’s moves were noticeably more clumsy than the others, not quite having the same measured force and direction. A small dragon, a little past the age of those playing with the toddlers, danced around them in a circle, swinging his tail as if to cheer clumsier girl on.

She pressed her palms to the window sill, the sun-soaked stones warming her skin. She couldn’t wipe the goofy grin off her face as she watched the scenes below for a few more moments, almost seeming as if she would jump out the window to join in on them.

Yes, she hated dreams. She didn’t need to be in make-believe adventures or create her own world to do as she pleased. She didn’t need an escape from the reality she lived in. And she certainly didn’t need to know where she had seen a boy with eyes as green as her own before. She didn’t care. Because, she had everything and more she could ask for here, the world she occupied while she was awake.

There was nothing more she could ask for.