A beautiful morning

A gentle breeze carries the scent of dawn,

Whispering the fragrance of blooming flowers and the sweet chirping of birds.

Indeed, it is a beautiful tapestry that paints a lovely morning.

Zion lies soundly asleep on a plush mattress,

One that seems to cradle him with a weight of its own,

Holding him tightly in its warm embrace.

"RingRingRing"

The alarm's relentless chime pierces the tranquility of his slumber,

Signaling the end of this blissful cocoon.

"Duarr"

With a swift motion, he strikes the alarm, silencing the cacophony

That disrupted his peaceful dreams.

"Damn, this alarm is truly annoying. Should I just destroy it?"

Yet a wave of responsibility washes over him,

"I need to wash my face first."

Zion's hand reaches out—a striking young man with smooth white hair,

Crimson eyes glinting like rubies, his physique perfectly proportioned,

Standing tall at 1.8 meters.

With such qualities, he should easily win hearts,

Yet he remains untouched by romance,

Unfamiliar with the flutter of first love.

Next month, he will turn 17,

And today marks his first day of high school,

Compelling him to rise earlier than usual.

"This morning is biting cold," he murmurs,

After splashing his face with water.

He steps into the shower, time slipping through his fingers,

Yet he rushes, knowing he must leave for school soon.

"Yes, this is sufficient," he decides,

Dressed and ready, he grabs a piece of bread,

Fueling himself for the day ahead,

Eager to leave, for this day holds promise.

"Ah, the fresh air, as invigorating as ever," he breathes in deeply,

Stepping through the apartment door,

Zion lives alone, raised by his aunt,

His knowledge of parents a mere shadow—

His aunt never spoke of them,

Only that she is the sister of his mother.

Her name is Linda, a kind-hearted woman,

Middle-aged and nurturing;

In his eyes, she is a mother,

The one who enrolled him in school and secured this apartment.

When he turned 16, he chose independence,

Yet he visits often, bringing treats for her daughter, Zia,

A sprightly 7-year-old with laughter that lights the room.

"This is truly exhausting," Zion sighs,

As he makes his way to school,

The distance stretching three kilometers,

Each step a reminder of the journey.

Of course, he walks—

Each footfall a complaint upon the pavement.

Frowning with fatigue, he grumbles,

"If I had known it would be this tiring,

I should have ridden my bike from the start."

Yet, having committed to this path,

Turning back now would be folly.

In the bustling urban landscape of Zenica,

Zion, weary, halts before a vending machine,

Purchasing a bottle of cold drink to quench his thirst.

"This beverage is divine; it washes away my fatigue," he exclaims,

Revitalized in the heart of this modern city,

Nestled in the country of Ravaryn.

It is the year 2018, a time of rapid technological advancement,

Where magic and the supernatural are but myths,

Yet Zion knows truths hidden from the masses—

He stumbled upon them by mere chance.

"It's time to go," he declares,

Finishing his drink and pushing forward,

His journey to school calling him onward.