"Good, good, stay still now. I'm gonna give you something that'll make you go to sleep, alright? It won't hurt, I promise."

He tried protesting as a needle sunk deep into the skin of his upper arm, his muscles tensing at the unwanted intrusion before relaxing completely. The drug eased through his system, slowly overriding his panic with a deep haze, the once white room slipping to pitch black.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

"Achoo!"

"Logan, dear, you have to cover your mouth," Mama scolded, eyeing him from the other side of the living room—technically the kitchen too since there was no door between the two areas.

"Yeah, sorry bout' that, Mama."

She only nodded in response, far too interested in her knitting. She had recently taken it up as a hobby, intrigued when the other women passing through the streets had told her it was "amazingly relaxing and rewarding." She was quick to listen, buying yarn from the vendors with the few chronocredits she kept for herself, and here she is now, knitting a sweater that could be compared to a drunkard's colorful vomit.

"Did Cy ever mention where he was going?"

"No, but he left a note," Mama responded, gesturing to the back wall of the kitchen. Sure enough, on the edge of the table was a ripped piece of paper, barely legible words scrawled in thick black ink.

'I'M GOIN TO MYRA'S

BE BACK SOON'

"Myra's?"

"Yeah, I was surprised," she responded, putting her needles down to examine her work before looking back towards him. "Did he seem sick to you?"

"He had a small cough, that's all. Didn't think he'd go to Myra's, but it must've been bothering him a lot."

"Ah, that makes sense," she smiled, looking back down towards her lap to continue her project.

He knew there was no point telling her.

He leaned against the back of the creaky old chair at the head of the dinner table, the wood groaning under his weight. Just a couple of hours ago, they were all laughing at this very table, Mama listening attentively to their awful recount of the past few hours, a colorful story about their beloved friends in the street. He had nearly choked to death from the banter and Cyrus' snide comments.

He softly sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, the redhead was right; he needed to figure out what was going on with his dreams. He hasn't had one of these particular episodes in a long time, and the fact that they came back so abruptly was worrying. Maybe he should've gone to Myra's as well?

He huffed at that thought, annoyed that Cyrus left without him. His brother told him himself that he should visit Myra, and he ends up leaving without him. Unbelievable. What happened to the younger Cyrus that took him everywhere and spared no secrets? They did everything together, running around and playing with empty wine bottles that littered the streets. They'd bust into fits of laughter every time they teased the drunkards, watching them wobble with their pants half down. The women absolutely loathed them, shuddering as they shut their windows to avoid being pelted with random foods. Child's play, many would say, but to them, those moments were like gifts.

In reality, infinity is a concept that you can only find in books or folktales. One of Miss Reyes' favorite stories took place in endless verdant gardens that hang above the tar sky. She called it paradise: a place humans created to appease their anxieties and look upon death as a means to a new beginning, a coping mechanism for mortal souls—Time's favorite playground and the embodiment of infinity. He remembers his younger self scoffing at the mere thought of a place like that. If only he paid more attention and read between the lines when he was younger.

"Oh twilight, Cy, that woman almost sent for the militia! What if we didn't make it?"

"Bah, you get too caught up in the 'what ifs,' Lo. We made it back in one piece, and be honest, you'd do it just to see her face again, wouldn't you?"

Cyrus' obnoxious laughter rings through his head like bells, chiming with the distant memories hiding in the far recesses of his mind. Where did Time and Cyrus run off to? He could only imagine them both giggling in one of those gardens from the story, leaving him only their laughter as a source of guidance.

He looked towards the locked front door, examining the shiny keys hanging off the rusted nail lodged deep into the wall. Standing under, he could recognize the hazy bronze form with unmistakable tufts of red hair that stood by the keys, turning back at him with a grin and crinkled golden eyes, a finger held up to his pink lips. Logan could only helplessly watch as the boy faded away, bronze and crimson morphing back to the dull beige walls of their family home.

He looked back at Mama with a blue smile, watching her knit with mechanical precision. His heart calmed with every stitch, a sort of dulling acceptance washing over him. If this was the role he was supposed to play, so be it. He'd continue playing as the seeker for the rest of his life if he had to. Cyrus would eventually come back on his own accord, and it would be like before.

He was never one to stay in the dark for long.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

He couldn't move.

The cold had practically bitten at all the nerves hiding under his skin, leaving him paralyzed and defenseless as he sunk deeper into the waters. He kept his mouth shut and eyes closed, listening to his slowing heart that was so unnaturally quiet he could feel death creeping from underneath. His gut was clenching uncomfortably as his mind screamed at the rest of his body to fight. It shrieked for so long for him to act—anything to get away from there.

"Where am I?"

He barely registered a slimy mass wrapping itself around his torso and jerking him down to the abyss faster than before, his head whipping with bone-breaking force. Fuck, what are the chances? He would've laughed at the futility of it all if it weren't for the fact that he'd choke to death.

It was vomit-inducing being dragged like a ragdoll, but he somehow kept his scrambled thoughts as clear as he could in his state.

His slowing heart was easy to decipher.

Badum

...badum

...badum.

The beat was hypnotic, almost lulling him to sleep like Mama or Miss Reyes' bedtime stories. Faster and faster, he could feel himself being pummeled farther down with no clear end, but he felt like he was practically floating in empty space.

Badum

...badum.

His mind started drowning in its own thoughts, its helpless screams fighting against waters of its own, slowly warping into incorrigible marine noises as if it were held hostage underwater. Should he send his final goodbyes? Even if they would never be heard?

The entity's sudden screeches wracked his core, but his body was motionless, showing no sign of fear.

I'm sorry for being a horrible excuse for a man, Miss Reyes. I hope you'll have it in you to forgive me for pissing you off whenever I stopped by. Also, it was me who ate your enchiladas before, not Logan.

I'm sorry I can't be your tea partner anymore, Mister Okoye. My stolen batch of white tea is hidden in the cupboard under the kitchen sink.

I'm sorry for being such a shit brother, L̴o̶g̵a̶n̴. I'll donate my height as a parting gift.

He wanted to chuckle at that one but quite literally could not breathe. One breath and it was all over—water would flood through and each of his

I'm s̷̹̚ȯ̵̫r̷̮͆r̷̙̅y̷̛̮,̷̠̈ ̷͕̽M̴̲͆a̶̢̍m̶͖͌ȃ̸̞ that I-

The pressure was unbearable.

I̵̛̙̮̟̯͍̲̹͌͗̈́̇̈́̎̀̈́'̴̡͍̙͕͙͓̾͐͋̓m̵̻͌̑͛͌ ̶̰̩̙̥̓͜͠ͅs̶̙̏́́̓̉̑̀̏̕o̴̢̻̲̐̋̎̈̀̏̒̾̄̾͝ͅ ̶̡̛͕̖̺͈̈̈́͐͐͛̾̓ͅs̸͕̜̜̫͎̤̠̗̉̈́̄̈́̀͒̎͛͜͜͝ͅǫ̷̢̻̹̥̬̘̳̺̎͌̐̄̉r̵̡͇̖̜͈̬͇̽̍̀̓̈́͒̐̆́̌ř̶̢̲̣̲̗̰̐͊̌͗̕ȳ̵̢̠̰̬̤̼͎̪͓̳̳̜͗̿ Please.

Come c̷͔͇̜̰̲͚̊l̷̺͍̠̪̕ö̶̲̤̥͍́͊̎̑͝s̴̜̳̫͇̗͑̃e̴̢̺͇̎r̶̰̩̐͛͜, L̷̨̦̓͐̽͛i̶̥̩̫̳̫̿͒̌̈́͝ṫ̷͎̞̞͎̋̈̽̕t̵̞̤͍̹̃͛ļ̸͓̮͔͓͉̃̚ͅe̶̢̱̰̲͖͊͋̂ͅ ̷͍͈͓̑̊̍̓̚͜H̸̡̼͓̍̌͒͌e̸͓̘̮̣͙̳͂̈́̋̿͐̿͂͜ř̷̖́͝o̶̠̦̯̤͑̌̊͋̕~

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."-g̸̡̬͕̬͍̱̱̥͈͊͒̈͊́͂͆͊̈́́̽́͛̀͗̽̀͗̔ơ̷̡̰̤̫͇̗̮̫̇͆̿̾͑̚i̶̢̨̯̦̥͉̪̦̳̮͚͈̖͋͐͊͆̉͊̒͐̂̏̎̀̈́̈́͐̋̆̌̆̅͒͋͛̌̈́̑̎̀͊͘͠͝ņ̵̡̖̘̟͍͓̤̼͕̮̟̘͖̺͕͕̬̯̣͍̖̜̩̹͚̰̺̦̮̖̖͍͖̗̣͙̥́̀̀̾̍̌̔́̿̒̓̍́̾̐̈́̓̽͌̄͒́͐̒̏̏̎̂͌͐͛̒̕͘͘͜͝͝͝g̴̢̧̢̡̺̫̬̥̺̫̳̬̞̝̝̱͇̻̬͎̙̠̣͖̮͇̯͈̫̯̬̈́̔̾̋͘̚ͅ ̷̡̧̨͔͈̣̥̱̠̣̪̖͈͙̳͎̺̱̞̟̪̳̦̺̭̘̫̦̪͕̪͍̤̇̇̿͗̆̓͜ţ̸̢͓͙͔̤̻̯͕̬̰͉̼̠͍̻̗͚̬̳̯͙̺͇͎̠̫͕͍̦̟̯̼̝̠̳̝̞͇͎̍̑́̎̐̑͆͑̈́́͆́̚o̵̩͚̯͉͓͍̲̟̻̣̱͎̫̦͖̼̜̗̣̮̬̙̮͆̂̿͋͊͋̏ͅ ̵̡̧̥͍̦͚̫̣͙͊̔͌̿ͅd̴̨͖͕̻̩̼́͗͐̽̄̃̄̈̽̈́͊̈͑̂̓̎̀̈̉͒̍̚̚͘i̷̧̧̢̛̛̞͙̬̖̠͉̜̳̮̠̞̠̮̲̪̗̤̲̫̘̦̣͈͕̠͎͖̲̬͇͔̼͙͙̰̘̺͕̔̆̓̏̓̂̈́́͊̂͋̔͜͜ͅe̴̛̫̤̲̗̥̞͎͖̞̩̤̠̫͓̱̖̫̬̪̭̰͕̪̘̭̜̓̿̽͗̔̂̔́̿͐̆̋̇̅̋͛̈̽͛̂́́͋́̓̀̈́̅͜͜͝͝ ̶̨̨̭͕͙̦͉̦̠͚͚̺͕̘͇͙͎̣͙̘̱̫̣̦̟̩̇̀̏̔̾̍͑͊͌́̈́́͐̐̄̎̆̚a̵̡̨̢̡͖̭̣̰͕̫̟̥̰͖̹̼̹̘̥̓̐̍̿̅̂̂̂̐́͊́̑̈́̄͗̅̈̌̉̅̍̇̀̅̽̋̔́̉͂̊̍̂̀͗̓̑̿̊̏͌̐̕̕ͅt̸̢̨͓̯̘̪͍̬̻͔̺̖͉̤̠͖͓̝͕̮̮͓̱͓͚̦͂͂̋̽̊̿̏͐̎̑̈̔̓̍ ̵̻͎̭͆̔̉̂̇́̅̓͗͒͑̑̾̕t̷̨̨̡̡̝͇̹̹̻̣̘̲̖̜̪̺͈̹̮̜͚̱͆̃͒̓h̸̡̳̲̦͖̟̞͙̯͖̰̲͚͇̞̼̱̣̫̋̓̎̊̀̎̽͗͌̽͌̎̏ͅͅį̸̢̨̢̛̝͈͉̫͎̠͕̱̘̬͈̘̤̜̳̙̱͓̄̽͂̏͗̏̊̌́͛͌̽̃͌̃͒͌͒̽̇̓͋͊̿̈́̇̌̚̕͘̚̚͘͜͠͝͝͝͠͠ͅs̴̡̨̛̪̩͙͖̦̙̬̘̗͇̰̫̘̦͇̣̗̝̩̬̭͉̯̲̠̪̟̣͖̬͚̺͙̬̻̘̱͚͜͜ͅ ̴̧̢̡̛̭̹̼͓͔͉̦̫̥̜̠̫̞̦̲̯͉̱͎̬̪̭̺̟̮̠̰̺̠̾́̉̈́̉̆̉̀͂̔̀̿̀̈̈́́̉̃̒̒̀͂̏̈̀̔̓̿̀͑̕͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅŗ̸̨̧̧̢̢̣͚̻͍̖̤̻̤͚͇͍̹͓̲̗͔͍̻̣̼͉̬͖̥͙͎̤͓̥͈͎̺̭̬͎̫̮͔̮̔͆̆̊̑͋͊̈̉͆̔͆͆̄̈́̊̓̓̉̎͆̇̉̆̈́̅̀̑̐͛̊̇̒͂̾͘͘̚̕̚͝͝͝͠͝͠ǎ̸̢͎̫̮̥̣̝͖̟̮̃̓͒͋̀̂̃͛̊͌t̴̨̨̧̡̛̯̫̙̖̦̦̲̻̥̺̮̦̖͓̪͚̪̙̻̦̗͍̜̹̬͒̉̍̀͊̈́̃͂̈́͊̈́̈̔̈́̑̓͑̅͗̀̈́̍̀͛͌̈́̽̄̈́͑͂̇͑̌͗̕͘̕͘͜͜͝͝ȩ̷̡̢̧̡̧̛̮̤̜̦̥̬̥͉͖̱͎̜͍̰̱̠̠̤̺͖͇̝̫̩̭͇̦̼̞͍̬͔̘̬̭̙̤̪͌̽̎̇̀͂̔͑̑͒̍̀̏̉͂̒͌̎́͂̈̀̓̃̊͒̌̍͗̌̕̚͝ͅ.̷̡̨̢̛̛͚̦̱͕̩̗͖͚̯͖̠̦͉͚̞̦̭͉̊̂̓̿́͛̐̿̑̔͋̒́̅̍̀͊͆͊̾̇͑̃͊̃̽̔̂̿́͛̇̈́̈́͗͑̂̃̌͗̚̚͜͝ ̸̛̥͖̺̤͙͍̤̹̙͖͎̝̓͋͛͗͑̐̆́̋̊͗̔̌͛́̒̌̏̿̃̌̀͑̀͒̃͒͌͆͛̑̾̋̍̚̕̚̚̚͠͝͠͝͠Y̷̧̧̨̡̨̹̗̻̹̟̼͎͔͓͙͉̼̥̹̤̲̫̮̻͙̱͓̣̬͇̞̩͎̖̜͕͕͈̣͇͔̐̾͋̈́̐̈́́͗̑͒̽͛̈́̇̆̚͜͜͠͝ͅǫ̵̛͙͍͉͚̻̦̩̮̞̥̰̺͙̦͖̭̘̙͊́̐͌̊̐̀͋̕͝ͅu̷̟̬̹͎̦̞͔̗͙̲̼̗̣̯͕͕̾̈́̓̌̎̀͒̊̚̕͜ ̶̜͚͔͉̹̫͇̫̠͚̬͉͎͍̙̳̝̼͚̖͎͇͚͉͆̓̓̋̔͐͗̒̏̈́̇̀̂͂̋̊͑̂̚͠͝ḩ̴̧̡̱̺̯̘̟͙̣̞̠̯̲̤͓̬̼̭̱̞̱͍͔̹̩̻͇͓̤̥̭͙͛͗̈́̕͜ͅa̵̧̨̱̫̦͚͈̘͙͚̺̹̟͙̯̖͙̦̽͑̋̿̉̓̅̊́̊̈́̓͂̉̍̂͆̌̄́̿́̃͋̾̑͛͛̽͑̂́̕͘̕͘̚̚̕͝͝͝͝v̷̨̨̧̛̛͎̖͙̲͚̰̰̪̹͙̬̜͙̥̩̣̝͕̙̼̜͇̘͉̬̬̤̥̞͂͒̈́̍̿̑̀̆͒̓̌̈́͑̒̽̈́͛͌̈̉͑͂́͛̈́̑̿̋̆̀̋̾͘͘̚͝͝͝͠ͅͅe̷̪̰͗̇̈́̍͆͗͑̉̄͒̓͗́͗̓̾̐̅̽̉̉̕͜ ̸̛̛͖̬̦̜̱̩̺͍͖͕̭͖̮̠̬̜͓̟͂͛̍̃̏̂̏͊͐͐͊͐͆̈̉͛̽͑̓̍͂̎͂́̀͗͗̓͗̾̂̅̐͘͜͝ͅṱ̷̨̨̢̻͚̼̬̰̲͎͔̲̹̟̙̗̤̠̹̺̻͔̥͓͖̳͓̼͓͓̘̹͓̣̂͗͆̆̈́̉̐̀͂́̔͆͛̾̀̈̊̆̈́͑̉́͋̌̀̉̿́̀̍͛́̂͛͘̚̕͝͠ͅȯ̸̡̨̡̨̢̧̫̠̫͇͇͍̣̜͉͖̰̖͕̜͈͉̘̖̞̫̲̟̪̞̫̤̹͈̦̤̟͉̦̏͗̎͑̓̓͌͗̌̾́͌͊̕͜͠ͅ ̷̡̧̢̤̣̥͚̱̮̹͍̘̟̺̝̩̲̹̝͈͙͔̮̤̙̼̬̝͙̹̱̮̙͔̪̼̖͓͓̫͈̑͋̓̈͋̍̀͆̅̇͊̿͜͝͝w̴̢̡̡̛̛̛̳̙͙̙̥̮̫̜̺͍͙̹̖͚̲͍̳̬̗͉̩̯̼͙͉̫͙̣̤͇͎̄́̌͐͆̀̂̽͐̓̾̀̀̀̅̾̀͂͗͛̊́̈́͆̿̒́̆̚͝͠͠ä̸̡̨̢͚̪̠̬͈͓͓͔̮́̔͌̿͋̏̍͑̂̌̓̒́̇͌͛̄̓͆͘͝ͅk̵̢̢̢̧͙͍͈͇̯͚̘͖̯͔͉̺͈̻̩̺̖͖̝̗͔̪͔̹̯͓̜͙̯͉̩͍̣͔̯̥͈̿͆̆̒̅̀́̀e̸̡̛̛̩̫̠̖̖͉̐͐͗̊̽̾̑͒̈͂̆̆̌̐̀̒̾̀̿́͛̽̆̔̄͊̍̊͒̆̀̉̈̾̏̓͘̕͘͘͠͝͝ͅ ̷̡̡̨̧̨̼͔͚̬̭̯̣̰͇͖̻͚̰̼̻͚̮̥̬̭̮͎̣͈͖̥̗̮̳͚̞̦̭̗̔͆͛̑̄̾͑̚̕͜͜͝ͅͅͅḩ̵̨̛̖͎̬͕̲̦͙͚͍̯̗̱͙̝̳͓̮̞̫͖͕͙̦̠̱̞͖̦̠̹̬̜͚̯̲̗̭͚̘͇͑̊̈́̎̀̉̉͗͌͗͑͒͛̀̓̀͐͑̾̀̃̒̑̀̈͑̚̚͠͝ì̸̮͕̜̪͍̱͊͛̓͒̑͆͒̍̒̉̽͋͐̿̈́̏̀̽̕͝͝m̴̨̢̟͚̘̥͇̤̼̼͍̻͖̞̮̘̤̣̩̻̙̳̠̠͓̰̲̿̀́̆̀̒͑͊̀́̏͊͑̍̎̇͛̆̌̾̐̅͌͂̾͛̇͛̄̂͐̒̏̇̀̒͘̚͜͝͝͠ͅ ̷̢̨̨̡̧̡̛̫̜̲̳̯͎̰̫̘̗͕͚̱͚͇̤͖̺̮͉̫̰͎̝̪̰̠̟̥͓̬̠̬͛̒̅͊̓͑̀̽͆̓̒̂͒̐͑̄͊̍̌̃̍̾́̀̇̈͑̃͐͘͘͜ͅͅǘ̷̡̬͔̩̹̻̹͔͉͍͈͙̜̫͍̜̘͚͇͍͍̝̞̟̗̓̀̐͐̈́̎͐̏̓̄͆͑̎p̴̧̧̢̡̙̱͖͓͎̺͓̜̼͍̦͖̠̙̫͖͎̤̗̬͉̭̜͚͈̰͚͈̳̙̪̠͕̲̀̈́͜.̶̢̡̛̹̰̥͎͎͖̤͎̯̗̘̬̬͉͍̺̗̈́͐̅̌̌͂͊̓͊͐̊͊̀̏̌̓̆̍̉͊̈́̃͛͋̚̚̕̚"

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His eyes split open.

What was salt-ridden water just moments ago was now an emptied oasis, leaving his vision perfectly clear and unblurred. His thoughts flooded through his head like a broken dam as the weight inside vanished. Was his mind playing tricks? His lungs burned from holding his breath, and his only option was to let go. With a heavy heart, he took a hesitant breath, preparing himself for the worse—he was relieved to find his lungs filled with fresh air, not water.

What just happened? He scanned the area, his previously paralyzed limbs now moving as if he was walking in Lenlyo, free from oppressing waters.

He felt his body slow down as he approached the bottom, his feet making contact with the roughened rocks that littered the floor: the bottom of the abyss that practically swallowed him whole. He looked down at his feet, watching as the black mass from before slowly retreated from his skin with a slight hiss. He could hear the entity's form slink away into the shadows but chose not to look back, fearful of what he might see. Considering he had already lost his breakfast on the way down, he really wasn't interested in dealing with another vomit-filled episode.

Unlike before, there was a significant landmark a few miles away among the endless blue. The ominous site loomed in the distance, fuzzed out at the edges like a blurry memory. A place that seemed so out-of-place that it gave the impression that it simply wasn't supposed to be there. It looked like a trap, baiting its victims with its unexpected appearance and calling them to visit like lambs to slaughter.

Turn around, Cyrus.

And go where? As he stared at the scene around him, he almost felt like the emptiness was closing in, waiting for his next moves. Go on, it mocked, walk forward.

So he walked.

He walked for what felt like days, the site slowly growing more decipherable. Cyrus could almost hear Logan yelling at him, advising him to walk away, but he just couldn't. He wanted—no needed to know. The familiarity felt horribly right, and the gut-wrenching feeling digging in his stomach told him approaching this unknown was important. And considering the hell he'd been through to get down here and the fact that he has no way to leave, what else could he really do?

He looked up to find imposing crystalline structures hanging from what seemed to be a cave's entrance like fractured glass, his distorted features adorning the nephrite colored spikes with splashes of brown and red.

As he pushed on, he listened to his steps bounce off the cavern walls and farther down the cave in awe. Unlike Lenlyo, the cavern was completely empty, void of bustling streets and loud people and full of a dull silence. There were only green structures, jagged shapes protruding from the floor, and his loud footsteps to keep him company. Whatever was here surely knew he was coming with how loud his steps had been, and he could only curse his stupidity.

A sense of dread hung over his form, promising impending doom as he slowly walked farther into the cave. The walls grew narrower as he ventured deeper inside, crystals nearing closer and closer to his wary form. The air felt unbearably cold, biting at his neck like it was hostile, angry at his presence. He could hear voices nagging at the back of his head, but something kept his legs from stopping. Was it fear? Maybe the curiosity was goading his movements? The answer remained unclear as he watched his distorted reflections slowly fade the deeper he went, vibrant green minerals fading to darker versions of themselves.

Miss Reyes sat him and Logan down on one bland evening and spent nearly an entire night babbling about a tale from her childhood. He remembers falling asleep halfway through, as the plot grew more muddied and confusing as it continued. In the beginning, the story seemed simple enough: A lazy, young child who lived with his mother in a faraway land known only as "China" and who is recruited by his supposed father's brother, Mustapha, to retrieve a magic lamp within the depths of a cave. He gave the child his golden ring, explaining that it was a gift from his father, and the boy took his bluff.

In actuality, Mustapha was nothing more than an alias for a crooked magician's greed. When the child retrieved the lamp, it was no surprise when the cave trembled and started to fall apart. The boy managed to climb back up to the cave's entrance, but the magician, whose real name was Maghreb, refused to help unless he handed over the lamp. As he reached for the golden piece hanging out of his ragged pockets, the boy lost his grip and tumbled down to the floor of the cave.

Cyrus's heart lurched as he realized he almost tripped on thin air. He looked down in surprise, eyeing the steep stairs that abruptly cut from the main cave. The steps looked like they were cut by knives, each edge glinting with razor-sharp perfection. They looked horribly slippery, and whoever designed this decided a railing was useless, almost encouraging whoever dared to venture deeper down to accidental death. "This better be worth it," he hissed under his breath, taking a careful step forward onto the falling stairs. The first, crystal-like step crackled under his weight, painful moans echoing in the darkness and sending shivers down his spine. "Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down," he mumbled as he pressed on, holding his arms out for mock balance and support. The faster I get out of this, the better.

"The young boy, scared and alone, tried to rub his hands for warmth. The fates seemingly took pity on the boy, as he watched in awe as his hands glowed with other-worldly light, summoning something god-like from the unseen world. Can y'all guess what it was?" Miss Reyes asked, smiling at the two boys seated in front of her.

"A fairy!" A younger Logan exclaimed with a bright smile.

"Why are we reading this?" A sleepy Cyrus grumbled, rubbing his bleary eyes.

"Oh, hush you. Go to sleep if you're that tired." Miss Reyes glared. Cyrus took her advice and leaned his head on his brother's shoulder, quickly falling to sleep like a baby. Logan adjusted his position, looking back up to her with curious eyes.

"What was it, Miss Reyes?"

"It was a being known as a jinn, dear."