Zorion was fast asleep in the back of the luxurious bus, slumped against the window like a man who'd finally given up on finding company his age. His dreams were light, filled with fragments of awkward silences and uncracked jokes from earlier that day.
Then—just before the bus pulled out of the station—a voice broke through the hum of the engine.
"Wait, wait! Two more!"
A guy and a girl, barely twenty by the looks of it, hopped aboard with hurried apologies and tired smiles.
Zorion's eyes snapped open.
He hadn't felt this kind of joy since free dessert came with his lunch order once by mistake.
Narrator (dryly):
> They scanned the half-empty bus for seats, blissfully unaware of the aura of social repulsion surrounding the last row—where no soul had dared sit near Zorion all day.
And yet, as if fate—or cruel comedy—had a plan, the young couple strolled all the way back and plopped down beside him, claiming the two seats next to the lone misfit of the trip.
Zorion blinked.
"I don't care who they are... This bus ride just got interesting."
The guy slid into the seat beside Zorion with the ease of someone who didn't sense danger—yet.
"I'm Sathvic," he said with a friendly nod. "And this is my friend Alethea."
Zorion focused on the word friend more than he should.
"Friend, eh?" A mischievous expression stole every inch of real estate his face had to offer.
"Hey Alethea, what shortcomings does he need to improve to be more than just friend, hmm?"
Then, like he hadn't just dropped a conversational grenade, he added casually,
"I'm Zorion, by the way."
Narrator:
> Zorion's life would be at least 70% less complicated if someone just cut off his tongue.
Any volunteers? Let's all cheer for Sathvic.
Sathvic, understandably, paused—unsure whether to laugh or scan the bus for a new seat.
But Alethea, unfazed and quick on the draw, tapped her temple playfully with a finger.
"Shortcomings?" she echoed. "Well… it's a two-day trip, right? That should be just enough time to list them all. You in?"
Zorion cracked up.
Alethea joined in, grinning like she'd just found her comedy partner in crime.
Sathvic blinked.
He'd been verbally mugged and left behind by both his travel companion and a stranger in under a minute.
He coughed—a weak defense mechanism against the rising roast symphony these two had created—and tried to offer a comeback.
"Well, love is about accepting each other's shortcomings anyway," he said, adjusting his collar like it gave him dignity.
Alethea glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, one eyebrow raised.
"Yeah, but getting your ego bruised by jokes isn't a shortcoming I can comply with, you know?"
Sathvic raised a finger. "I didn't get affected by a joke."
Zorion leaned in, that same smug grin returning.
"You clearly did."
Narrator:
> Poor Sathvic. He signed up for a road trip and ended up on a roast tour.
Then Alethea's gaze drifted, and something caught her eye—just barely poking out from Zorion's pocket: a sliver of gold, shimmering at the edges.
"Wait… what?" she said, leaning in with a mix of shock and accusation. "Is that a VIP box ticket?!"
Her eyes widened.
"What are you—son of a politician or a mafia boss?"
She squinted thoughtfully.
"Well... both are kinda the same these days anyway."
Zorion laughed, slightly nervous but genuinely amused.
He appreciated her cancelable humor more than he should.
"I'm no big shot," he admitted. "Actually got fired recently, believe it or not."
He reached into his pocket and pulled the ticket out, letting it gleam like a treasure.
"Won this in a lottery. Had only 100 bronze coins left when I bought the ticket."
Sathvic perked up. "Well, I also won our ticket, as a matter of fact."
Zorion gave a look. "Lottery?"
Sathvic saw his moment—his redemption arc in this chaotic trio.
"You won yours in a game of chance. I won mine in a game of skill," he said, adjusting his posture like a proud scholar. "It was a journalism competition. We had to write articles on recent or famous historical events."
He sighed, finally scoring a point in the conversation scoreboard.
Zorion leaned forward, intrigued. "Oh? What did you write about?"
Sathvic nodded, glad someone finally cared. "The Indra-Zaherra war that started twenty-five years ago. Of course."
Alethea chimed in, nudging Sathvic slightly, "Mr. Sathvic here is an aspiring journalist."
Zorion whistled, impressed. "Woah. And are you an aspiring journalist too?"
A question. So simple. But it made Alethea's smile falter for a split second.
Her gaze dropped. Her shoulders sank, just enough to notice. She tried to mask it quickly, but not fast enough.
Narrator:
> Zorion wasn't the sharpest empath in the drawer, but even he saw that dip.
Zorion, internally panicking: Crap. Did I trigger some PTSD or something?
He quickly changed gears.
"Well, well—not everyone's meant to be a journalist. Takes a rare kind of masochism, right?"
Alethea let out a soft, genuine laugh—small but real.
Sathvic stepped in, giving her a little help.
"She's actually a duo football player. Was all set to play in the Women's Equinox Series this year."
Zorion looked at Alethea, now more curious.
Sathvic continued, more gently this time. "But last year, during under-20 training camp…"
"I got tackled," Alethea interrupted with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Badly. Needed almost a year of rest. I'm fit now but… my spot, well… it's gone."
She let that hang for a beat.
Then, flashing a brighter expression, she added, "But I'll come back. Give me a few years."
They kept talking. The kind of conversations that stretch into hours without anyone realizing. Jokes. Dreams. Pain. Hope.
They shared stories that usually take years to come out.
By the time the bus rolled over the hills toward the border, the three of them were no longer strangers.
They were survivors of the same long ride—
and, unknowingly, the opening act of something bigger.
Scene: Zaherra — Morning Of The Match Day
Eirene leaned back in her chair, sipping warm tea as the soft hum of the city filtered through the open windows. The morning sun painted golden lines across her table.
"Today's the match day, Eucliea," she said, casually glancing at her.
Eucliea nodded earnestly. "Yes. And I'll be going with you to the stadium."
Narrator:
> Poor Eucliea. Still feeling the need to earn forgiveness for not sitting through the match with Eirene.
Eirene slapped her forehead with theatrical annoyance. "Just go with Phylax, kiddo. I'm fine."
"But—"
"No buts." Eirene cut her off mid-sentence. "I've got a meeting with some of the party heads about, you know, national-level boring stuff. You go ahead without me."
Eucliea pouted slightly, still not fully convinced. "You're not mad, right?"
Eirene rolled her eyes. "Of course not."
Inner Monologue:
> This girl's only purpose in life is to prepare me for motherhood before I even think of becoming a mother. What a child.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Sathvic: Age - 22
A clean-cut, sharply dressed guy with a strong jawline and well-maintained dark hair. His medium-sized eyes are sharp and observant, always scanning his surroundings. Slightly taller than Zorion, he carries himself with calm confidence.
Alethea: Age - 19
A girl with soft brown hair that frames her symmetrical face. Her large, expressive eyes are full of curiosity and warmth. She always wears a bracelet on her wrist and a thin necklace around her neck, both simple but meaningful.