Sebastian will never understand how the people here act so nonchalant about a gargantuan space behemoth constantly watching over their entire local cosmos. The Cosmic Serpent dominates above, sprawling over more than half of the night sky. Its very presence makes Sebastian uneasy; no matter where he looks, it’s always there, always watching. Any moment could be the end of his new home. Any moment could be the end of everything he now knows.

The soft wind blows against his face, into his ears, and through his hair; something he’s glad was able to stay in this world. He never thought that he would miss the sounds of the bugs at night, or the flying birds overhead. He never thought that he would miss cars honking at odd hours, or trains driving by, waking him up at dawn. But he always knew that he would miss the calming, chilly wind at night. At least, that’s what he believes; he can’t remember.

The kids in front of him seem to be doing fine. They push each other, run around, and giggle obnoxiously; class just ended, and they’re more joyous than ever. Given it’s a festival day, their excitement is quite defendable. Supposedly, when the Cosmic Serpent is close enough to Blue Moon that it lights its night sky, it’s a cause for party.

Each of these kids has a distinct difference—not just a human nuance, a celestial difference. One has bright and beautiful long hair that floats upwards, as if unaffected by gravity. Another seems to be able to manipulate the temperature around her, making it warm or cool for her friends accordingly. Another seems to never have a consistent form. Another has eyes so bright that he has a bandana covering them, and yet, he can still see just fine. Last but not least (and they make that very clear), another is generating iridescent light beams that are bouncing between each of them; an intriguing (and probably unfair) way of playing tag.

Sebastian tightens his backpack straps.

Since he isn’t able to participate in class, there’s nothing in his backpack—but, the combination of it and his hoodie acts as his armor. It makes him feel protected, so he wears it most everywhere he goes.

Though, it feels odd to be wearing a backpack considering the mystical elements of his new home. And yet, he lives somewhere that feels so familiar. Just behind him is a perfectly intact secondary school building (albeit the architecture quite odd), and just in front of him are kids playing with the divine, and a colossal space beast watching them do so. If he could scream, he would, but he had his fair share of screams when he first arrived a couple weeks ago.

The group of kids turn at the sidewalk, as expected. Everyone is going around the block to a local dinery hosting the festival. Nate told Sebastian that no one really celebrates, it’s just an excuse to have a day off and party. Nate’s the only reason that Sebastian is going; he reminds him of someone no longer known.

Many others are walking down the main street of the neighborhood toward the end of the block. Each and every person celestially unique in their own way—except Sebastian. His Rauror is dormant.

His Rauror has never communicated with him like all the others are describing. He has no divine power like all the others are exhibiting. He has nothing special about him, like all the others do. Every person he’s met has described a fascinating experience that they’ve had, and Sebastian has only experienced fear, confusion, and wetting himself in bed his first night.

Just as Sebastian turns at the corner, he realizes that the other students are now nowhere to be seen. In fact, the street is entirely empty. He must have stalled for too long, and everyone’s already arrived at the festival. Sebastian has never been completely alone outside until now.

Clip, clop.

All the sounds around him begin to amplify. The rhythm of his footsteps. The rustling of the leaves. The laughs and screams from the festivities.

As leaves rustle and sticks crumble, Sebastian’s mind gets louder and louder. The many variations of his voice in his head tell him to watch out, be careful. The street isn’t lit, and anything could be before him. Anything could be watching.

Something tugs at his backpack. His heart stops and he whips around. Nothing. His heart starts back up, pounding like a piston. He does a few complete turnarounds, scanning his surroundings.

“It’s not worth your time to ask questions,” Nate would say. “Because you’ll likely never get the answer to them.”

It’s things like these that make Sebastian want an active Rauror. He doesn’t want to show it off. He doesn’t want to learn to use it. He doesn’t want to “connect with the world.” He wants to feel safe in this realm of chaos. If he could eternally hide in his hoodie, he would.

Sebastian tightens his backpack straps.

He hesitantly continues his voyage down the main road, turning his head at every given moment. After every click and after every crack, Sebastian’s pace increases.

His gut recoils as he flicks his hoodie. Nothing but a slew of sparkles puff off him and fade into the night. Imaginary pixies poke at his skin, and all he can do is frantically itch.

He scouts his surroundings on every axis. After each head turn and each gut churn: it’s only ever him and himself.

Another tug, another slip; one at his hood, one at his hip. He repeats the same routine, and to no avail: nothing. At each tear from his armor, sparks burst out and circle around him, trying to keep up with him as he runs.

Sebastian’s feet pound at the concrete as frigid air forcefully fills his lungs. In through the nose, out through the mouth—that lasts about five seconds before he starts heaving. His knees pop with each stride, wearing away with each step.

Darkness only grows as ethereal forces try to break away his armor. His backpack gets heavier. His hoodie gets warmer. He’s only so far from the diner, and yet it feels like the length between here and there only grows further and further.

Another tug at his backpack, and it suddenly feels weightless. Another tug at his hoodie, and they suddenly become one.

Just a little farther.

Sebastian pants, hands on his knees. He stands just outside the diner. His skin feels frizzy, his vision is hazy. His hoodie feels like it’s not even there.

He tries to calm his breath, and he gasps at each attempt. This damned world hates him, he says to himself, and now his body does too. He could have made an excuse, or simply said no—but he chose to do this to himself. He squeezes his eyes shut as his grip tightens.

“Sebastian,” calls a growly voice just behind his ear.

He leaps forward, spins around, and shrieks. His heart chokes. His eyes widen. His breath stops.

Sebastian’s backpack straps tighten.

His remaining pieces of armor give their final tug as they tear into a thousand pieces. The flocks of felt swirl around him at incredible speeds as the dark void fills the gaps between. The cowl of night finishes completion and consumes Sebastian whole.

He floats in the air, our physics amuck; his hoodie now gone, his backpack now sunk.

Everything’s gray, and everything’s bright; he’s wrapped in his armor, erased from their sight.

Outside of their world, yet inside it too; he hides in his circle, separate from their view.

He faces the beast, accepting his fate; yet he’s not deceased, as it’s only Nate.

It seems this whole time, it called from within; now it is alive, as he was wishing.

He thought that he’d go into his descent, but now he can see the Cosmic Serpent.