Prologue

"After nearly 18 long years, here I stand again, hardly believing it's real. In the days leading up to my return, I couldn't shake off the doubts. Stories had swirled around this place, whispers of its magic, its uncanny ability to soak in every bit of sorrow and emotion. 

As I stand here now, wounds aching, blood staining my skin, I lean against the tree's rough bark. Some say this tree feels, and empathizes. In this quiet moment, I whisper to myself, 'Back again, but what peace does it bring me now that I've lost everything?'"

He paused, taking a deep breath, his eyes gazing into the distance, lost in thought. "Right now, all I want is serenity; not a family, love, or friend. I was here for a reason: to save someone despite the cost of my life. I just had that as my driving force, and I failed to do so."

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, the weight of his past actions bearing down on him. "I have no idea how I'll survive after…" He hesitated for a moment, his resolve firm. "However, I am unable to harm myself since I swore an oath to never do that."

He shifted uncomfortably, the rough bark pressing into his back. "So, here I am, sitting on this cliff under the same tree as I did 18 years ago, injured and powerless. I'll hand everything over to you now." His voice trembled as he continued,

"I'll just lay down here and close my eyes. I want to rest, so please take me into your arms." 

The wind rustled through the leaves of the ancient tree, as if whispering a response to his plea. "I lived for someone else here; perhaps in another dimension, I'll live for myself, or perhaps I'll see her agai-."

His voice trailed off, the name hanging in the air, unfinished, lost to the echoes of a past that could never be revisited."

Mars awoke, gasping for breath, his eyes brimming with tears, and his T-shirt soaked to the extent that it clung to his contours. "the same dream," he murmured to himself, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation.

He shifted his gaze toward the incessantly beeping alarm clock, its red numerals glaring at him from the bedside table. "I guess it's time to start the day," Mars mumbled as if reluctantly accepting the inevitable.

With a weary sigh, he rose from the chair where he had likely been slumbering, his joints creaking in protest as he stretched his cramped limbs. Mars reached over and powered down his computer monitor, a groan escaping his lips as he worked out the kinks in his back and shoulders.

The gentle cascade of fresh, warm water caressed his face, a soothing balm that washed away the remnants of his dreams. As the liquid tenderness enveloped him, Mars noticed the faint, jagged cut on his left eyebrow.

Oddly, it seemed to accentuate the angular contours of his face, adding a rugged charm to his features.

Rising from the chair with a weary sigh, Mars felt every joint creak in protest as he stretched out his cramped limbs. With a resigned groan, he reached over to power down his computer monitor, feeling the ache in his back and shoulders from too many hours spent in the same position.

Stepping into the shower, the gentle cascade of warm water caressed his face, a soothing balm that seemed to wash away not just the sleep, but the weight of the day.

As the liquid tenderness enveloped him, Mars felt his faint, jagged cut on his left eyebrow, a mark that somehow enhanced the angular contours of his face, adding a touch of rugged charm to his features.

For nearly a decade, Mars had been haunted by a recurring dream—a vivid vision of a towering cliff and a shadowy figure whose identity was shrouded in mystery. This dream lingered, unfading, through the years, filling Mars with a relentless sense of wonder and curiosity.

Who was this man? Why did this dream persist, night after night, refusing to release its grip on his subconscious?

As the warm water enveloped him, soothing his weary body, Mars felt an overwhelming need to give voice to the questions that had plagued him for so long. "Tell me," he whispered into the misty void, his voice trembling with both hope and desperation,

"Who are you? I want to know you." The words hung in the steam-filled air, a heartfelt plea to unravel the mysteries that had woven themselves into the fabric of his dreams and his soul.

The brisk chill in the air made Mars instinctively wrap his muffler snugly around his neck. The thought of biking through such biting, blustery weather seemed like a recipe for disaster, so he opted for the warmth and safety of the public bus instead.

With a polite smile, he asked the driver to let him know when they reached his stop, "West College of Arts and Music."

Settling into his seat with a gentle sigh, Mars slipped in his earplugs and rested his head against the cold glass of the window. His fingers danced over his phone's screen, selecting the familiar melody of Alec Benjamin's "Paper Crown."

There was something about that song, a mysterious thread that seemed to weave its way into his soul, connecting him to an indescribable feeling, a whisper of something greater.

As the bus rolled to a stop in front of the imposing iron gates of the West College of Arts and Music, Mars couldn't help but feel a flutter of awe. The campus, with its grand, timeless architecture, always managed to captivate him, whether it was his first visit or his hundredth.

Each time, it felt like stepping into a world where dreams and reality intertwined, a place where his heart found its rhythm amidst the echoes of creativity and inspiration.

The bus driver shattered the peaceful morning with a loud honk, enthusiastically shouting the name of the college. Mars, heart pounding with a blend of excitement and nerves, handed over his fare and stepped off the bus.

Determination etched across his face, he whispered to himself, "Let's do this," and strode confidently onto the college grounds.

As Mars ventured deeper into the campus, he was enveloped by the lively hum of student chatter. The air buzzed with animated conversations about the latest assignments and the events of the day, creating a vibrant tapestry of voices.

Everywhere Mars looked, there was an unmistakable aura of affluence and refinement. Students, impeccably dressed and exuding an air of privilege, walked with a confidence that seemed almost tangible.

The whispers of the townsfolk echoed in his mind—West College truly was a place for the chosen few. Mars felt a pang of awe and determination. This was his chance to prove himself, to be part of something greater.

Mars strode purposefully toward the Dean's office, a faint plume of air escaping his lips as he exhaled. He pushed open the door and found himself welcomed by the warm, inviting atmosphere of the West College of Arts and Music.

"Welcome to the West College of Arts and Music, Mars. Are you prepared to meet your students?" the Dean inquired, his face adorned with a friendly grin. "I apologize for having to call you in immediately."

Mars raised a reassuring hand, dismissing any notion of inconvenience. "No, there's no issue at all; it's good to be back."

With a nod of approval, the Dean gestured for Mars to follow him. Together, they ascended the staircase to the second-floor literature room, the anticipation of the impending class filling the air. As they entered, the room was eerily quiet, a silence that felt almost unnatural.

"Seems like the infamous bunch is fashionably tardy," Dean remarked, his words hanging in the air, causing a ripple of curiosity to dance across Mars' features, a cloud of perplexity settling over his expression.

In the labyrinth of literature enthusiasts, composure amidst chaos was often deemed the status quo, yet exceptions gleamed like polished gems—those select few who not only illuminated the academic landscape with their brilliance but also painted it with their vibrant chatter.

"Dean," a voice sliced through the tension, halting their stride just shy of the corner room's threshold.

"That's Warrin, the vocal one," Mars observed, his gaze flickering downward to the breathless figure. There lingered a whisper of recognition in the air, an echo from some distant memory.

From the staircase, the cadence of multiple footsteps reverberated, heralding their arrival—the tall boy and the girl, a duo synonymous with mischief and mayhem within the confines of their classroom.

"You're fashionably late," the dean remarked with a raised eyebrow, his tone a blend of admonishment and amusement. 

"Well, it appears so," they replied in unison, navigating their way towards the dean with cautious steps. "You see, Dean," Warrin began, his words drawing the dean's focus, while, Liam the tall boy approached the door, his presence unnoticed amidst the unfolding drama.

 "We entered the classroom ahead of you," Warrin yelled in jest, and the three of them hurried inside. For a brief moment, Mars met the girl's eyes.

 "These kids," the dean adored them.

 At last, the Dean motioned for Mars to enter. "Okay, students, please be quiet and take a seat." Mars's gaze remained focused on Summer.

 "This is Mr. Mars," announced the dean, his voice commanding attention in the hushed lecture hall. "And, regretfully, Ms. Nada will not be taking classes as she is suffering from a bout of typhoid."

The solemn news of Ms. Nada's illness hung in the air, casting a pall over the gathered students. The sudden void left by their beloved instructor weighed heavily on their minds. Yet, there was a glimmer of hope in the dean's next words.

"Mars will be taking over her classes," he continued, his eyes scanning the room. "Many of you may not know him, but he was once a student at this very college."

A collective murmur of surprise rippled through the room. Students exchanged curious glances; their interest piqued by this unexpected turn of events. Summer, however, felt a surge of curiosity that eclipsed the general astonishment. 

"I'm Mars," the newly appointed instructor introduced himself with a warm smile, his presence easing some of the tension in the room. "And I hope we can all get along." 

With those simple words, a new chapter in the student's academic journey had begun, and the promise of fresh experiences and perspectives hung in the air, just waiting to be explored.