The sun began to creep in through Mikhail's small bedroom window. Golden light pierced the thin curtains, highlighting the fine dust floating in the air. From the dormitory hallway came the sounds of morning: laughter, hurried footsteps, and boisterous calls signaling that the day had begun.
Mikhail was still sound asleep on his narrow bed. His body was turned sideways, his clothes were rumpled, and his hair was a mess. His breathing was erratic, as if the night had not yet fully released him.
Suddenly, his body rolled over.
Brak!
he fell off the mattress, hitting the cold stone floor.
"Ouch!" he shouted spontaneously while holding his head.
He paused for a moment, staring at the ceiling with half-open eyes. He was still very sleepy, but his body forced him to get up. After taking a deep breath, he slowly stood up.
His steps toward the bathroom seemed sluggish, his thin sandals dragging across the floor. As soon as the cold water touched his face, his consciousness slowly returned. He stared at his reflection in the small mirror: his eyes were dull, his hair was messy, and his fatigue had not yet completely disappeared.
There was a strange sensation in his head, not pain, not a distinct chill, just a vague sensation, like an echo that hadn't quite faded away.
He rubbed his face harder, then smoothed his clothes as best he could.
From outside, the small bell in the dining room rang.
Mikhail took a breath, then stepped out of the room. It was a normal morning for everyone else. But for him, something felt slightly off.
The dormitory corridor was filled with morning light from the tall windows. Bright lines cut across the stone floor, forming long shadows that moved slowly. The sounds of laughter, chatter, and footsteps mingled together, lively but distant.
Mikhail walked among them.
His body followed the flow of the other students, but part of him felt left behind, as if he were walking half a second slower than the world around him. He blinked slowly, trying to adjust.
At the end of the corridor, Rev was seen joking around with some students. His laughter was light and easygoing.
"Wow, you're finally awake," she exclaimed when she saw Mikhail. "I thought you were permanently stuck in bed."
Some students chuckled.
Mikhail raised his hand briefly. "Good morning."
Rev was about to reply, but stopped. His gaze lingered on Mikhail's face longer than usual.
"You look tired," he said, more calmly.
"Lack of sleep," Mikhail replied quickly. The answer came out too neatly for something he didn't fully understand.
"Not enough sleep on Lunin day," a voice interrupted.
Eric stood not far from them, his arms folded. His gaze was sharp, not judgmental, more like assessing the stability of something fragile.
"Bad dream?" he asked briefly.
Mikhail was about to answer, when something in his head throbbed softly. It wasn't pain. It wasn't completely cold. It was more like a slight tug from within, enough to make him hold his breath for a moment. He turned his head unconsciously.
Near the stone wall, slightly separated from the crowd, Ivan Yugostiv stood stiffly. Both hands clutched his own sleeves, his fingers pale. His eyes stared straight ahead, not at the people, not at the floor, but at the empty space between them. Mikhail's steps slowed.
"Ivan!" Rev greeted him cheerfully, waving her hand. "Good morning!"
Ivan gasped, as if he had just been pulled back into his own body. His head spun.
"Oh, good morning," he replied softly.
Their glances met.
The tension in Mikhail's head shifted. There was a strange pause, a fraction of a second in which the sounds of the corridor faded, as if the world had held its breath.
Ivan paled.
"You..." his lips moved, then whispered almost inaudibly,
"do you feel it too?"
Mikhail froze.
"Feel what?" Rev frowned.
Between them, the air seemed to vibrate thinly, almost impossible to distinguish from the morning light. Something like a bluish line appeared instantly, as thin as a thread, then disappeared before anyone could confirm its existence.
The sound of the corridor was intact again.
Laughter. Footsteps. The world moves on.
Mikhail took a slow breath. "It's okay," he said, though he himself wasn't sure.
Ivan was still standing stiffly, as if his body had forgotten how to relax.
Rev gave his arm a light tap. "Come on. Let's eat first. The questions can wait, but not the stomach."
Ivan inclined his head in a quiet nod. As they set off, Mikhail became aware of something simple yet disquieting: the sensation had not vanished. It lingered, like an echo that insisted on staying behind.
The Atrium Lumen's dining hall glowed with the warmth of morning light. Long wooden tables stretched across the room, nearly filled with people. The murmur of voices blended with the scrape of chairs and the delicate chime of cutlery.
They moved forward, trays in hand. Toast. A bowl of steaming soup. Bright slices of fruit.
Mikhail's gestures were mechanical, his body moving without thought, yet his mind drifted elsewhere. Beneath the ordinary rhythm of breakfast, he felt another cadence—strange, elusive—beating quietly beneath the surface of the world.
Ivan picked up his food with deliberate care, as though afraid to touch anything too harshly. They sat at the far end of a quieter table.
Rev immediately dug in. "Finally. I was starving to death."
Across from them, Eric sat upright, his back straight, his eyes fixed—not on the food, but on the people before him.
Mikhail held his spoon, yet the soup remained untouched. "Ivan," he said softly.
Ivan turned at once. Too quickly.
"In the corridor earlier… you said you 'felt it.'"
Ivan's hand froze midair. He stared at the table for several seconds before speaking. "Since morning… it feels like something around my head. Not a sound. Not a shadow." He swallowed. "More like… being pulled."
The spoon in Mikhail's hand trembled faintly.
"You both feel the same thing?" Eric asked calmly.
Mikhail nodded.
For a moment, the table seemed quieter than any other corner of the hall.
"Okay," Rev tried to smile, uncertain. "Please tell me this is just some collective sleep deprivation."
No one laughed. Because deep down, each of them was beginning to realize the same thing—this was no coincidence.
"Praise Queen Lunareth," Rev chuckled lightly at last. "I slept fine. Maybe you all forgot to pray."
"Praise the Lady," Eric replied curtly. "It could be because today is Lunin."
Ivan stopped eating. "Lunin…?"
"Lunin is the day associated with Lunareth, the Moon Queen," Eric explained. "The inner light is believed to be stronger."
"And dreams are said to be clearer," Rev added casually. "Though most of it's just suggestion."
"In my place, there's no such day," Ivan murmured.
"Here, people believe the boundary between inside and outside grows thinner," Mikhail said.
"Thinner how?"
Mikhail hesitated. "Like… something finds it easier to enter."
Silence returned to the table.
"Enter what," Rev laughed nervously. "Don't make the morning creepy."
Eric didn't laugh. His gaze shifted from Ivan to Mikhail, weighing.
"In Versvyaz there is no Lunin," Ivan said carefully. "There is… Monday."
"Mo...mon what?" Rev nearly choked.
"Monday. Moon Day. That's what they teach in the Church of Wisdom."
"Church of Wisdom…" Mikhail echoed softly. The name sounded foreign, like a fragment from another world suddenly dropped onto their breakfast table. He looked at Ivan. "There… what do you actually learn?"
Ivan hesitated before answering. "Some of its teachings are taught in regular schools," he said cautiously. "General knowledge. Basic science. History. How to think in order." He paused, then continued, his voice lower. "The Church of Wisdom itself emphasizes understanding, not worship."
Rev frowned. "Meaning… no God?"
"There is," Ivan replied quickly. "But not like here."
Eric raised an eyebrow. "Explain."
Ivan drew a breath, his fingers tightening around the spoon. "In the Church of Wisdom, we are taught that God is not the universe. The universe is a created existence." He glanced at Mikhail, making sure his words were understood. "God created beings. And so that beings might know His existence, God sent a prophet."
The atmosphere at the table dimmed.
"A prophet?" Rev repeated quietly, no longer joking.
Ivan nodded. "A bearer of teachings. Along with a sacred book." He swallowed before naming it. "That book is called the Bible: Word of Wisdom."
Mikhail felt something stir in his chest, not the strange sensation in his head this time, but a heavier awareness.
"So…" he said slowly, "wisdom there is not the final goal?"
Ivan shook his head faintly. "Wisdom is the path. Not God itself." He lifted his face. "God remains the existence beyond the universe. Not part of it."
The table fell silent once more.
Eric leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he processed. "Different from here," he said at last. "We are taught that the universe is creation, and God exists outside and above it."
Rev exhaled long. "Okay… so this isn't about whether God exists." He scratched his head. "It's about how one comes to know God."
No one disagreed.
And for the first time, the differences between them felt not merely cultural, but fundamental, shaping how each perceived existence itself.
No one spoke further. Spoons moved again, bread was chewed. The dining hall sounded as it always did.
But for Mikhail, its rhythm had changed. He realized something simple: this morning, for the first time, the world he knew no longer stood alone.
And somehow, that awareness weighed heavier