books44 Chapter 470 [Empire] Empty
Chapter 470 [Empire] Empty
These days, the air seems increasingly difficult to breathe. Every moment, every second, is enveloped by an invisible pressure, as if all freedom is being devoured, and even the simplest breath becomes a luxury. The first rays of morning light filter through the gap in the curtains, illuminating me. I subconsciously frown, wanting to turn over and continue sleeping, but then I involuntarily open my eyes.
The feeling of being confined was almost unbearable. My mind was in a tizzy, my heartbeat was accelerating, and the air felt thick and sticky. I didn't want to stay in this small space any longer. I didn't even have the strength to turn over. It was as if the whole world was shrinking, and the room was becoming increasingly narrow.
I scrambled out of bed, feeling a momentarily dizzy. After washing up, I hurriedly donned my uniform, my steps hurried. With each step, my anxiety grew. The hallway lights cast long shadows on the ground, and the constant sounds of footsteps echoed around me, each one a reminder that the air around me didn't belong to me.
Finally, I left the dormitory building and stood in the square. There was no one around, as if this quiet place belonged only to me. I took a deep breath, the air a bit cool, with a hint of freshness, caressing my face. Standing in this empty space, I no longer cared about anything. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, as if at this moment I could finally breathe freely.
This moment of silence lifted the oppressive feeling within me. My breathing became smoother, and every part of my body relaxed. The world around me seemed to stop, leaving only me and the empty air. Despite being a quiet night, I felt a long-lost sense of freedom, as if I had found a moment of respite.
I stood there, my eyes hazy, distant memories reverberating in my mind. The person I once was and the person I am now seemed two different people. That unfettered sense of freedom seemed to be fading, but at this moment, I finally found a little bit of that long-lost peace.
Someone seemed to be approaching me, and I had a vague idea of who it was. He was probably the only one approaching me without making a sound or saying anything.
He approached silently, his footsteps almost silent, almost imperceptible, as if he were deliberately disappearing into this empty space, leaving only me to sense his every move. His quiet, silent presence, like an invisible current, quietly seeped into my space.
I didn't turn to look at him, simply standing there, breathing in the cold air. Perhaps he didn't expect any response, simply offering companionship. That kind of companionship required no words, only a tacit understanding. We didn't need to explain anything, because we both knew each other's presence was a tranquility that needed no disruption.
A quiet atmosphere permeated the air, his presence seeming to blend into the morning, becoming one with the surrounding scene. You felt he didn't want to disrupt anything, only a subtle comfort, an unspoken sense of security. Perhaps, like me, he longed for this moment of solitude, to escape the clamor of the outside world.
I suddenly felt like laughing. Why was I always so lost? Nothing had happened, yet I inexplicably felt a warmth. Just standing there quietly in this quiet air, I felt as if I could feel time slowly slipping away, effortlessly dispelling the heavy feeling of oppression.
After a long time, I whispered, "Why are you just standing there without saying anything?" This seemed a bit abrupt, but I couldn't help but ask, wanting to know what he was thinking.
His words were brief and direct, tinged with a touch of concern. No unnecessary pleasantries, no pressure. Just a simple offer, like a habitual desire to care for me, or perhaps, to spend this quiet morning with me.
I didn't answer immediately, just nodded and followed him silently. Although we didn't exchange much words, the calmness emanating from him made me feel not alone. It was like his silent companionship, bringing a little relief to my heart.
As we walked toward the cafeteria, the sky was still dark, and the air carried a distinctly early morning coolness. The sound of our footsteps echoed through the silent campus, remarkably clear. The person beside me maintained a steady pace, seemingly neither anxious nor anxious, unwilling to disrupt the tranquil atmosphere.
Suddenly, I realized I'd unconsciously come to rely on this silent companionship. Although he didn't speak and wasn't as outgoing as others, he was always there when I needed him, providing an invisible support. This feeling surprisingly gave me a sense of security.
"Yeah, okay." I finally answered him, my voice a little low, but my tone was relaxed. Then we walked to the cafeteria together.
I don't like myself now, but I don't hate the way we are now. I ordered some hot rice porridge.
I watched him pick up his plate from the side. His eyes were calm, but everything seemed self-evident. Perhaps it was this calming atmosphere that made people feel relaxed and at ease. At least, our interactions now seemed more gentle than those competitive and stressful days.
I scooped a spoonful of warm rice porridge, the aroma filling my nose and warming my heart. Perhaps it's this simple warmth that brings an indescribable sense of peace. This breakfast, while not extravagant, is nourishing enough. Compared to the smoke of battle and the intensity of training, these small everyday blessings seem all the more precious.
"Training today seemed difficult, didn't it?" he suddenly asked, his words calm but tinged with concern. Perhaps he knew I wasn't used to the training, or perhaps it was simply a sense of understanding between us. I didn't answer, only nodded silently.
He didn't seem to expect a response from me, and continued to eat his meal with his head down. The quiet atmosphere made me feel at ease, and the sudden complex emotions gradually settled.
As the pace of training gradually accelerated, I could feel myself falling further and further out of step with the superpowers class. Although I could manage other courses and training programs, especially the physical fitness and basic combat skills training, and even performed quite well a few times, I felt particularly uncomfortable when it came to superpowers.
Every time the instructor began explaining superpowers or demonstrating difficult techniques, my heart would race, and the tension would surge from my bones. The other students' superpowers were all unique. Some could manipulate fire, instantly conjuring giant fireballs; others could manipulate metal, transforming everything around them into weapons; and some even had the ability to remotely control their minds, making them practically omnipotent.
And what about me? My "superpower" is still that cyan seedling. While its abilities are powerful, they are not my own strength. The cyan seedling is my combat plant. While it can strike enemies and protect me, it is not my superpower. I can only control it and indirectly access its power. There are no dazzling abilities, no dazzling displays of skill.
Sometimes, standing among those classmates radiating supernatural powers, I even felt like an outsider, awkward and out of place. Because whenever I tried to use it, not only did I not see any change, but even the looks from those around me made me feel a little uncomfortable. Especially those classmates who were born with powerful supernatural powers, they seemed to treat me as an outsider. Although they didn't say anything, their looks and attitudes were obvious.
Sometimes I wonder, if it weren't for the Green Seedling, what would I be doing here? While my identity as a woman disguised as a man affords me some privileges, it also complicates my situation. Superpowers are almost standard for new men in military academies. Whether in training, combat, or mission execution, superpowers are the key to success or failure. I can't even muster the basic abilities, so how can I proceed?
This sense of limitation made me feel a little breathless, and I even doubted whether I was really suitable to stay in this class.
The night wind blew coldly, a hint of chill brushing my cheeks, as if reminding me that the day's fatigue wouldn't fade away. I stood in the wind's vent, gazing out at the empty training ground. The night was quiet and deep, with only a faint light illuminating the road ahead, casting dappled shadows.
My body still feels heavy, especially the fatigue from all that training. It's not just muscle soreness, it's mental strain. Today's training was incredibly tough, especially the supernatural portion. Although I don't have any impressive supernatural abilities, I'm still required to participate, even going so far as to simulate confrontations. Whenever my supernatural powers blazed forth, I could only watch from the sidelines, feeling the immense power but also realizing how insignificant and powerless I was.
Somehow, standing here, I've lost my appetite. My stomach feels empty, as if nothing can fill that inexplicable emptiness. Instead of feeling sleepy, I feel more alert. Perhaps it's the repression I've been feeling lately, but more and more emotions are gathering inside, ready to burst out at any moment.
The empty night seemed to grant me a kind of silent tolerance, a moment of freedom. No one disturbed me, no one demanded anything. The wind continued to blow, like my thoughts, carried away, leaving behind all distractions. Only a faint flame remained in my heart, flickering quietly in the darkness.
I can't help but wonder, when can I regain control of my life and return to the familiar, free rhythm?
That yearning for freedom is like a longing buried deep within the body, its significance only realized when lost. My former self, my former life, the freedom I once felt—all of this now seems like a distant memory. Back then, every choice was my own, every decision unfettered. But now, no matter where I go, I seem trapped in some invisible web, unable to escape.
Thinking of Nightingale, a strange emptiness suddenly washed over me. Nightingale, the kind of person who could find his place in any danger, the kind who always forged ahead in the darkest moments. And I, by his side, once lived the life I wanted, with a certain unbridled sense of freedom. But now, it all seemed like a blurred outline, washed away by time.
Nightingale was the most real presence in that world for me. His presence seemed to never leave, and a part of me always found solace in his image. Yet, at some point, his presence grew distant. I began to wonder if he, too, was preoccupied with his own affairs, or if he simply had no time for the man who once fought alongside him.
I can't help but wonder if it's only when I lose my freedom that I truly understand how precious it once was. If I had cherished it more back then, perhaps my life would be different now. But now, facing this inescapable bondage, all I have left is endless longing and yearning for Nightingale, as if all this pain and struggle is directed towards the one person who once guided me.
This is not the case.
I gently closed my eyes and took a deep breath, as if hoping a cool breeze would blow away the chaos within me. But the harder I tried to organize my thoughts, the more they felt like a tangled knot, tightening ever tighter until it formed an impossible knot. It wasn't the loss of my freedom that had me so lost, but rather that I had never truly understood what I wanted.
Nightingale, his presence has always been a source of strength and guidance for me. But now, I suddenly realize that I'm no longer the child who relied solely on others for guidance. That so-called freedom isn't something Nightingale or anyone else can give me; it's something I've earned. I once roamed the mercenary streets alone, unfettered and free to do whatever I pleased. However, it was also during that time that I lost myself, believing that others could guide and solve everything for me, neglecting my own sovereignty.
I think of Nightingale's words. He always clearly told me that I shouldn't rely solely on others, but must rely on my own strength to change and take control. But I never truly listened. Perhaps I simply didn't want to hear them at the time. Only today has this anxiety and depression begun to erode me, forcing me to rethink what I truly want.
It wasn't a lack of freedom, but rather a cage I'd locked myself in, trapped until I lost my way. Now, it wasn't the absence of the Nightingale that left me feeling empty, but rather, I'd lost track of how to move forward. The true meaning of freedom, it turns out, isn't about external comfort, but about having enough courage to challenge oneself, to endure loss, and to rediscover the self who once held countless possibilities.
I know that only I can get out of all this.