He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t lie here under his hot-as-hell blanket and sweat to death letting the weight of the entire universe weigh him down in misery. After peeking over the edge of the blanket for watchers, he swiped the scratchy wool off of his body and sat up, resting his bare feet on the cool stone floor. Elbows on knees, face resting on hands. He rubbed his eyes and forehead. What could he do? He couldn’t stand one more minute in this bed or in this barracks. He had to get out. Now.

A pox on this.

The Orphan stood up, grabbed some clothes out of the small trunk at the foot of his bed, and quickly dressed, trying to stay as quiet as possible. If anyone asked, he had to take a dump. Not many people would wanna tag along for that adventure.

He made his way to the door, passing eight or nine beds on the way; a few tossers and turners gave him a look but didn’t say anything. Outside the door, a sentry simply nodded his head, half asleep as he tried to read a dusty old book. The Orphan didn’t understand why he was nervous—for one thing, he hadn’t set out to do anything against the rules. For another, what could he do? Run around naked and scare people? Their weapons were locked away when off duty, and if he so much as carried a knife he’d be banned for life or executed as an example. Nah. Definitely executed.

And so, he relaxed. He just needed air. A break. Reset his mind and rededicate his life to the cause to which he’d been born and donated. This nonsense of calling himself Minho had to end before it got so big in his mind that he’d never be able to hide it. And not only from himself.

The Shaftfall. Yes. That’s where he’d go. Perfect.

Walking through the corridors of the barracks in that direction, he passed quite a few people, surprising him. The job of protecting an entire nation had no reprieve, he reckoned. It only helped to dampen his worries that others might be alarmed at his insomnia. He moseyed, he puttered, he kept to himself, enjoying the exercise, the stone, the flames of torches, the almost-friendly faces. The smell of body odor, not so much, but he’d gotten used to that years ago. He reached his destination.