Morning Person
The alarm peeps only once before dawn. He's the only one that wakes up, rolling over to peer with one violet eye at the digital clockface. Then he's out of bed, switching bedclothes for a uniform in his haphazard but quiet stumble to the bathroom.

He brushes his teeth, washes his face, runs his hands through his hair in a lick and a promise for a better brushing later. Then it's outside, gasping as the cool air hits his wet skin. His breath puffs in the pre-dawn gloom as he scrambles up onto the roof, settling himself facing east to wait.

For just a moment, he feels completely at peace, in unspoken and wordless communion with the world around him. It's not something he'll ever be able to explain, but it still drives him every morning to get up before the sun rises.

Years after the Miltian Conflict, Nigredo and Rubedo would always wonder why their waking dreams were no longer tinted with the colors of dawn.