Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive

​Theo didn’t laugh this time. He looked at the harsh light hitting the dirt floor, his blue eyes taking on a dull, weary sheen that Alias hadn’t noticed before. He looked at Maya, who was already curled up on a thin, tattered mat, her thumb hovering near her mouth.

​"Don’t be fooled by the light, Moon-boy," Theo said, his voice dropping into a low, practical tone. "In the South, the higher the sun, the closer it is to night. Time moves differently when you’re waiting for the heat to break."

​"Then why not wait until the shadows grow long?" Alias asked, his curiosity piqued. "Why lose the hours of the day?"

​Theo turned back to him, and for a moment, the mask of the cocky thief slipped, revealing the jagged edge of the boy beneath.

​"We only lose the hour of the day if we have something to do, and we don’t, apparently. And we do not have a full kitchen either. If we sleep early, we won’t have to worry about getting hungry again," Theo said simply.

​The words hit Alias with the force of a physical blow. He... he hadn’t thought of it that way. How could he?

​"If you’re awake, your stomach talks to you," Theo continued, pulling a second mat from the corner and kicking it flat toward Alias. "It reminds you that the bread is gone. It reminds you that the baker is probably still looking for you. But if you’re asleep... you’re just nowhere. And nowhere is a lot better than being hungry."

​Alias looked at the rough straw mat at his feet. He had designed the day for labor and the night for rest. It was a perfect, logical cycle. He had never considered that sleep could be used as a weapon against one’s own body—a way to trick the soul into forgetting the belly was empty.

​Perfection was a lie. His equations had never accounted for the fact that for some, the day was something to be escaped rather than lived.

​"I see," Alias whispered, the weight of his own ignorance pressing down on his chest.

Everything was confusing and at the same time, clear. This was a result of the unpredictability that Norx created humans with.

And... It was innovative.

Alias lowered himself onto the mat, the straw pricking through his fine silk robes. He watched Theo lie down on the bare floor next to Maya, his arm protectively draped over his sister. The sight of them—so small, so vulnerable, yet so fiercely connected—made something cramp in his chest.

​Alias watched Theo. The boy’s eyes were half-closed, the tension of the chase finally beginning to drain from his nerves.

​"Theo?" Alias whispered.

​"Hm?" Theo answered. Though he didn’t open his eyes, his brow twitched.

​"Why did you do it?" Alias asked, his voice barely a breath. "I was a stranger. Someone who chased you into a dark alley. You have so little, and yet you brought a foreigner into the only sanctuary you have and... shared the little food you have. Aren’t people... supposed to be wary of those they don’t know?"

​Theo let out a low, sleepy snicker. He shifted slightly, pulling Maya closer as if the movement was second nature.

​"You ask a lot of questions for a guy who almost died of a sunstroke, Moon-boy," Theo muttered. He opened one blue eye, looking at Alias with a tired but genuine amusement. "It’s simple. I’m a nice guy with an excellent hunch. And my hunch told me that even though you look like you fell off a star, you’re also a nice guy. Probably a bit of an idiot, but a nice one."

​Theo closed his eyes again, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Besides, I figured if you were a spy or a guard, you would’ve tried to arrest me instead of looking like you were about to cry because I gave you a piece of bread."

That... I wasn’t about to cry. Alias thought, but the words wouldn’t come out.

"Go to sleep, Alias. My hunch is never wrong." He said and finally went quiet.

​The boy’s breathing began to slow, steadying into the rhythmic pace of deep rest. He was forcing himself into that ’nowhere’ he had described—the place where the hunger and the heat couldn’t follow.​

Alias stayed awake for a long time, staring at the mud-brick ceiling. He listened to the rhythmic sound of the children’s breath and the distant, mocking hum of the sun outside. It was still hot and uncomfortable, but this was what the human put up with, so he can learn to adapt. No, not can, he must learn to adapt.

For the first time in an eternity, the Architect of the world didn’t want to fix the light; he wanted to apologize to the darkness.

As the silence grew deeper, Alias felt a strange, heavy pull on his own eyelids. It was his first taste of true fatigue.

He closed his eyes, drifting toward the ’nowhere’ along with them, wondering if he would dream of the heavens or the grit beneath his fingernails.

But... he dreamt of nothing.

The next morning, the heat in the small hut was already so thick that Alias could fill an entire bucket of sweat.

Alias sat on his straw mat, watching a single beam of light cut through a hole in the roof, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

​He looked at his clothes. The white silk was ruined—streaked with dust, stained by Maya’s sticky fingers, and torn at the hem from the chase. Yet, it still felt too light, too thin, too much like the heavens he had left behind. He didn’t need to wear this in this environment.

As Theo said, it was a recipe for disaster if one looked too rich.

​"Theo," Alias called out.

​Theo was near the door, sharpening his small knife on a flat stone. He looked up, his blue eyes shielded by his messy dark hair. "What? You hungry again? I’m going out in a bit, so I can—"

​"No. I want to change," Alias said. He stood up, the silk sliding over his pale skin. "You said you could sell this and get us food. Do it. Give me something... like yours. Something that belongs here."

​Theo stopped sharpening. He looked at the silk, then at Alias. To a thief, that fabric was worth more than a month of successful heists. To see it on a person in this district was like seeing a diamond in a coal pile.

​"You’re serious?" Theo asked, standing up. "Once I take that to the black market, there’s no getting it back. You’ll be dressed in rags, Alias. It’s scratchy, it’s hot, and it smells like lye."

​"I want it," Alias insisted.