Once Indigo is sure he isn’t being followed, he finally stops. The world is spinning as possibilities regarding what to do now—and how—rush through his mind. He rids himself of the sack whose leather band had been digging into his shoulder and lets his back rest against the wide trunk of a tree, shielding him from potentially curious eyes. The air is hot, thick. His lungs feel dry to him as he gasps for air, relieved to have found shelter beneath the wide branches and leaves from the afternoon sun. But most importantly: The Academy is finally in view. It has been a while since Indigo has come here, and part of him is surprised he still hasn’t been discovered.

After he’s had a few minutes to recover and feels more like himself, Indigo flicks off the insects that had been crawling over his legs—some that had fallen onto his shoulders while he’d escaped, others that had climbed onto his knees when he’d been trying to find hints of life in his limbs seconds ago. Warm flashes strike his face. His surroundings blur once more. He curses, tells himself he cannot faint here at the risk of being found. This isn’t good, he thinks while reaching for the sack beside his leg. This isn’t good at all.

His hands blindly fumble around inside his bag for a healing potion he remembers creating a few months ago. When he finds it, there is no hesitation within him as he gulps everything down to the very last drop and forces himself to swallow. Healing potions were never meant to be delicacies, however Indigo wonders if this one’s horrendous taste is due to the humidity of his old hideout, or if perhaps it has somehow expired over time—if that is even possible—and what side effects he might incur if it’s truly spoiled.

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The villagers’ faces come to mind. His heart slams against his ribcage. The thought that his palpitations are due to the potion and not his anxiety haunts him. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to push away ideas that threaten to tip his consciousness into a fit of panic; but Indigo’s throat tightens again, and his vision is censored by tears.

He brings both his palms to his mouth. He makes a silent pact with himself that this is the last time he’ll cry. Emotions will only bring me down, he thinks. Be brave, be strong, for the ones who lost their lives, if not for yourself. His breaths slow. His head tilts back against the tree. Indigo’s mind fills with the hope that everything will be okay. Yet, within his momentary peace, something grips at his heart, something Indigo recognizes as more than mere nerves—the echoes of a failed potion, he fears.

Without a care for the dried vomit that seeps under his fingernails, Indigo grabs the piece of cloak resting above his chest. Saliva drips down his chin as he gasps, pants for dear life, and wonders if time will ever start passing again. I’m stuck, he thinks, I’m stuck in a terrible, terrible moment and it will never leave. Though after a while, it does pass, and Indigo’s back relaxes against the greenery once more.

Slowly, his strength ebbs back into his body. He laughs, looks up to the semi-transparent leaves above and whispers, “I’m alive.” Though I’d make a terrible healer. “I’m alive.”

Sunlight peeks out from between the bright green vegetation that watches him from above. It comes to caress the wise, old bark, as well as his now slightly crooked lips.

Indigo smiles at the sky. His tears have dried; yet even so, he knows his trials have only just begun.