The first thing he noticed was the sound of a piano.

The notes were stilted—pieces were missing.

The second thing he noticed was the comfortable confines of his seat. He cracked an eye open, spying dark leather compress under his weight. It was large, enough that he felt like a child again, his shoes barely scraping the floor. The armrests were cool to the touch, soothing against his dry skin.

He lifted his head, and the dimensions of the room slowly melded into being.

It was long and narrow, like some sort of hall. To his right, floor-to-ceiling windows let the light from the full moon cast wild shapes on the floor, revealing a somber, floral patterned carpet. The night sky was a deep emerald.

His eyes strained to locate where the sound of the piano was coming from—behind him?

Rising slowly, he took careful, quiet steps around the lounger, eyes drawn to the immense mass across from him.

A large, grand piano was seated on the other end of the narrow room, light from the moon making the surface glisten. On the piano bench, a girl sat—short, brunette hair hung around her neck and thin shoulders; the hue reminded him of something dead. She was dressed for a funeral, clothed from her neck to her ankles in a heavy black dress.

Her head lifted. "Hey." The voice was distantly familiar, old memories and sensations bubbling to the surface—autumn leaves crunching underfoot, hot food and a nightlight shaped like a bee. He tried to step closer, but his feet stuck to the floor.

She continued to play, feather-light strokes on the keys, fingers swift and delicate, like little hummingbirds.

"I'm sorry for not remembering sooner." She began, and he watched her shoulders quake. "Even if I did, though, it wouldn't have made much of a difference."

"I know." He said, so quietly that he'd hardly heard himself. "I know you." She nodded.

"And I know you, too." There was a smile in her tone. "You've been made to suffer a lot these past eleven years, haven't you?"

What? His tongue felt thick and oily in his mouth.

"I couldn't do anything back then to stop it, but now…" She abruptly stopped playing, the notes fading, and the edges of the room began to blur. "Now I have the power to fix things."

She hauled herself up, arms shaking as if it were a herculean effort, her palms pressed flat on the surface of the piano.

His mouth opened, but he could only exhale.

Her profile was lit up by the moon, skin pale, a flash of silvery pins in her hair. "Go to Iwatodai. Look for me. There, you can find your answer." She lifted a clenched fist, gaze fixated on the whites of her knuckles. Her grip loosened, revealing a golden butterfly; glowing wings fluttered once before it was gone, the image burned into the backs of his eyelids.

The walls were beginning to blend together, twisting and heaving like stars streaking across the sky. Nausea knotted his stomach.

"I'll give you my power. You'll need it—it'll protect you."

Finally, he managed to croak out a noise. "Where were you? Where did you go—"

"I'm sorry, we're out of time." She clasped her hands behind her, stepping away from what used to be the bench. At this point, everything besides her had spun together into a sickly mixture of green and yellow and red. Vertigo was warping his senses. "From now on, you're going to face even more hardship, but I know you'll be able to pull through. Take this opportunity—live these brand new days. And… take care of them. I leave them in your hands."

There was a pull at the back of his head that told him no, not yet, there's still so much—so much what? Sweat pooled between his shoulder blades despite the chill. "Wait!"

She turned fully to him, and he jerked back, startled by her scrutinizing red eyes—slitted and bright like a snake, like a demon. But he knew this face. "I'm counting on you. Don't let me down."

The color vanished suddenly, leaving him tumbling into the black.

Iwatodai was a sea of gray, rising and falling, crashing against the blue of the actual ocean.

The skyline was disturbingly unfamiliar. Yuki Makoto jacked up the volume on his MP3 and let his mind wander.

"The next stop is Port Island. Port Island. This is the final stop. Please prepare to disembark."

The monorail grinded to a halt as he blinked afterimages of butterflies out of his eyes.

He shambled out along with the other passengers, reaching into his pocket for the map of Iwatodai he'd received in the mail. He could see the school from here, cherry blossoms dancing in the gale like a scene from a movie. The sun was bright and high in the sky, and the air was warm and smelled like salt. He sneezed.

He eventually found his bearings, following the directions on his map to the Gekkoukan Boys' Dorm. The dorm manager received him, and not before long, he had his own room. The manager said his luggage would arrive tomorrow, and with that left him alone.

The room was small, and dark, with heavy wooden furniture—a bed, a desk, a chair—but he was alone, and alone was nice. He could adapt.

Makoto placed his bag on the desk and sat down, the chair creaking under his weight. He sorted through what all he'd brought with him; toiletries, electronics, spare clothes…

And a few snacks, of course.

After munching through his third package of rice crackers, he decided to explore the man-made island a little more. After all, it was still relatively early in the day.

His eyes stung as he stepped outside—he shielded his face with a hand and squinted until they could adjust. The sun was beginning its descent, shadows elongating and heat shimmering over the cement. He shrugged off his windbreaker and tied it around his waist as he began walking, still taken aback by the sheer scale of the school grounds.

He'd read it was a prestigious academy with excellent sports, liberal, and arts programs. The facilities were cutting-edge, and everything looked and smelled new.

There was no prerequisite for local students, but those from out of town needed to apply for the scholarship program, which required near-flawless grades. Hours of cram school and late-night studying whirred behind his eyes. Makoto suddenly felt spectacularly tired.

All of that effort, and he was finally here. Finally, he could start looking for answers.

There was a tingling on the back of his neck. He turned, and was abruptly face-to-face with someone.

She seemed to be a foreigner, judging from the blue eyes and white-blonde hair. She was dressed in the Gekkoukan uniform.

She blinked. "Ah, I apologize for staring. You are…a student?"

He nodded.

"I do not recognize you."

"I'm a transfer student," he said, shrugging.

Her expression was suspicious. "I comprehend. Welcome to Iwatodai." She bowed rigidly, and he followed suit. "Have a nice day." With that, she ran her hands (was she wearing gloves?) down her skirt to smooth out imaginary wrinkles, turned, and left.

Makoto returned to the dorm.

A/N: I'm back with a new and improved Elysium! I want to apologize for abruptly disappearing and rewriting without notice, but I promise that I'll stick with it this time! As always, feedback is very much appreciated! Updates will be weekly for the first few chapters!