Chapter Text
Altair opened his eyes, at first his vision was fuzzy, before his sight finally focused on the dull white ceiling. He sat up, stretching his arms high above his head and cracking his neck. Mornings like this were familiar, he’d wake up, get dressed, get Covey dressed, feed them both, then.. nothing special. His morning haze was interrupted by the sound of his son waking up, making exaggerated noises as he stretched and got up from his slightly uncomfortable bed. The younger yawned as he rubbed his eyes sleepily, fully getting out of the blanket and walking over to his dad. Altair knew what was coming, and opened his arms for his morning hug. They hugged for a bit, and eventually separated.
“I’m hungry.” Covey complained, his words slightly slurred by sleep. “Don’t worry, we’ll get our food soon.” As Altair said this, the little slot above their only table opened up, producing 2 small closed containers of food. “Yayy!” Covey yelled happily, before quitting down, remembering one of the rules was to be quiet at all times. “Let’s see what we got.” Alatir stood up, walking over to the table and looking as to what was on the trays. A banana, half an un-toasted bagel—with nothing to put on it, and a closed container of plain wheat cereal without milk sat inside the containers. Altair knew he should be grateful, but he couldn’t help but worry about the quality of food he and his son were eating. Nonetheless, Covey rushed over and began to gobble down his share of rations.
“Slow down there, don’t want you getting a stomach ache now do we?” Covey looked up and shook his head, mouth stuffed full of wheat cereal which he quickly chewed and swallowed. “No, then I can't go to the Telling!” His dad frowned a bit, Altair never liked the Tellings, the storys the leaders told never felt right, he felt as if they were too far fetched. That and his son always got scolded for asking innocent questions, as any normal child would and should. Covey was different, he was more inquisitive than the others, he always asked questions, he was always curious. His dad was proud of that, as he had been like that too. But he was also worried, worried that his son’s curiosity would fade with time, just like his own child-like curiosity. Overall, they were both different, both outsiders in their own home.
Altair looked down, his mood ruined from thinking about such depressing things, but soon brightened up hearing a little voice call to him. “What’s wrong dad?” He smiled hearing the little voice call him dad. Unfortunately, he also heard what could only be described as pure worry in Covey’s voice, and he scolded himself for making his son, his purpose in life, sad. “Nothing.” He answered, mustering a smile. “Let’s get you ready.” He looked up smiling happily as the younger smiled back. He just hoped his son didn’t actually believe those stories, as he once had.