My body jerks upright before my mind catches up - a violent, instinctive reaction to the presence looming beside my bed. The figure stands unnaturally still, backlit by sunlight filtering through the dormitory window. Tall enough to cast a long shadow across my blanket, but with a gauntness that makes his frame seem almost skeletal in the pale light. Hair that is as black as the night but shimmers under the moonlight.
Kael.
But not Kael.
His eyes - those are wrong. The familiar gold has been replaced by a flat, glassy sheen, like polished obsidian reflecting nothing. He's staring without blinking, his chest unnaturally still. No rise and fall of breath. Just... waiting.
Panic surges through my veins like liquid fire, yet my limbs remain locked in place. Not paralyzed - it's worse than that. My body simply won't respond, as if my motor functions have been... disconnected. Only my mouth seems to obey, lips parting in a dry whisper:
"What...?"
The word hangs between us, fragile as a cobweb. My mind races through possibilities - sleep paralysis? A spell? But the system interface remains stubbornly silent, offering no warnings, no stats, nothing but empty space where answers should be. In EAA, Succinylcholine Chloride and Rocuronium drugs were not invented till Act IV.
So how…
Kael's head tilts just slightly to the left. A lousy movement. Precise. Calculated. Like a lifeless marionette adjusting to its strings.
When he finally speaks, his voice is all wrong - a hollow approximation of human speech, syllables just slightly too evenly spaced:
"Isaac. Who are you?"
The air itself feels thick—charged with something wrong, like the atmosphere before a lightning strike. My pulse hammers against my ribs, for the first time each beat truly screaming at me to run, but my muscles remain locked in place, heavy as stone.
Kael's lips part again.
"Tell me your worth."
His voice isn't just hollow—it's layered, as if multiple frequencies hum beneath each word. A chorus of whispers, all slightly out of sync.
"W-what do you mean?" A genuine stutter.
Kael takes a step closer. The floorboards don't creak. His shadow doesn't shift with the moonlight.
"The Headmaster thinks you're predictable," he says, tilting his head further. Too far. The vertebrae in his neck pop like an overstressed code.
"But you're unique. Utterly unique."
"What the fuck are you saying?"
"You'll understand. Prove yourself."
.
.
.
A blink—and the world snaps into focus.
Morning.
I lurch upright, sheets tangled around my legs like restraints. My heart hammers against my ribs, sweat cooling on my skin. The air in my lungs feels too sharp, too real.
That wasn't a dream.
No fucking dream leaves your nerves this raw, your thoughts this frayed. Kael's voice still echoes in my skull—that hollow, layered distortion, words that didn't fit in a human mouth. And his eyes—
Dead? No. Nihilism incarnate.
Pupils like voids, swallowing the light. Not just lifeless, but anti-life, as if existence itself was an oversight to them.
I scan the room, fingers digging into the mattress. Empty. Of course. Whatever that was, it left no traces—no footprints, no lingering chill, no proof at all.
Just me.
Just the certainty.
Trouble after trouble after fucking trouble.
A laugh claws its way up my throat—harsh, humorless. Of course this would happen. Of course. The universe doesn't just stack the deck against you. It shuffles in a few extra jokers while you're not looking.
I drag a hand down my face.
What the hell did Kael mean by all that man…
My eyes snap to the clock.
7:28 AM.
A beat of silence—then my brain catches up.
"SHIT."
I'm a whirlwind of motion. The uniform is yanked from the closet in a single frantic motion, fabric barely settled on my shoulders before I'm out the door. Three flights of stairs vanish under my feet, each step a thunderous echo in the empty dormitory.
The campus sprawls before me, pristine walkways and manicured lawns stretching into the distance. The main building looms—900 meters away.
Orientation starts at 7:30.
Two minutes.
Two fucking minutes.
My lungs already burn. This body—scrawny, untrained—wasn't built for sprinting half a mile in dress shoes. And magic? Forbidden. Academy rules are clear: no unauthorized spell casting outside designated zones. Not unless I want my first day to end in detention—or worse.
"Genuinely can't catch a break," I wheeze between strides. This fucking world sucks!
.
.
.
The invigilator's voice cuts through my gasping breaths like a blade.
"You're late. By one minute."
His tone is cold, the kind of disapproval that could frost glass. I straighten up, my lungs still screaming, sweat dripping down my temple.
"I k-know—" A wheeze. "—I-I'm sorry."
[ STAMINA: 0% ]
The system's notification flickers in my vision. Thanks for nothing.
The invigilator's eyes narrow, his lips pressed into a thin, unamused line. "Don't ever let me catch you late again. You got that?"
I nod, forcing my voice steady. "Yes… sir."
Fuck you.
You're gonna die in Act I anyway.
I don't wait for a dismissal. Slipping past him, I bolt into the auditorium, my footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. The sea of students parts slightly as I weave through, their noses wrinkling at the scent of sweat and desperation clinging to me. A few even flinch—like I'm some feral animal that just stumbled in from the wilderness.
But then—
Cold air.
Crisp, clean, and perfect.
Not like the stifling, sweat-stained auditoriums back on Earth, where the AC was always broken and the seats stuck to your skin. No, this was something else. The temperature was engineered, subtle spells woven into the walls to keep the air fresh and cool, no matter how many bodies packed inside.
I collapse into my seat, still panting, but the chill soothes the burn in my lungs.
Okay. Maybe this place isn't all bad.