Hageawn was roused by the rustling of paper and the low murmur of voices. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he peered through the thin crack between the bookshelves. The once-empty library was now bustling, the aisles packed with acolytes and more than a few initiates. They moved with purpose, their expressions a mix of focus and frustration as they scanned lists in one hand and rifled through the shelves with the other.

Suppressing a chuckle, Hageawn slipped his pendant back around his neck and stretched his cramped limbs. Carefully, he crawled out of his hidden nook, smoothing his robes as he straightened. No one paid him any mind as he stepped into the open, and he took full advantage of their distraction.

Walking quietly at first, he observed the rhythm of the crowd—the subtle glances, the purposeful steps. He mirrored their movements, his expression turning thoughtful as if pondering the contents of an imaginary book. He weaved seamlessly between clusters of acolytes, merging briefly before slipping away again, his confidence growing with each step.

By the time he reached the library’s main doors, his stride was crisp and deliberate, his boots striking the stone floor with authority. No one questioned him; no one even looked at him twice. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he stepped into the hallway, the buzz of the library fading behind him.

His chest swelled as he lifted his head, a flicker of arrogance dancing in his silver eyes. No tasks to complete, no lists to scan—he was the only initiate in the tower not burdened with dull, tedious work.

He had better things to do.

Without a second thought, he slipped out of the tower, the air cool and sharp against his skin. The shadow followed him, stretching long across the ground, but he didn’t care. Not today. Inspiration buzzed through his thoughts like bolts of lightning, scorching away any hesitation.

The lake shimmered ahead, its surface catching the sunlight in rippling waves. His honey-hued skin seemed to glow under the radiant light, a faint hum of energy coursing through him. He could feel it—a spark, a fire, ready to ignite.

Hageawn stood at the edge, the hum of energy no longer feeling as distant. Instead it felt like a crack in a shell he hadn’t known surrounded him.

He closed his eyes, blowing gently through his lips.

The Agrestal state called to him—sharp, primal, like the scent of water to a beast that had never known its own thirst.

The air shifted. The mana in it froze, his heart pounded once, then the mana surged, charging toward him in glowing motes of light. The sudden influx struck him like a bolt, forcing a gasp from his lips.

His ash-blonde braids whipped around his face as the silver light burned in his eyes, bright and relentless. His aura was climbing. He almost couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—he could only feel, like every nerve in his body had been lit on fire.

The energy coursed through his veins.

It felt wild, untamed, and when he fell gently back to the ground, he stumbled. His legs shook—not from exhaustion but something else. His brow furrowed as he took a step forward, trying to ground himself, but the world around him began to flicker.

He blinked. The lake, once at his feet, was suddenly behind him. The furrow in his brow deepened as his heart raced. Again, he stepped forward, and the air twisted. When he planted his foot, the treeline stood before him.

A thrill, cold and sharp, coiled in his chest. Was this the Agrestal state—or something else? He willed himself toward the tower’s shadow. For a moment, space bent around him, pulling him forward—then snapped back. His knees hit the ground hard.

The energy within him spiraled, chaotic and relentless. His breath burned, and he couldn’t help but let out a cough. The world around him rippled, bending like reflections in the lake's surface.

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“What is happening?” The words barely made it past his lips, his throat tightening around them. His chest heaved, but the air felt thick, unyielding, as though something unseen pressed down on him. His hand shot to his chest, clutching at his pendant as a shiver crawled up his spine. The world around him twisted unnaturally, his breath quickening with each staggering step backward.

The tower and lake vanished. A glade stretched before him, its trees whispering softly, their branches swaying as though stirred by an unseen wind. The air pressed against his skin, alive and ancient, charged with mana that hummed faintly in his ears.

Hageawn staggered forward, his vision swimming in and out of focus. His breaths came faster, uneven, the air thick around him. Images rushed past his vision, water…clouds…endless trees. His sight had turned into a fractured landscape of shadows and light. He wished it would stop, for the ground to grow firm under his feet. His body swayed and wobbled; then it was over. His vision spun. Blue grass and silver trees filled his sight, his stomach felt like it might never be still again. He held out his arms, trying to balance himself. He was afraid, afraid that if he took another step; the world would shift again. The colors blurred at the edges of his vision. One moment, the ground felt firm beneath him, the next, it seemed to shift like sand, sending him stumbling forward. His heart raced. He tried to reach out to steady himself, to stop.

Hageawn squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself. He wasn’t sure how long he remained like that—arms outstretched—waiting. The ground beneath him had robbed him of all sense of stability. He slowly opened one eye, and then the other as both widened in surprise.

“Where am I?” he whispered to no one in particular. The question felt ridiculous in the face of the disorienting surroundings, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. The sound of his voice only seemed to make the confusion worse, like a reminder that everything had changed.

He staggered forward, his vision swaying like waves in a storm. His breaths came too fast, shallow, as if the air itself was too thick to breathe. The ground beneath him shifted, not solid but soft. He dropped to his knees, barely catching himself.

“What… where am I?” he whispered to the empty space. His words seemed so small here, like they didn’t belong.

He looked around, the glade’s trees stretching impossibly high. The leaves glistened with an unnatural shimmer, and the air felt alive. Alive, but cold, disconnected. The ground was thick with a rich blue grass that did not feel like grass.

He ran his hand through it, the sensation odd and unsettling. It didn’t spring back like it should. It felt alive, pulsing under his fingers.

The trees around him whispered, the sound faint and elusive, as if carried on a wind that he could not feel. The hum of mana that had once surrounded him felt distant now, as if he were cut off from it, unable to grasp its ebb and flow.

Then, a flicker—something moved in the corner of his vision. A figure, barely visible, weaving between the trees. His pulse spiked, heart hammering. He turned quickly, but it was gone.

He spun, heart pounding in his chest. His gaze darted between the trees, searching for the source. His breath caught in his throat as the figure of a girl, barely visible in the shifting light, disappeared behind one of the trees.

Instinctively, he moved toward her, his legs unsteady beneath him. “Hey! Wait!” he called out, but the words seemed to vanish before they left his mouth. The girl didn’t respond, and when he rounded the tree, there was nothing there but empty space.

His frustration boiled over. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt an overwhelming need to understand this place—to regain control. But no matter how much he willed the world to obey him, it refused to cooperate.

Another step. The world shifted again, and he stumbled forward. His hand shot out to grab a nearby tree for support, but the moment his fingers brushed the bark, a sharp jolt of energy shot up his arm. He jerked back in surprise, his heart racing. The sensation was unlike anything he’d ever felt before—cold, sharp, and strangely familiar, as if the tree itself were alive and watching him.

“Where am I?” The words came out as a roar that shook the lofty branches and sent the denizens of this odd forest scurrying into its depths.

He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. There had to be something here—something that could make sense of it all. But all he felt was the weight of his exhaustion, pressing in on him from all sides.

“Focus!” he barked at himself. But the world was too loud, too wrong, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep his feet under him.

But there was nothing to focus on. No answers. Only the whispers and the trees.

He staggered forward, falling heavily to his knees. He clasped his pendant, comforted by its weight. His legs gave out, and he crumpled to the mossy ground,

He crumpled to the ground, his fingers still squeezing the pendant. It was the only thing that made sense.

The last thing he saw before the darkness took hold was the grass beneath him—vivid, impossibly blue.