Dallion kept on looking through the window at the night sky. Half a Moon was there, barely shining through a thin layer of clouds. It also seemed foreign, like everything else around him.

“Blood pressure’s perfect,” the nurse said.

Despite Dallion’s insistence, the freckled guy—who claimed to be his roommate—had dragged him to the college’s health center for a check-up.

On the way there, Dallion had attempted to combat split, talk to a few trees, even a car, and even enter his personal awakening realm. In all cases, nothing had happened, as if his powers had been sealed.

“You sure you didn’t do something that you weren’t supposed to be doing?” The woman gave him a reproachful look. “First day and all.”

“I just fell down off a table.” Dallion didn’t even have the will to argue.

“Well, you do have a few bruises, but nothing serious. Best you could do is get some sleep and avoid…” she paused. “Falling off any more tables. Now, get out of here.”

“That’s it?” For some reason the exam felt underwhelming.

“I could write this up, but then both of us will have things to answer to. Mostly you. It’s nothing the faculty hasn’t seen before, but they’ll have to get in touch with your parents and… well, you know the rest.”

Dallion didn’t, though on reflection, maybe it was a better idea not to get his parents involved yet. At least not until he figured out what had happened.

“Thanks.” He smiled instinctively, attempting to use his music skills. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“You got that right.” The nurse chuckled. While it was unlikely that music skills were the result of this, he must have done something right. “In future I hope the only time I see you is for a hangover after finals.”

“I’ll do my best.” Dallion stood up and slowly made his way towards the door.

For some reason, the state of the office irked him. There were signs that it was well kept, yet even so, he could see patches of filth all over it: dust that hadn’t been cleaned, cracks left in plain sight, chipped paint and furniture…

Fighting the urge to make a comment, Dallion opened the door.

There was a faint snap – and the handle remained in his hand. The first half second, he wasn’t able to register what had happened. Handles breaking felt like a completely novel experience—something that was never supposed to happen. And yet, there it was—part of the door had broken off and was now in his hand.

“It broke?” Dallion managed to say, still staring at it.

“Not again.” The nurse stood up with the expression of someone who was used to it happening a lot, but annoyed nonetheless. “With all the money pouring in, you’d expect they’d at least be able to replace door handles every now and again. Let me see that.”

“I think they’ll have to this time.” Dallion looked at the handle in his hand. A piece had broken off near the end, making it beyond repair. Thankfully, it had occurred in the course of him opening the door. “Do I need to pay—”

“Wow. And they say the current generation takes no responsibility.” The woman took the handle from Dallion, carefully examined it, possibly in the hopes that he was exaggerating, then sighed. “Well, maybe it’s a good thing. Go on and leave the door open. The night’s not over yet.”

Feeling awkward about the whole thing, Dallion nodded, then went down the corridor to where his roommate was waiting. Judging by his bloodshot eyes, the freckled one was in worse condition than he was. Suppressing a yawn, he stretched, then reluctantly stood up as Dallion approached.

“All good?” he asked, cracking his neck for some reason.

“All good. I’ll live.”

“Not if you’re late for class tomorrow. Let’s go.”

The dorm room was more or less like he remembered it—small, plain, containing the bare minimum of comfort. Even less well kept than the health center, it had two beds, two desks complete with office chairs that had seen better days, and a single window.

What immediately attracted Dallion’s attention, however, was the laptop on his roommate’s desk. Based on the multiple scars and fading stickers, it was hardly new or expensive, but its presence alone was as fascinating as a Moonstone. It had been so long since Dallion had used one. He still remembered the fascination it held, playing games, watching videos, browsing anything he could think of online. After his recent experience, it felt so fake and artificial.

“I’m done.” The freckled one collapsed onto his bed, then kicked off his shoes one by one. Several seconds later, he took his phone out of his pocket and set an alarm.

“I’ll get a shower,” Dallion went into the backroom and quickly closed the door.

“Just keep it down,” the other said.

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Dallion wasn’t listening. Facing the wall, he tried once again to draw an illusion spell to make the room larger. His finger slid along the tiles, but same as before, there was no reaction.

Did I imagine it all? He wondered.

That couldn’t be right. There was no way he could imagine a whole world in such detail. It wasn’t just a few years he had dreamt up, but close to a decade—whole millennia, if he considered the time within the realms. And yet, he didn’t have any proof. His awakened abilities seemed to have gone, as had the skills he’d developed. Looking at his body, he had also lost quite a bit of muscle tone.

“Is this another trial?” he asked. “Did you lock me in a prison item?”

Only the faint buzzing of the lights answered.

The night provided no answers, either. There were no Moon-filled dreams, nothing that made any sense. On a few occasions Dallion would wake up thinking he heard Euryale’s voice calling for him, only to wake up and find himself in the same unfamiliar dorm bed. It didn’t help that the sheets felt like they were made of recycled plastic.

The following day, the confusion continued. While it couldn’t be said that most people were eager for the start of classes, they were at least interested in the environment, if not the teachers. Dallion continued out of it completely. To make things worse, the starting lectures were tediously based on things everyone already knew, making it difficult to focus on anything.

All this continued till noon, when he could no longer use any excuses not to be communicative with the rest of his cohort.

“Let me guess.” A short girl with long dark-blond hair went up to him. “You’re from some village in the middle of nowhere.”

Dallion’s heart skipped a beat. Had someone just referred to Dherma?”

“Kansas or Nebraska?” the girl asked.

The faint ray of hope completely shattered. Even so, he forced a laugh that sounded quite natural.

“Both.” He made an effort to blend in. “How did you guess?”

“Other than being overwhelmed, unable to hold a conversation, and the only one without a laptop?” Despite her tone, the girl was smiling. “Your shoes.”

“My shoes?” Dallion looked down, only to hear a giggle.

“Sorry, sorry.” The girl tried to contain her laughter, with little success. “I didn’t think you’d actually look.”

“No worries.” Dallion pretended to join in the cheer. “I forgot my laptop in my dorm, so for a moment I thought I might have forgotten my shoes as well.”

The explanation only made the girl laugh harder.

“I’m Dal, by the way.”

“Jenna,” she introduced herself. “A few of us are thinking of chipping in for a few large pizzas before class. Want to join?”

“Sure. Let me just check the when’s—” He reached into his pocket to grab his phone. As he did, the device caught on a loose thread, then slipped out of his hand onto the stone pavement.

“Ouch!” Jenna stared.

“It’s fine.” Dallion picked up the phone. When he turned it around, a large crack across the screen let him know that he was only fifty percent right.

“I’ve only seen that happen on videos.” The girl moved closer. “Is it still working?”

“Looks like.” From what he could see, it was only the layer of glass that had suffered.

“That’s really unlucky.”

“I must have treated the phone really poorly for this to happen,” Dallion said, musing.

“What do you mean?”

“Objects. It’s said that the worse you treat them, the more vengeful they become. And when they’ve really had enough, they slip out of your hands and roll into places you can never find them.”

“You know, that’s actually deep. It would explain why my dad can never find the remote.”

“You better tell him next time you talk.” Carefully Dallion put his phone away. “Anyway, you mentioned food?”

The group Jenna had mentioned turned out to be the average combination of people: most of them seemingly interesting with a few that it was clear that no one would get along with in a few months. Dallion’s roommate had also taken the opportunity to tag along. He fell into the neutral category, trying to be funny all the time, though not annoying enough so people would openly start ignoring him.

The conversation started as expected: small talk about food, quickly shifting to thoughts on college courses, and a smattering of talk about home. There was a moment in which Dallion was worried that he might be asked to tell stuff about his home, but enough of the others were reluctant to talk on the topic either. From there, it switched to jokes and random events until it reached the next common denominator: parties.

“Dal’s definitely a wild one,” his roommate bragged. “Spent the whole of last night dancing on a table till it broke.”

“That was you?” Jenna asked.

“Really? I heard the guy that fell was taken to the ER,” another girl in the group said.

“No ER. I bonked my head and got knocked out for a few seconds,” Dallion downplayed the incident. “Eric carried me to the health center.”

All eyes focused on his roommate.

“Well, what can I say?” The freckled shrugged. “I’m a nice guy.” He attempted the worst Goodfellows impersonation.

“The nurse kicked me out and said not to bother her until after finals,” Dallion continued, getting another round of laughter. “I promised I’d try.”

Another round of laughter ensued. Possibly for that reason, one of the staff in the pizza place increased the volume of the music. Having a stream of college students was generally profitable for business, though only if they ordered a lot and finished eating quickly. The music came from spotify—possibly someone’s personal membership.

The genre of music could only be described as one of those soft vocal trance compilations with more vocals than beat. People would describe it as one of those things that was one level up from elevator music.

When the current song came to an end and the new one began, Dallion froze. For over two seconds, he remained completely still, concentrating on the lyrics, then rushed out of his chair to the person at the counter.

“What’s that song?” he asked.

“Chill, kid.” A man in his thirties frowned. “I’ll down the volume.”

“What’s the name of the song?” Dallion took out his phone and opened it to cashless payment. “And the artist.”

“Hey, no need for that.” The man looked at his own phone. “Summer Vines,” he said. “Summer Vines by Red Atol.”

Neither the song nor the artist meant anything to Dallion. What did, though, was the subtle strands of music mixed within her words. There could be no mistaking it—it was similar to what Dallion had used many times to nudge people in the direction he wanted.

“Catchy, isn’t it?” The man at the counter smiled. “One of those no-hit-wonders that sticks to you.”

“Yeah,” Dallion whispered. “It sticks to you…”