The library, ugh.

Janine, my model-student, prim and proper, dormitory roommate, forced me to come with her to the library to study. We were the only people at the fourth floor of the library. This was supposed to be the study area, so I expected it to be full of people…studying. But the long tables in the middle of the floor were unoccupied. And, I wasn’t sure, but I think the cubicles lining the walls, except the ones we were using, were also devoid of life.

It was half past six on a Saturday morning, so that was probably the reason no one else was here.

The insane plan of Janine was to finish all of our homework for the week by lunchtime so that we, or rather she, could have Saturday afternoons and the entire Sunday free for her co-curricular activities. She was going to do this for the entire semester as her path-to-success schedule. I was forced along because she said she wanted to help me as well. Not that I was doing bad in class. Although, the real reason was probably that she couldn’t handle the thought of being roommates with someone who had, at the least, above average grades.

Brain check, brain check. Why the fuck did I go along with Janine?

Janine scooted her chair over to my cubicle to check on what I doing, which was not studying. She frowned and said, “People don’t realize this, but every hour you spend not working towards your goal is a missed step on the stairs of success.”

If someone else told me that, I would have been annoyed, but this was Janine. I looked up from my phone and said, “Don’t throw quotable quotes at me. Who said that, anyway?”

“Me. I just came up with it. I better write it down for my valedictory speech.”

“Can you write in your future presidential memoir that I helped you come up with that quote?”

“Of course,” she said, grinning. “What are you doing anyway?”

“Not working towards my goal, whatever that is.”

“Seriously.”

“Still researching dreams,” I said.

“Is this about that dream you had last Monday? The one where you died?”

“I can find ‘death’ but not dying in a battlefield,” I said, scrolling through my phone. “Is a death dream different from a war dream?”

“Just give it a rest already,” Janine said exasperatedly. “You’re not superstitious, aren’t you?”

“Well, no. But the dream was vivid, and yet hazy. I know that makes no sense, by the way, so don’t point it out. It just feels like there’s a message for me.”

“It’s just a dream. Most people forget their dreams in like a day.”

“Most people give up their dreams while in college, yet here we are.” Janine and I looked at each other with deadpanned expressions, snickered, then high-fived each other.

“That is going in my valedictory speech,” Janine said. “What was your dream again?”

“I was in the middle of a battlefield. There were dead monsters and dead knights everywhere. I was one of the knights.”

“Monsters and knights? A fantasy world?”

“I suppose. With magic and all. I can remember I had magic too, but I was already losing power because I was dying. A fucking huge arrow covered with magical symbols struck me.”

“You were one of the knights? Interesting,” Janine said. “Did you win or lose the battle?”

“I remember one of my fellow knights was still alive and he said that we did it. All the monsters were dead so that means we won.” I did not mention that the knight was handsome, because Janine will just judge me. Gavin was his name, I think. It was weird that the memory of the dream was becoming clearer as time passed, opposite of what usually happened.

“And you died because you were shot by a magic arrow?”

“Actually, I just assumed I died. I mean it felt like I died. Then I woke up.” I went back to browsing the internet with my phone. “Dying in a dream supposedly means a major change in life. Dreaming of wars can indicate inner conflicts. Dreaming of being a warrior or a soldier might mean you want power.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“So, what does a dream of dying as a warrior in the battlefield mean?” Janine said.

“I can’t find anything as specific as that. Maybe I have to string together the meanings I found. The major change is obviously starting college. Do I want power in college? And inner conflicts? I don’t know about that.”

“I seriously doubt you have inner conflicts,” Janine said. “You seem to be sure of yourself even if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said. “But I’m sure that you’re having an inner conflict right now if it was a good idea dragging me as your study buddy.”

“No, I’m not,” she said innocently.

I raised my hands in resignation. “I’ll be a good student and make my dad proud. I’ll study now. Is that alright, miss future valedictorian?”

Janine held her thumbs up. “Keep that up and I’ll get you a job at the White House someday when I’m President.”

I don’t know how I did it, but I actually finished my assignments and studying for next week. Having Janine by my side sort of shamed me into being diligent, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. Miraculously, I was able to keep my concentration the entire morning despite waking up a couple of hours earlier than usual.

After packing my bags and waving Janine goodbye as she ran off to save the world, I returned to the dormitory. This was a Saturday. It was customary among my people, people who were not Janine-types, to sleep in on a Saturday. I felt like I had betrayed majority of mankind by not sleeping in today.

Remunerations have to be made. What was broken has to be fixed. The mistake should be undone. I was going back to sleep. Even though it was already lunchtime. Yup.

I wasn’t even thinking of having lunch. I flung my bag to my chair and jumped to bed.

----------------------------------------

Light? Someone was trying to open my eyes!

I immediately opened my eyes and came face to face with an old man holding a golden monocle attached to a chain. “Who are you? Why are you in my room?” I balled up my fists ready to punch him. Was he attacking me? This old man was going down. Everyone, grab your shovels and dig a grave for this guy.

But then he started to cry. He took out a handkerchief from the left pocket of his velvet coat, and with a flare dabbed his eyes. “Alastam nga gubwat ak an, Lorica,” he said. “Alastam, alastam.”

“What? What did you say?” I still had my fists held up. Was this a prank? If there was a hidden camera recording me right now, I swear someone was going to get injured. And how did this guy get in my room. I looked around and slowly put down my arms. “This is not my room.”

I was in a tent of sorts. Not the one used for camping, but like the tent used by the army in war movies. It was quite spacious and had lots of headroom. Various furniture were also inside, including a round table with four wooden chairs, a full length mirror, and a two-door cabinet. I was even sitting on a queen-sized post bed.

“Uhapyaw yana. Alaw id nial nga atamob iasom,” the old man said. He raised his eyebrow as he nestled the monocle above his cheekbone.

I didn’t know what language the old man spoke, but I understood him. He said that I should rest and that I was safe here. Did I hit my head? I was sure that what he just spoke wasn’t English. With no idea what to do, I relaxed, waiting for the host of this prank show to reveal himself. I had a creeping suspicion that Janine was probably in on this prank, which was why she had to drag me out of bed so early in the morning.

The flap of the tent opened. Here comes the big reveal. I don’t think they caught any embarrassing reactions from me so I held my head up with confidence. This was such a failed prank.

A freckled girl with brown ponytails, maybe about ten years old, entered. She struggled to carry a large silver pitcher on a tray. She dropped the tray and the pitcher upon seeing me and said, “Lady Lorica, you’re awake.” She spoke in the same unknown language as the old man but I clearly understood her.

No cameras yet? I rolled my eyes. They probably wanted to continue with this prank. I already knew that it was a prank, so what was the point?

“Beatrice,” someone outside exclaimed. “Did you drop the pitcher again?”

The girl, who I assumed was Beatrice, ran outside and started shouting, “She’s awake. She’s awake. Lady Lorica is awake.”

Lorica? That sounded familiar. The old man also mentioned Lorica. I was sure that I heard that name somewhere recently.

People were gathering outside the tent, their silhouettes showing through the tent flaps as the sun was behind them. “Doctor Ochre, is it alright if we come inside?” an authoritative female voice said.

“Can they come in, my lady?” the old man asked me.

“Uuuh. Sure, why not?” I replied. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Lady Lorica says she’ll entertain visitors,” Doctor Ochre called out to the crowd outside.

A tall, heavily-tattoed woman, with a stern expression on her face entered first. Her hair was woven into an intricate braid accented by golden ornaments. Judging by her finely toned muscles, she was not someone you want to mess with. She immediately rushed to the side of my bed and knelt down on one knee. “Lady Lorica, I assume full responsibility for failing to reach you on time.”

“What?” I said blankly.

“All their deaths are on my head. I am ready to accept my punishment,” she continued.

“Our dear Lady is still recovering,” said the hulk of a man who entered next. “Don’t pester her with your failure.”

The woman who was kneeling shot daggers with her eyes at the man who spoke.

“Now, now. Let’s not forget that this is Lady Lorica’s place of rest,” Doctor Ochre said. “Perhaps someone can take the table and chairs out so that everyone can enter.”

“I’ll take a chair,” Beatrice said, running back inside the tent. She tripped on the pitcher she earlier dropped and fell face first to the ground.

“And someone should clean that up as well.”