A familiar ceiling. I had this exact thought, waking up – or rather, appearing – in this room. A room, as it wasn't my own.

The uncanny resemblance – flakes of paint dripping from the walls; the narrow, soggy blanket and the scent of honey – didn't fool me. Cluttered at random spots, with epileptic colors on every entity, the layout screamed discomfort. I liked this sight, but it wasn't my own.

Once, I imagined such a scene. When or where are irrelevant. Before my eyes, in the worse way my mind could think, there it was. From the ceiling, sparkles swirled in the air.

To my lack of surprise, I was calm. In a trance, admiring what my eyes told me. I experienced this situation many times; this instance, the details were sharper than usual. I blamed this fact on my stress.

A knock came from the door. A heavy lump of wood, turned into a smoother, flawless surface. I couldn't rub my fingers to check – however – in a dream.

"I'm opening."

Feminine and hazy. It was such a voice, like trapped in an opaque fog. It wasn’t English – yet not too far either.

Blurry, as was this person's identity or her motives, I waited for the scene to unfold, curious.

'Alright.'

A lump in my throat prevented any sounds from escaping. However, as if my intentions were conveyed, a muffled creak rung out.

From the door appeared a young, fair–looking girl. She was about three–quarter my size, with a combed fringe on her forehead. The remaining hair dangled on the side, curving around her neck. They had a dull, black hue.

Her dainty features, contrasted by a stern, loose formal getup, gave away an age range. About ten or fifteen points younger than mine. She gazed at me with tired eyes – maybe, hints of disdain.

I frowned. This girl sparked no memories, nor was she an idea. As worry crawled on me, it also dispersed away.

My expression spelled misplaced curiosity. The girl rolled her eyes.

"Student. May I know your number?" She asked in a faint voice. I didn't get the meaning of her words. Pulling my vision towards neck height; there, I saw it. A dangling green piece of plastic, and a number.

'1002.' I tried replying. Again, if there were any, my words were foggy and inaudible.

The girl nodded, then gazed at her wrist. A black watch hugged it. She lit up the screen, tapping in varying spots for a few seconds; when a noise played, the maneuver ended.

"The ceremony is in twenty minutes. I'll go down in a hurry if I were you."

Her tone, attitude and actions were all foreign. A question grazed the back of my head.

'Kid, what is your name?'

Confusion. Like I'd dropped a hammer on her skull. With a head tilt, she sighed.

"Kid?" She shook her head. "Rei, why?"

'I wanted to know'

The answer I chose. The girl's blurry voice didn't let any emotions out. I only heard noises and vibrations. However, from her lifted brow, I mused my poor decision.

"Ah, sure."

She turned back to leave and slam the door. The lack of sound made it seem lighter than a feather.

Alone. The slight boredom drew me backward, following a ray of light scattering through a large window. I leaned forward to peer.

Nothing like the reality I knew – and yet, the differences were scarce. The city extended in mazy avenues, alleys, all bustling. People swarming the streets, clean and organic paths. A high–end, fancy city that I couldn't afford.

From my height, the people were blurry dots. Clouds were at arm length, stroking my fingertips, like the view from a plane. I sighed – the gray, cluttered sky ruined the scenery.

I gave up trying to find any logic. Objects or concepts of a different knowledge and time cluttered the sight. A city, a few years into the future.

Yes, that was a good analogy.

It was often the case with my imagination.

I walked. To a tiny aperture between the door and a wall, throwing my body into the gap. Beyond the room were corridors – a navy–blue paintjob on the walls, built in an unknown material. It seemed to distort, waves spread on the smooth surface, now turned rugged as sand.

I turned around, observing my room's door. Though the inside parts were made of dark wood, this sight resembled stray metal sheets scrambled one above the over. Each had a different, neon–bright color. I loathed whoever's idea it was.

On top of the piece was a number. Golden and sheeny digits engraved in the material. They were the same that I told the girl. The doors on my sides didn't look that lavish, made of far more aggregable wood.

I was starting to have headaches.

The corridor appeared to blank. Even without noises, I could experience the emptiness. Then, the girl's words surged back.

A ceremony. I did remember that part. My guts pulled me toward this fact. Such a lack of life had to have an explanation, I mused that the two were linked.

I strode, counting the numbers that dwindled as I walked. LEDs hid above the blue ceiling, creating a sheeny surface. The absence of windows concerned me.

Each step felt as if my feet dug into mud. The path spun on the sides, twisting shapes in wavy, stretched rectangles.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

When I arrived, it took me a minute to realize a wide lift, built in glossy glass panes that could fit an army. It flowed in a glass cylinder, giving off a panoramic view of the city.

I pushed a flickering red button. Doors parted ways to let me it; I entered with clumsy steps. As a muffled noise rung out from above, the open–air spectacle wasn't anything new. People got closer as I scaled down the floors, morphing from dots to tiny ball of color. Ah, an improvement.

The lift hit the ground without a noise. In front of me was a room. I walked to lean on a balcony. Calling it a ‘room’ gave me a sour impression.

It was an architecture, grander and fancier that any other. A cylinder, built in spirals, occupied by endless rows of numbered seats. Curving on themselves, rising to my level, then above, until stroking the ceiling.

A golden chandelier hanged from the ceiling, extended in multiple curly branches. Its base – a thick, sheeny lump of carved ore – hovered under the ceiling. The piece had light scattered in a pretty, psychedelic pattern over the entire room. Laws of my world seemed to bend.

Again, I didn't care much. For me, this place was a beehive. A constant, lilting buzzing noise bothered my ears. The lower levels had people were swarming the vacant seats. Some, installed for longer than others, battled to secure a comfortable place. A silent battlefield - in reality, it was the biggest mess imaginable.

I peered at them. Young-looking kids, clothed in a uniform of nobility. Men wore a cream-colored set of slim pants and jacket, layered on top of a white shirt. A black bowtie, also. The girls followed these rules, with a silky black skirt and chestnut cardigan. Despite their contorted expression, excitement seeped out of that façade.

It was a regiment of nobles, their faces exuded a distinct charm of haughtiness. Despite this feeling, if I dared to observe details, a blur would spread all over their bodies.

‘Superficial’

The reddish, golden hue dimmed down, together with a whistling. It flew across the room, the darkness, and danced into my ears. Or so, I believed – for me, a gale stroked my eardrums.

My eyes – alongside the mass’ - darted downwards at the center. A beam crashed into an elevated scene, highlighting a coughing person.

He was a petite figure, and he was a man. Struggling to find a footing, his oversized coat slumped on the floor, under the man's feet once or twice. It was layered over a loose black shirt that covered tight-hugging pants; most noticeable, charcoal boots around the ankle.

A well-kept, flowing mass of ginger hair fluttered. The whimsical wind guided it. His wrinkled skin, crooked nose, despite a round pair of expressive eyes, molded a disagreeable sight. It was neither my idea nor a character.

Headaches never stopped hammering at my brain - it grew worse as the man took a step.

His rough breath, reverbing, accentuated my impression.

Gaping mouths. And deaf sounds of awe. The students made such faces.

"Hmm. Hmm."

He coughed once more, straightened his curved back.

"Ah. Can you hear me?"

I mused that a low voice rung out. Enough that my foggy state couldn't make out his words.

Then, he repeated that question. A shockwave ripped me apart. Across the room, against everyone; nobody was spared. The man's voice pulled me away for a second, until my consciousness returned.

Everyone else had their eyes glued to him.

"You know me. I think." He exclaimed in a sour tone while entertaining a bang. His act and appearance were contrasting forces.

"As the founder of this academy, it is my burden to continue this introduction. Thus, I shall."

Taking another step, the man escaped the dim lighting. His rugged skin became glimmery, like a barrel of oil.

"Welcome to Heigel. Our city has been the Cornerhouse of witch-hunt for decades, and I intend to stay it as such."

Each of his words were thunder strikes. The low figure, standing alone on stage, dominated the wide area. He didn't move an inch.

"If you've passed the entrance exam, then I have no doubts about your battle prowess. Most of you would be capable of dispelling tiny distortions; who knows, your professor wouldn’t spare you a trip to the crystal lands.”

I felt the collective gulping of many students. It made me chuckle. There was an evidence underneath the head's words.

These kids had to fight – if it was the product of my imagination, bloodless struggles.

I was lying, of course.

"I'm joking. In a few years, these words shall become your reality. No, they must."

The man's glare pierced through every eye. Mine, too.

A second passed, and his words became blurrier, my senses were faint. I couldn't see my arms anymore.

"If you've chosen to enter an academy – Heigel's –, you need the bear the responsibility of these words. Remember them."

Never seen before colors cluttered my vision.

"Your success is another one's failure. If you cannot handle this weight, I suggest you leave this room this instance. There is no shame in that."

I caught glimpses. Flashes of the scene. With a trembling hand, two boys fled to the main hallway a level below. Their faces embodied cowardice.

Then, a dozen or so mirrored that gesture, until nobody twitched.

"I assume that the remaining are willing. I welcome you."

As he turned around, the man's back formed the last picture I remembered. His narrow back felt like a shield made out of steel.

Then, I disappeared, like it should've always been, together with this world.

That's how my imagination worked. Walking in mud, through the confines of my thoughts.

I never understood why my mind could twist. Many feelings were tangled. Disgust. Then, scarce enjoyment. These distant lives were my precious blankets.

If an issue arose, I could roll myself in them. This hour or so was a complete freedom. That was how - my slacker behaviors considered - I managed to earn some money by writing.

Now, I floated in this blank space again, waiting for my room’s ceiling to welcome me. A matter of seconds.

‘…’

Minutes or years passed. Time used to never erode my patience, but at this pace, it was starting to.

An orange veil began suffocating the void around me. The flawless black gave his crown to a softer color, like a fall breeze.

Sensations irked me again; I was sightless, and – normally, in my room. In tandem, the scent of foliage and the rustles of leaves manifested. A gentle chill hit my sore neck.

Screams. A voice was calling for my name. As my vision lost its foggy coat, I could make out pieces of words.

"Cadet!"

A wrinkled leaf fell on my shoulder. My body sat on a hard, wooden bench. I rubbed my eyes.

This wasn't my room. Rather, there was a towering construction of glass panes and neon ahead. Twenty meters separated me and its transparent entrance. The army of mirrors blinded me with reflected sunlight.

An orange, scarlet color dominated the dusked sky.

'Ah?'

I gazed at my feet, digging a nail into my cheek. A sharp pain rose.

"Hey!"

A feminine voice hurt my ears. Standing at arm's length, I noticed a rough-looking woman, whose messy hair fell on her forehead. She had haggard eyes. I felt like a circus beast.

Her black, loose uniform distinguished her from the students. The scabbard worn at waist-height, too.

I wondered how these facts remained in my head.

With a blank look, my vocal cords rung.

"Yes?" This was my best answer. Furrowing her brows, the woman sighed at the sky.

"Are you alright?" A drop of sweat fell on her eyelid. "Why did you run away from the Khaal? You looked like a madman, really."

I frowned, gritted my teeth. Finally, I laughed.

"Khaal? That spiraling room?" My voice was an inaudible whisper.

The woman's confusion bloomed into worry. "Of course? You're a cadet, and you don't know that?"

I didn't answer, eying the ground. A chestnut on a nest of dirt and dust. My chuckles continued.

"You don't look good-"

While crouching, her hand approached my forehead, before being slapped away. I breathed, panted, pulling on my hair.

"What are you..."

I last saw her eyes before the world turned black.

'It didn't happen.'

In the dark, this sentence played in my mind, over and over.

Yet, maybe a minute after, nothing changed. My point of view was different, the sky had darkened a little. I rested on my back with a hollow look.

"Ah. You're up."

It was the same woman and another presence. I could make out their clothes' colors and outlines.

"How are you feeling?

"..."

The voice seemed masculine. I had nothing to say. The two exchanged whisperings, before landing their attention back on me.

"Can you walk?" The woman asked.

I nodded, that much was obvious. Silence ruled a dozen seconds.

"Do you know the way to your apartment in the academy?"

No. Yet, I nodded again.

"Good."

After another silence, she thrashed it again.

"Are you alright?"

Here, I had to speak up. It was meaningless.

"Not at all."

I felt out of place.