Asdras slept through the day, waking with renewed energy, though his thoughts were clouded with a somber mood. Since awakening his power and realizing where he was, Stencil, the headmaster, had instructed them to rest in their rooms.

Asdras couldn't recall how or when he had arrived in his room. Everything felt surreal, like a nightmare, yet the power pulsing through his body was undeniable.

He studied his room, a humble but thoughtfully constructed space within the academy's underground facilities. Luxurious rooms were beyond his experience, but he felt this was the best he had ever seen. The centerpiece was a makeshift wooden bed, sturdy enough to bear the weight of a cow, its surface softened by a thick blanket.

At the foot of the bed stood a chest, its worn exterior hinting at personal items and secrets. To the side, a shelf clung to the wall, lined with essentials and tools. Behind a modest partition was a small bathroom, providing a rare but cherished sense of privacy in the communal underground setting.

Asdras appreciated this privacy and headed to wash himself. It felt like ages since his last bath, yet in the 'real' world, he had bathed just the day before. In the 'other' world, he hadn’t.

‘What in the world happened? Was it real? Were they actual people? Or just a nightmare? I hope they explain it to us. And does everyone who awakens go through what I did?’

As hot water poured over him, his thoughts drifted, filled with more questions than ever.

‘Asdras Morie... I know my name is Asdras, but my surname was always unknown to me. That voice... what was it? It knew my name. And that crow? It seems like it knows everything about me. Will I see it again?’

He looked at his palm; the etched crow was still there, pulsing with energy. The more he watched it, the more his blood vibrated, as if calling him somewhere else.

He tried to avoid thinking about the villagers. Even with clearer memories, he couldn’t recall their exact faces, as if his mind shut down to cope with what he did. Instead, he focused on practical things.

‘And that text in flames? Written in my name... What's the deal with the Twilight Flame? Does it have something to do with that song?’

His thoughts raced, and he didn’t notice when he exited the bathroom and put on his uniform. For the awakened, it was the same attire as the students who took his registration.

‘And the path... what does it signify? I remember the tale. Did my choice involve their sacrifice?’

He didn’t want to think about it, at least not at the moment. He wished he could forget the nagging feeling in the back of his mind, but it was there, waiting for him to revisit what happened.

Coping mechanisms often involve unconsciously blocking and ignoring difficult memories. Within the maze of his mind, certain corridors were sealed off, doors firmly shut against the desire to open them.

It was selective amnesia, a way of protecting oneself from the emotional fallout of a traumatic event. By acting as if it never happened, one could create a mental fortress, albeit hollow from within.

But one couldn't escape the underlying truth that this strategy came with a cost. Each "prisoner" left a mark on one's subconscious, a silent echo subtly influencing thoughts and actions.

Suppression required immense mental energy and constant vigilance to ensure no cracks appeared in the walls of his constructed reality. Asdras felt it. Despite burning with energy, a part of him was leaking. It was small, like a minor hole in a ship, but if ignored, it could lead to despair.

‘And that key... Pathway to Ravenwood?’

He stopped at the door of his room, maneuvering an imaginary handle until he realized it didn’t have one. The rooms of the academy worked like the entrance to the subterranean facilities, using runic symbols that required placing a hand on the rune for transport.

He searched his pockets as he walked through the corridor tunnel known as 'Groundway'. He found the map folded in his uniform's inner pocket. Then he realized something he should have in his pockets to deliver to the headmaster.

‘Damn! Did I lose it?’

The flask Yoozi gave him, as Javier instructed. He had lost, technically, not the flask itself but its contents. He looked at the empty flask and sighed.

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‘I can't just hand it over… Hope it's not vital,’ he muttered as he pocketed the key.

The 'Groundway' was a massive corridor with several runic doors of varying colors. He saw many students like him walking and reading their maps as they figured out where to go.

Asdras looked at his map and found instructions on where each door led. It warned him not to attempt entering the red or orange doors, only the blue or white ones.

As he tried to decide which door to choose, he overheard a trio of young men yelling as they ran toward a nearby door, “Hurry! We need to get the best view of the class.”

Realizing it was a waste of time to overthink, Asdras decided to follow the trio. They led him to a lecture classroom, an imposing and meticulously designed space. Rows of sturdy desks, each accompanied by a single wooden chair, were arranged with military precision, all facing a central stage.

Industrial pipes crisscrossed the ceiling above, their surfaces gleaming in the dim light from lanterns hanging from the walls and ceiling. The lights cast a warm, flickering glow, dancing shadows across the rocky walls and lending the room an almost sacred atmosphere.

Asdras entered the classroom, his soft footsteps resonating against the stone floor before the quiet murmurs of his fellow students drowned out the sound. Each desk was occupied, with the students displaying a range of emotions that painted a vivid tapestry of human experience.

Some sat with eager anticipation, their eyes bright and alert, ready to absorb every word. Others appeared more somber, their expressions shadowed with anxiety or fatigue, and the weight of their burdens was evident in the way they hunched over their desks. Some seemed lost in thought, their minds wandering far from the classroom.

The air was thick with scents and sounds, the faint metallic tang of the pipes mingling with the earthy aroma of the rocky walls. The soft creak of chairs and the rustle of paper created a subtle atmosphere of anticipation.

Asdras looked around, seeking an empty space. A student stumbled against his back, making him pivot to spot an empty chair at the far top left of the room. Seizing the opportunity, he hurried towards it, glancing around to ensure no one else was heading in the same direction.

‘Oh, it’s her!’

“Mind if I sit here?” Asdras asked, glancing at the girl in the next chair.

“Sure.”

Asdras took his time to adjust and couldn’t help but give a furtive look at the girl on his left. Her expression seemed lost, and her hands lightly scratched the desktop. Her curly hair covered the other side of her face.

“Lisandra, right?”

She sighed, finding it difficult to wait for the class to start without interacting with anyone. Upon hearing her name, she couldn’t help but look at Asdras. As she did, she caught a glimpse of his palms and froze.

She almost lost herself in a trance-like state, thinking it shouldn’t be possible that what she read was associated with the boy next to her. She replied, saving them from an awkward moment. “Yes, Asdras, right?”

“Yes. Do you have any idea which class this is?”

“Didn’t you read the introductory book?"

Asdras looked puzzled and scratched his head before replying, “Nope… Where can I find out?”

She giggled, and Asdras looked down to hide his reddening cheeks. He was never one to look at girls as Brian did, whether due to the awkwardness his friend often caused or his lack of interest in the subject.

He couldn’t deny that her smile was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. But his eyes cast down, and his blood turned cold when a fragment of Eight's smile flashed in his mind.

Lisandra saw his shift in mood and tried to lift it by changing her tone to a more uplifting one. But her experiences and the symbol on Asdras's palm stopped her. So she replied in a low voice, "In your room."

Asdras was about to ask when he noted the shift in the room. The whispering and conversations hushed to silence as a man walked onto the stage, carrying a thick book.

“Good morning everyone; I’m Teacher Vidar Ingolfsson, here to lecture on awakening.”

Teacher Vidar Ingolfsson stood with an imposing presence, his sharp blue eyes conveying stern wisdom and unyielding authority. His neatly groomed beard framed a face with a single, noticeable scar that spoke of previous battles and hard-won experience.

"I understand many of you have questions and seek clarity, but remember this: from the moment you awakened, everything shifted fundamentally. One key aspect is our newfound ability for active thinking."

“Many of us could think before awakening — sure — but not actively engage in self-dialogue or reason with ourselves in our own voice as we can now. This skill will become more intuitive over time; for now, just keep it at the forefront of your mind.”

‘Now that he said it, it's true. Before, I could think, and now I can think while hearing my own voice in my head. It's so strange to think about it,’ Asdras thought, nodding.

"Alright then! Normally, I don’t entertain interruptions or questions at the start of class, but today’s special," Vidar declared, surveying their eager faces. "Who wants to go first?"

Many students raised their hands, waiting to be chosen. But one voice, in particular, spoke up in a higher pitch, "Was it a dream or an illusion? What happened? I was in a forest and almost got killed by a pack of creatures, but I was lucky, and an elder man with a skull tattoo saved me."

Teacher Vidar stomped lightly on the floorboards, causing a hush among the rising voices. He focused on one student's query before responding firmly: "No doubt about it — it was as real as it should be — and based on what you've described, if you venture there again... well, let’s just say survival isn’t guaranteed."