I entered the classroom.
The door creaked—a sound that shouldn't exist in a place reinforced by seventeen layers of spatial magic and three reality anchors. Someone had forgotten to oil the hinges. How delightfully mortal.
Axiom Sanctum Academy. The crown jewel of magical education in the Celestial Dominion. Where the talented became legends, where the ambitious became gods, where the foolish became corpses. Its spires pierced dimensional barriers. Its libraries contained knowledge that could shatter minds. Its entrance exam had a sixty-three percent fatality rate.
And I had just enrolled as a first-year student.
"You're late," said the woman at the front. Instructor Velith Sarannon, according to the elegant nameplate hovering beside her desk. She looked thirty but her eyes held centuries. A Grand Archmage, five-circle minimum, with spatial and temporal affinities judging by the way reality bent slightly around her fingers.
Impressive. For a mortal.
"Am I?" I tilted my head, letting my black-white hair fall across my red eyes. "Time is such a curious thing. Always moving forward, except when it doesn't. Or when it does but backward. Or sideways. Do you ever wonder if time gets dizzy?"
The classroom fell silent.
Thirty-seven students, each one a prodigy in their own right, stared at me. I could read their surface thoughts without trying—comes with the omniscience package—but I preferred to observe their faces. Much more entertaining.
Confusion. Disdain. Curiosity. Concern.
One girl in the third row—Seraphine Valdris, daughter of Duke Valdris, light affinity, pathological need for perfection—wrinkled her nose as if I'd brought something unpleasant into the room. "He's the one? The charity case?"
Ah. So they'd heard.
"Qaftzi'el Aigle," Instructor Velith said, her voice carefully neutral. "Your entrance exam results were... unconventional."
Unconventional. What a delicious word for "we have no idea how you're alive."
The entrance exam had been designed to test magical aptitude, combat ability, theoretical knowledge, and survival instincts. Candidates faced progressively difficult challenges until they either passed, failed, or died. Simple. Effective. Brutal.
I had walked into the exam hall, sat down at a desk, and started drawing pictures of cats.
For six hours.
While around me, reality-warping monsters tore through candidates. While spatial rifts opened and closed. While the proctor's voice announced casualties with clinical detachment.
I just drew cats.
Different cats. Fat cats. Skinny cats. Cats with hats. Cats judging you for your life choices.
When the exam ended, I had a portfolio of cat drawings and not a single scratch on me. The monsters had somehow never reached my desk. The spatial rifts had opened everywhere except where I sat. The causality-severing blade traps had malfunctioned specifically in my vicinity.
Pure luck, the Academy had concluded. Unprecedented, statistically impossible luck.
They'd accepted me as a charity case. A curiosity. Someone to study.
I found it hilarious.
"Take a seat, Mr. Aigle," Instructor Velith said, gesturing vaguely toward the back of the classroom.
I shuffled to an empty desk in the corner, my movements deliberately awkward. I'd chosen this body's appearance carefully—sixteen years old in appearance, slender build, unremarkable except for the red eyes and two-tone hair. The kind of student who'd fade into the background if not for the persistent rumors.
"Freak," someone muttered as I passed.
"Did you see his hair? Unnatural."
"Probably dyed it for attention."
I smiled. Not The Smile—just a gentle, slightly vacant expression. Let them think me harmless. Let them think me strange.
Let them never suspect.
"Now then," Instructor Velith continued once I'd settled, "welcome to Fundamental Magical Theory. This course will cover the basic principles that govern all magic in our reality. Laws that cannot be broken. Rules that define possibility."
I started doodling in my notebook. A cat sitting on a throne made of smaller cats.
"Magic," Velith said, her fingers weaving light into complex diagrams that hung in the air, "operates on three foundational principles. First, the Law of Equivalent Exchange. All magic requires energy input equal to the desired output. You cannot create something from nothing."
Technically incorrect, but close enough for their framework.
"Second, the Law of Elemental Affinity. Every mage possesses innate resonance with certain elements or concepts. This affinity determines your magical potential and growth trajectory."
Also wrong, but I wasn't here to correct the curriculum.
"Third, the Law of Hierarchical Reality. Higher-tier existences can overwrite the abilities of lower-tier existences. A God trumps a Demigod. A Demigod trumps an Archmage. An Archmage trumps a mere Mage."
Now that one was funny. Hierarchical reality. As if existence cared about your ranking system.
"Mr. Aigle."
I looked up. Instructor Velith was staring at me with the expression of someone deeply regretting their career choices.
"Yes?" I said brightly.
"Are you paying attention?"
"Oh, absolutely! You were explaining how reality has a strict hierarchy, and how higher beings are objectively superior, and how the universe operates on rigid, unchangeable laws." I nodded enthusiastically. "It's fascinating! Wrong, but fascinating!"
The classroom temperature dropped several degrees.
"Wrong?" Velith's voice could have frozen steel.
"Well, not wrong-wrong," I backpedaled, waving my hands. "Just... incomplete? Like, what happens when a lower-tier being doesn't know they're supposed to lose? What if they accidentally break the hierarchy because nobody told them the rules? Can you break rules you don't know exist? If a law falls in a forest and nobody's around to enforce it, does it make a sound?"
Someone in the front row started laughing, then quickly stifled it.
Velith's eyes narrowed. "The laws of magic are not optional, Mr. Aigle. They are fundamental aspects of reality itself. You cannot break them any more than you can break mathematics."
"But mathematics is broken all the time!" I protested. "Divide by zero! Imaginary numbers! The fact that sometimes one plus one equals one if you're talking about drops of water! Math is super broken if you poke it hard enough!"
"That's not—" Velith pinched the bridge of her nose. "Class, please ignore Mr. Aigle's... creative interpretation of magical theory. Now, let's discuss practical applications..."
I went back to my drawing. Added a tiny crown to the cat king. He looked very pleased with himself.
The lesson continued for another hour. Velith covered basic magical structures, mana circulation techniques, and the proper meditation forms for developing one's magical core. Standard curriculum. I'd seen civilizations rise and fall on less sophisticated magical systems. I'd also seen civilizations with far more elegant solutions, but those had been in universe iterations that no longer existed.
Or did they? Time was complicated when you existed outside it.
When the bell rang—a crystalline chime that resonated through seventeen dimensions—the students began filing out. Most gave me a wide berth, as if oddness was contagious. A few stared with open curiosity or contempt.
"Excuse me."
I looked up. A boy stood beside my desk—tall, dark-skinned, with striking silver eyes and an air of quiet confidence. Kael Mordren, my omniscience whispered. Third son of the Mordren Merchant Consortium. Spatial affinity with minor temporal sensitivity. Currently ranked fifteenth in the first-year class despite having enrolled three weeks late.
Interesting. He had some natural talent for perceiving irregularities in causality.
"Yes?" I said.
"You're Qaftzi'el Aigle, right? The lucky survivor?"
"That's what they're calling me?" I grinned. "I prefer 'catastrophically blessed' but I suppose lucky works too."
Kael didn't smile. "I watched recordings of the entrance exam. The spatial rifts that opened near you—they weren't random. They followed a pattern."
My grin widened slightly. "Did they? How peculiar!"
"A pattern that suggests localized causality manipulation. But that's impossible for someone without proper training. So either you're hiding your abilities..." His silver eyes studied me carefully. "Or something else is protecting you."
Smart boy. Dangerous boy.
"Maybe I'm just really, really lucky?" I offered.
"Luck doesn't follow mathematical patterns."
"Doesn't it? I mean, probability is just math in a fancy hat. And math, as we've established, is super broken."
Kael opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head. "You're either genuinely strange or an incredible actor."
"Why not both?"
He actually smiled at that. "Fair enough. I'm Kael. Since we're both anomalies here—me for entering late, you for entering alive—we should probably stick together. The social hierarchy in this place is vicious."
I considered this. Having a companion could be entertaining. It would also provide cover for my low-profile strategy. And Kael's ability to perceive causality patterns meant he'd eventually notice more irregularities around me, which could lead to amusing conversations.
"Alright!" I said. "Friends! Do friends share food? I hope friends share food. I haven't eaten in... actually, I'm not sure I've ever eaten? No, wait, I definitely ate something once. It was either yesterday or three eons ago. Time is weird."
Kael blinked. "Are you... okay?"
"Define okay."
"Never mind." He picked up his bag. "Come on. I'll show you the cafeteria before you accidentally wander into the restricted section and trigger a lockdown."
"That sounds like something I would definitely do," I agreed cheerfully, gathering my notebook full of cat drawings.
As we left the classroom, I caught Instructor Velith watching me with a peculiar expression. Concern mixed with suspicion mixed with the particular exhaustion of someone who knew they'd be dealing with me for the entire semester.
I waved at her.
She did not wave back.
The Axiom Sanctum Academy was, objectively speaking, excessive.
The main campus sprawled across three intersecting dimensional planes, with buildings that existed partially in multiple realities simultaneously. Towers spiraled upward into cloud layers that weren't actually clouds but compressed mana formations. Gardens grew plants that shouldn't exist, tended by golems that possessed more intelligence than most creatures had a right to.
The pathway to the cafeteria took us through the Central Atrium—a vast space where gravity was merely a suggestion. Students floated between levels, some walking on invisible platforms, others simply levitating through sheer magical will.
"First time seeing the Atrium?" Kael asked, noticing my wide-eyed stare.
I was actually analyzing the dimensional anchor points. Fascinating work. Whoever had designed this had real talent. The whole structure was held together by a web of spatial-temporal bridges that redistributed gravitational forces across seventeen different dimensional coordinates. Elegant. Almost as elegant as the solution I'd used when I created the original concept of "up" and "down" back before the first universe iteration.
But I couldn't say that.
"It's so floaty!" I said instead. "Like... really floaty! Are we supposed to float? Should I be floating? I don't feel like I'm floating enough."
"The Atrium maintains selective gravity," Kael explained patiently. "You can choose to engage it or not. Watch."
He stepped off the pathway and hovered in mid-air, perfectly still, then pushed himself gently upward to the next level.
"Your turn," he called down.
I looked at the empty space. Looked at Kael. Looked back at the space.
Then deliberately stepped off and immediately started flailing.
"No no no wrong choice wrong choice—"
Kael dove down and caught me before I fell more than a few feet. "Didn't you pay attention during orientation?"
"There was an orientation?"
He stared at me. "It was mandatory. Three days ago. They explained all the Academy's spatial zones and safety protocols."
"Huh. I might have been... elsewhere?"
"Elsewhere."
"Physically present but mentally in another dimension?" I offered. "It happens. Time is weird, space is weirder, and attention spans are the weirdest of all."
Kael sighed and set me back on the pathway. "Just stay on the marked paths for now. We'll work on spatial navigation later."
"You're very nice for someone who just met a complete stranger who can't even handle basic gravity."
"I have three younger siblings," he said dryly. "I'm used to chaos."
We continued walking. Students passed us in clusters, most deep in conversation about classes, assignments, or gossip. I caught fragments:
"—did you hear about the expedition to the Shattered Wastes—"
"—Instructor Kelmar assigned seventeen essays on theoretical runecraft—"
"—that girl from House Avendale actually challenged a third-year to a duel—"
Normal academy life. Normal concerns.
I found it oddly comforting.
"So," Kael said as we descended a spiraling staircase that existed in four dimensions simultaneously, "what's your affinity? They didn't announce it during the opening ceremony."
Ah. That question.
Every mage had an elemental or conceptual affinity—fire, water, earth, air, light, darkness, space, time, life, death, and various exotic combinations thereof. Your affinity determined your potential growth path, your compatible techniques, your role in society.
I had tested as "Null Affinity."
Which was the Academy's polite way of saying "our instruments exploded when we tried to measure him."
"They said I'm Null," I told Kael.
He missed a step. "Null? That's... rare."
"Is it?"
"There's only been three recorded Null Affinity mages in the Academy's thousand-year history. It means you have no natural resonance with any standard element."
"So I'm magically broken?"
"Not broken. Just... different. Null Affinity users can't specialize, but they can learn basic techniques from all categories. You're a generalist. Jack of all trades, master of none."
I nodded sagely. "That sounds about right. I'm very medium at everything."
"The Academy has specialized training programs for Null types," Kael continued. "You'll probably be assigned to Instructor Thane. He's... intense, but fair."
We emerged into a massive hall that could only be described as orchestrated chaos. The cafeteria sprawled before us, packed with hundreds of students. Long tables arranged by year and social hierarchy. Food stations offering everything from simple bread to dishes that glowed with magical enhancement. The noise was tremendous—laughter, arguments, the clatter of plates, the hum of preservation spells.
"Welcome to the feeding grounds," Kael said. "Rule one: don't sit at tables marked with House crests unless you're invited. Rule two: the third-years control the best food stations, so first-years either wait in long lines or settle for basic rations. Rule three: if someone challenges you to a food duel, decline. It's always a trap."
"Food duel?" I perked up. "That sounds amazing! What's a food duel?"
"A stupid tradition where two people compete to eat increasingly dangerous magical foods. Last month someone ended up crystallized for three days."
"And they let students do this?"
"The Academy's philosophy is 'survival of the fittest' with minimal supervision." Kael grabbed a tray from a nearby stack. "As long as nobody dies permanently, they consider it character building."
We joined a line at one of the less-crowded food stations. The student ahead of us—a burly boy with earth affinity based on the stone-like texture of his skin—glanced back at us dismissively.
"Fresh meat," he muttered to his companion.
"First-years," the companion agreed. "Give them a week. Half will drop out."
I wondered what they'd think if they knew the "fresh meat" behind them had witnessed the birth and death of countless universes. That he'd existed before the concept of "student" or "academy" or "meat" had been invented.
Probably wouldn't change their opinion much. Teenagers were universally confident in their superiority across all reality iterations.
We collected our food—simple fare for me, something more elaborate for Kael who apparently had enough social standing to access better options—and found seats at a relatively empty table near the back.
"So," I said, poking at what might have been vegetables, "tell me about this place. What's the Academy actually like?"
Kael swallowed a bite of his meal. "Cutthroat. The Academy's ranking system is updated weekly based on combat performance, academic achievement, and contribution points. Your rank determines everything—class selection priority, resource allocation, even which dormitories you can access."
"Sounds stressful."
"It is. But the top one hundred students get guaranteed positions in royal courts, magical guilds, or research institutions. The top ten get direct sponsorship from the Continental Council. And the first-rank graduate..." He paused dramatically. "Gets one wish granted by the Archmage Council."
"A wish?" I tilted my head. "Any wish?"
"Within reason. They can't wish for godhood or immortality or the destruction of reality. But anything else is supposedly on the table."
How quaint. They thought wishes had limits.
"What rank are you?" I asked.
"Fifteenth right now. I'm aiming for top ten by graduation."
"And where do charity cases rank?"
Kael had the grace to look uncomfortable. "You'll probably start unranked until you complete the first evaluation tournament next month. But don't worry about it. The ranking system is flawed anyway—it favors raw power over intelligence."
"Next month?" I tried to remember if I'd been told about any tournament. Memory was fuzzy when you existed across all timelines simultaneously. "What's the tournament?"
"You really didn't attend orientation, did you?" Kael shook his head. "Every month, first-years participate in evaluation tournaments. Combat trials, puzzle challenges, survival scenarios. Your performance determines your rank and class placement."
"What happens if you lose?"
"You get placed in remedial classes with reduced resource allocation." He said it casually, but I could hear the underlying tension. "Three consecutive poor evaluations and you're expelled."
Ah. So the Academy wasn't just prestigious—it was a pressure cooker designed to filter out weakness.
Efficient, if brutal.
"Attention, first-years."
The voice echoed across the cafeteria without apparent source. Spatial sound projection, distributed through mana nodes embedded in the walls.
All conversation stopped.
A woman materialized at the front of the hall—not walked in, not teleported, but simply became present as if she'd always been there and we'd only just noticed. She wore flowing robes of deep purple that seemed to contain galaxies. Her hair floated around her head like she was underwater. Her eyes were completely black, no whites, no iris, just infinite darkness.
"Archmage Celethine," Kael whispered. "The Academy's Vice Headmaster."
The woman smiled, and the temperature in the hall dropped.
"First-years," she said, her voice somehow both gentle and absolutely terrifying. "Welcome to your first week at Axiom Sanctum Academy. You have survived the entrance exam. Congratulations. That was the easy part."
Nervous laughter rippled through the hall.
"Beginning tomorrow, you will face your first true challenge—the Labyrinth Trial. For the next seven days, you will navigate the Academy's training labyrinth located beneath the central tower. You may form groups of up to five members. You may not leave until you reach the center or until you are too injured to continue."
She paused, letting that sink in.
"The labyrinth contains creatures ranging from Class E to Class B threats. It contains traps both magical and mundane. It contains puzzles that have driven previous students to madness. Your goal is simple: retrieve a token from the center chamber and return to the entrance."
"Those who succeed will receive substantial contribution points and preferential class placement. Those who fail will be... remediated."
The way she said "remediated" suggested it was not pleasant.
"You have until midnight tonight to form your groups. Choose wisely. The strength of your companions may determine your survival. That is all."
She vanished as abruptly as she'd appeared.
The cafeteria exploded into conversation.
"Class B threats? For first-years?"
"Seven days in the labyrinth? That's insane!"
"We need to form groups now—"
"I'm not grouping with any weaklings—"
Kael turned to me, expression serious. "We should team up. My spatial manipulation will help with navigation, and we'll need at least three more members."
I nodded slowly, but my attention was elsewhere.
The labyrinth.
I could feel it beneath us, even from here. Ancient magic. Powerful bindings. And something else... something that tickled at my awareness like a half-remembered dream.
Something old.
Not as old as me—nothing was as old as me—but old enough to be interesting.
"Qaftzi'el?" Kael waved a hand in front of my face. "You okay? You zoned out."
"Hmm? Oh yes, sorry!" I shook my head, dispelling the sensation. "Labyrinth sounds fun! I like mazes! Though I usually solve them by walking through the walls. Is that allowed?"
"No."
"Shame. The direct approach is always faster."
"That's called cheating."
"Cheating is such a harsh word. I prefer 'creative problem-solving.'"
Kael pinched the bridge of his nose—everyone seemed to do that around me—but he was smiling slightly. "You're going to get us all killed, aren't you?"
"Probably not!" I said brightly. "I'm very good at not dying. It's one of my core skills."
"Fantastic. That's exactly the confidence I need from a teammate."
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of activity. Students scrambled to form groups, sizing up potential teammates like battlefield commanders evaluating troops. Social hierarchies that had been forming over the first week suddenly crystallized into rigid structures.
The strongest students—those with notable family names, impressive entrance exam scores, or rare affinities—became team leaders, carefully selecting their companions. They sat in clusters at the better tables, conducting what amounted to recruitment interviews.
The weaker students either banded together out of necessity or desperately petitioned the stronger groups for acceptance.
And then there was me, sitting at our back table, drawing more cats in my notebook while Kael networked.
"That's Lyris Thorn," Kael said, returning to our table after speaking with a confident girl who radiated barely controlled lightning. "Lightning affinity, ranked ninth. She's interested in joining us if we can find two more members with compatible skill sets."
"Does she like cats?" I asked, showing him my latest drawing.
"I... didn't ask. Why would that matter?"
"It matters immensely. You can tell a lot about a person by their opinion on cats."
Kael stared at the drawing—a cat wearing wizard robes and holding a staff. "Is that cat casting a spell?"
"He's casting fireball. His name is Whiskers the Destroyer."
"Of course it is."
"You don't like it?"
"I didn't say that." Kael sat down. "Look, we need to be strategic about this. The labyrinth will test combat, problem-solving, and teamwork. We need a balanced group. Lyris handles offense. I handle navigation and spatial support. You're... adaptable. We need a healer and someone with defensive capabilities."
"What about her?" I pointed to a girl sitting alone at a nearby table. She was small, with mouse-brown hair and nervous energy, clutching a book to her chest like a shield.
"That's Mira Ashten. Null affinity like you, but she specializes in support magic. Barriers, healing, enhancement buffs." Kael frowned. "She's talented but socially awkward. Most groups won't take her because she's too quiet."
"Perfect. Let's ask her."
"Just like that?"
"She's alone, we need a support mage, and she looks like she gives excellent book recommendations. That's three good reasons."
Kael looked like he wanted to argue, but shrugged. "Your call."
We approached Mira's table. She looked up as we neared, eyes widening slightly like a startled deer.
"Hi!" I said, sliding into the seat across from her uninvited. "I'm Qaftzi'el, this is Kael, and we're forming a labyrinth group. Want to join?"
She blinked. "Me?"
"Unless there's another talented support mage sitting exactly where you're sitting, yes."
"But I'm... I'm not..." She clutched her book tighter. "Most people don't want me in their group."
"Most people are boring," I said. "Are you boring?"
"I... what?"
"It's a simple question. Are you boring?"
"I don't... I don't think so?"
"Great! Then you're in. We'll meet tomorrow morning at the labyrinth entrance. Don't be late. Or do be late. Time is fake anyway."
I stood up and walked away, leaving Mira staring after me in confusion.
Kael caught up. "That was possibly the worst recruitment pitch I've ever witnessed."
"But it worked, didn't it?"
"She didn't actually say yes."
"She didn't say no either. That's basically a yes."
"That's not how consent works."
"Isn't it?" I tilted my head. "Hmm. Mortality is complicated."
"Mortality? What does that have to do with—you know what, never mind."
We spent the rest of the evening searching for a fifth member. Most students had already formed groups or had no interest in joining a team with two Null affinities and a "lucky" charity case. By sunset, we'd been rejected twelve times, ignored eight times, and laughed at twice.
"This is hopeless," Kael muttered as we trudged back toward the dormitories. "We'll have to enter the labyrinth with just four people."
"What about him?" I pointed to a figure sitting on a bench in one of the Academy's gardens.
The boy was large—not fat, but solid like a mountain given human form. He had dark skin, darker than Kael's, and arms that looked like they could bend iron bars. His eyes were closed, and he was so still that birds had landed on his shoulders.
"That's Brick," Kael said. "Earth affinity. Defensive specialist. He's..." He hesitated. "He's strong, but he's not bright. Most people use him for muscle then abandon him."
"That's terrible."
"It is. But he's used to it."
I walked over to the bench. The birds scattered as I approached. Brick opened one eye.
"Hello," I said.
"Hello," he rumbled. His voice was deep as tectonic plates grinding.
"Want to join our labyrinth group?"
He closed his eye again. "No."
"Why not?"
"People don't actually want me. They want a shield."
"Well, we do want a shield. But we also want Brick."
Both eyes opened now. "You don't know me."
"Not yet. But we could. That's how friendship works, right? You start as strangers and then do dangerous things together until you're either friends or dead. Sometimes both."
Brick stared at me for a long moment. Then he smiled—a small, genuine expression that transformed his entire face.
"You're weird."
"Thank you!"
"I like weird." He stood, and it was like watching a mountain stand up. "Okay. I'll join."
"Excellent! We meet tomorrow morning at the labyrinth entrance. Try not to be late. Or do be late. Time is fake anyway."
As we walked away, Kael shook his head in disbelief. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Get people to trust you so quickly."
"I don't know." I shrugged. "Maybe I'm just naturally trustworthy? Or maybe people sense that I'm genuinely interested in them? Or maybe it's the eyes. Red eyes are very distinctive. Hard to forget someone with red eyes."
"It's definitely not the eyes."
"Are you sure? Because I think it might be the eyes."
That night, I lay in my dormitory bed—a small room I shared with three other first-years who'd taken one look at me and immediately requested room transfers—and stared at the ceiling.
The Academy's dormitories were comfortable but spartan. Each room had four beds, four desks, four wardrobes, and absolutely no personality. The walls were warded against magical eavesdropping, dimensional intrusion, and unauthorized teleportation. Safety precautions.
As if walls could stop something that existed before the concept of "walls."
I could feel the labyrinth beneath the Academy. Could feel the wards and bindings. Could feel the ancient magic woven into its foundations.
And beneath all that, something else.
A presence.
Not malevolent, exactly. Not benevolent either. Just... present. Watching. Waiting.
Curious.
I smiled in the darkness.
Finally, something interesting.
My roommates had left their belongings behind in their rush to transfer—a few books, some personal items, a photograph of someone's family. I picked up one of the books. Fundamentals of Elemental Theory by Archmage Valtor Kess.
I flipped through it idly. The author had gotten approximately thirty-seven percent of magical theory correct, which was better than most. They'd completely missed the part about how elements weren't actually fundamental forces but rather conceptual frameworks that conscious minds imposed on the underlying chaos of pure mana, but that was an advanced topic.
I set the book aside and closed my eyes.
Not to sleep—I didn't need sleep—but to observe.
From here, I could perceive the entire Academy. Every student, every instructor, every magical working in progress. Seventeen different conversations about tomorrow's labyrinth trial. Eight students having nightmares about the entrance exam. Three conducting unauthorized experiments that would probably explode by morning. One couple sneaking through restricted areas for romantic purposes.
All of it so beautifully, perfectly mortal.
They struggled and strived and feared and hoped, all while completely unaware that reality itself was far more flexible than they imagined. That the "unchangeable laws" they studied were really just agreements between conscious and unconscious forces. That hierarchy and power were constructs that could be unmade with sufficient understanding.
I could show them.
Could reveal the true nature of existence. Could demonstrate that their carefully constructed magical theories were like children's drawings of physics—technically related to truth but missing the depth.
But I wouldn't.
Because that would ruin the entertainment.
And because, somewhere deep in the part of me that had once been something different—before I became what I am now—I genuinely wanted them to succeed on their own terms.
Let them think me the lucky fool. Let them think me weak.
Let them never know that the strange boy with red eyes and two-tone hair had authored the very concept of "thought" itself.
Tomorrow would be interesting.
Tomorrow, I would enter the labyrinth.
And tomorrow, something old would meet something older.
I was looking forward to it.