This can’t be real.
Your breathing grows shallow as panic sets in. You stammer incoherently, words spilling out without purpose, fragmented questions, denials, anything to claw your way back to rationality. You grip your head with trembling hands, tapping at your temples in a futile attempt to wake yourself from this impossible dream. It’s not real. It can’t be real. You mutter, desperate to wake-up.
The world around you feels distant, the chatter of the students drowned out by the pounding of your heart.
Then, without warning, a sharp flick lands squarely on your forehead.
The shock jolts you out of your spiraling thoughts. Your hands drop, and you blink up at Solon, who’s now standing directly in front of you. His blue eyes hold yours, steady and unyielding.
“Stay calm,” he commands firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Let the ceremony proceed.”
His words ground you, though your confusion lingers. Before you can even begin to piece together your next thought, Solon turns away, his attention shifting back to the pond.
“Elric Briarthorne,” he announces.
Another student steps forward, a noble figure but clearly nervous, maybe as much as you but for different reasons. As Elric reaches the edge of the Ethereal Mirror, the room seems to hold its breath.
The ceremony begins again.
The pond glows faintly at first, then erupts into brilliant light. The spiraling images this time are entirely different: an ornate ballroom, a figure towering over others with a cruel smirk, and a shattered glass slipper glinting like shards of ice. You recognize the story instantly: Cinderella’s wicked stepmother.
The figure materializes, imposing and regal, her expression sharp as she offers her hand to Elric. He hesitates, his unease written plainly across his face, but he eventually accepts. The process continues, and soon a mark etches itself onto his hand. The glowing light solidifies into the shape of a glass slipper.
Elric winces as the mark settles into place, his discomfort unmistakable.
Solon steps forward again, his tone reassuring. “The Resonance doesn’t dictate who you are,” he says, his voice calm yet firm. “It reflects potential and traits, not destiny. You are not bound to the choices of your Resonance. Your destiny is yours to shape.”
Elric nods faintly, his tension easing slightly.
One by one, the ceremony continues. Each student steps forward, their Resonance revealed in a dazzling array of images and figures:
A graceful woman draped in shimmering silk: Princess Kaguya.
A grim man with a bow in hand: Snow White’s hunter.
A young fawn rubbing its head on the hand of a young lady: Little Brother.
A mischievous imp spinning golden threads: Rumpelstiltskin.
A regal figure holding a frog in her palm: The Princess.
A pompous man draped in invisible finery: The Emperor.
Some are familiar, stories you’ve heard since childhood, while others are complete mysteries. One student, Kadar Serpenscale, is greeted by a snake coiled protectively around a young mouse, a Resonance with “The Snake.”
The ceremony feels endless. Dozens of students become hundreds, each revealing their Resonance in turn. Your mind drifts, dissociating from the overwhelming spectacle. The sheer impossibility of it all leaves you detached, your thoughts circling back to the same conclusion: none of this can be real.
You’re snapped back to attention when silence falls over the room as the ceremony appears to end.
But then Solon frowns, glancing back at his list.
“There’s no one else listed,” he mutters. His sharp gaze cuts through the crowd, landing on you. “You.” His voice pierces through your lingering haze. “What’s your name?”
Your stomach twists in knots as every eye in the room turns to you. You stammer out your name, barely audible.
“Micah Calloway?” Solon repeats, his tone skeptical as he scans the parchment again. “M. C…. There’s not even a single name on this list with those initials. Where are you from?”
You mumble a response, your voice faltering under his intense scrutiny.
Solon’s frown deepens. “I’ve never heard of that place,” he says, glancing around the room. “Has anyone here?”
The students shake their heads, murmuring quietly among themselves.
After a moment, Solon exhales, his expression softening slightly. He places a hand on your shoulder, the gesture surprisingly gentle.
“You must have come from another world,” he concludes. “I don’t know how or why you’re here, but the fact that you appeared in the Hall of Echoes, here in Fablewood Academy, means you’re now under my responsibility.”
His voice takes on a reassuring tone, the weight of his hand grounding you.
“You’ll be fine,” he says. “But you’re here now, so you must complete the Resonance ceremony.”
Your pulse quickens as Solon gestures toward the Ethereal Mirror. “Step forward,” he instructs.
Every instinct screams at you to stay put, but your feet move hesitantly toward the pond. Finally, you stand at its edge, the glow of the Mirror reflecting in your wide, uncertain eyes.
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