The audience began to leave the auditorium in a low murmur of footsteps and whispers. Levon walked slower than the rest, his thoughts still spinning, detached from his surroundings. His mind felt like static — words, faces, and moments tangled together. He wasn’t even sure he was moving of his own will.

He followed the others through a wide archway, guided by a glowing Exit sign Gustav had pointed out earlier. The corridor beyond opened into the main hall, and for the first time, Levon truly saw the inside of the Academy.

The hall stretched upward into a vast dome of white stone veined with silver. Luminous threads — thin as spider silk — ran along the ceiling like constellations, pulsing faintly with blue light. The floor was made of black marble so polished it reflected the figures walking across it. On each side stood tall glass pillars humming softly with the same blue radiance, and beyond them, faint silhouettes of staircases spiraled to unseen upper levels.

It didn’t look built — it looked grown, like the architecture itself had crystallized from energy.

Levon’s pace slowed as the group climbed the grand staircase to the second level. At the top, a corridor stretched outward in both directions, lined with identical metallic doors, each one displaying a glowing plaque with a name inscribed across it. The air smelled faintly sterile — like ozone and rain.

He found his room near the end of the hall. His name shimmered faintly on the surface of the plaque: Levon — the letters bending slightly as if alive. He reached for the doorknob, still half-lost in thought, when a voice called out beside him.

"You okay, man? You look like you just saw a ghost."

Levon turned. The white-haired guy from the auditorium was leaning casually against the wall, hood half-pulled over his messy hair.

"Yeah… yeah, I’m fine," Levon said, though it came out more as habit than truth.

He glanced at the door beside his own. The name Archie glowed faintly across it. The guy noticed his look and smirked.

"Archie," he said. "Nice to meet you."

"Levon," he replied.

"Well, Levon," Archie said, stretching a little, "I’ll catch you tomorrow. Eat something. Sleep. Try not to have an existential breakdown."

"Thanks. You too."

Archie reached for his door, but Levon hesitated.

"Wait… don’t mind me asking, but when we were sitting at the end of the session—did you see a man standing between us?"

Archie paused, one hand still on the doorknob. His expression shifted slightly.
"A man? Between us? No, I didn’t see anyone."

Levon forced a small, awkward laugh.
"Forget it. Probably just a shadow or something."

Archie shrugged.
"Alright then. See you in the morning."

Levon nodded and turned the handle to his own door.

Inside, the room looked like something pulled from an aristocrat’s dream. A silver chandelier hung from the ceiling, its light refracted through crystalline prisms that painted faint rainbows across the walls. A wide desk stood by a tall window, its surface already organized with writing instruments, digital tablets, and a folded uniform. Near it sat a table with freshly prepared food — still steaming — next to an unopened carafe of something that glowed faintly gold.

The bed dominated the far end: a queen-sized structure of dark wood with white linen, too soft-looking for someone like him. Everything gleamed, clean and calculated, as though the room itself were watching its occupant.

Levon wasn’t hungry. The scent of food only reminded him how distant he felt from his own body. He sat on the bed, staring blankly ahead, then fell back, eyes fixed on the chandelier’s slow spin.

What is going on?

He turned to his side, his mind unraveling thought after thought in a torrent of half-formed logic.

I came here from my home star system. That scientist said I didn’t land in the right spot—why? What are they hiding? Why was I ambushed? Was it because of me, or just bad timing?

And Gustav… how could he be in two places at once? How did he stop time? Or—was that even real?

And Nahari—what did she mean about the Grim Reaper?

Why am I calm? They touched me. They changed how I feel, didn’t they?

What even is Vitria?

He pressed his palms against his temples. The questions tangled together, collapsing into a single ache behind his eyes.

Can I even do this? Did I make a mistake coming here?

He rolled onto his right side, staring at the wall as exhaustion clawed at him. His last coherent thought was the echo of Gustav’s voice—
Change your question.

Then silence.

Moments—or maybe hours—later, a soft chime sounded in the air.

"Good morning, initiates. Please make your way to the main hall."

Levon’s eyes snapped open. He turned toward the window, and sunlight spilled into the room, golden and clean.

"What the…" he whispered. "Morning?"

He sat up, blinking against the light.

"I just got here."

Levon sat on the edge of the bed, confused, unsure if he had actually slept or simply blacked out with his eyes open. Had time moved differently here? Or had he just stared at the wall for hours, lost in thought without realizing it? The question hung in his mind until the chime sounded again, sharper this time, pulling him back to the present.
He exhaled slowly, stood up, and stepped toward the door.

The corridor was alive with soft pulses of light running along the walls, veins of blue weaving through metallic panels like a living organism. The ceiling curved gently overhead, lined with faint grooves that shimmered whenever someone passed beneath them. It felt less like a hallway and more like the inside of something breathing — the faint vibration underfoot was rhythmic, almost heartlike.

Doors hissed open one after another. Figures stepped out — some blinking groggily, others looking unnervingly alert. A few rubbed their eyes as if they’d just woken from deep sleep, while others stood perfectly composed, their uniforms neat, eyes sharp and clear. Levon couldn’t tell which was more unsettling — those who seemed half-dazed, or those who looked like they’d been awake for hours.

Archie emerged a moment later, dragging a hand through his already wild hair. It somehow looked worse than before, strands jutting out in every direction like static had claimed them overnight. He stifled a yawn, his hoodie half-zipped and eyes barely open.

“Morning, I guess,” he mumbled, voice rough.
Levon glanced at him, then at the corridor ahead, where faint arrows of light traced a path toward the main hall.

Everyone began moving in that direction, shoes whispering against the polished floor. Levon followed, still uncertain if he’d actually slept — or if time itself had simply folded around him.

They went downstairs together, footsteps echoing softly against the marble. The staircase curved in a wide arc around the grand hall, its railings made of transparent glass that caught and fractured the morning light into drifting patterns. The air shimmered faintly, alive with the hum of unseen mechanisms. Above, the silver-veined dome reflected their descent like an inverted ocean sky. The place felt impossibly vast — not just built, but composed, like a symphony in architecture.

At the base of the stairs, Gustav stood waiting with his usual calm smile, hands folded neatly behind his back.

“Good morning, initiates,” he said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hall. “I trust you all enjoyed a good night’s sleep.”

Some of them nodded, others mumbled a tired response. Levon simply watched, still uncertain if he had actually slept at all.

“Today,” Gustav continued, “marks the beginning of your time here. You’ll find your first meal to the right — the cafeteria.”
He gestured toward an open doorway glowing faintly with white light.

Levon turned his head. The auditorium doors were sealed — not locked, but gone, their outlines vanished into the wall as though they had never been there.

The group followed Gustav’s direction toward the cafeteria.

Inside, the room opened into a dome of glass and color. The walls curved outward into transparent panels that revealed an otherworldly sight — schools of luminous fish drifting through slow currents of blue light, their motion casting rippling reflections across the floor. The cafeteria felt less like a dining hall and more like the inside of an aquarium suspended in the void.

A single long table stretched across the center, gleaming under the moving light. It was set with plates of steaming food, carafes of colored drinks that glowed faintly from within, and desserts arranged with almost scientific precision — crystalline pastries, fruits that shimmered like polished gems, and silver utensils so finely made they seemed ornamental.

It was beautiful, but too perfect — sterile in its elegance. Levon slowed as he entered, his reflection bending in the curved glass walls, unsure whether he was seeing himself… or being seen.

“Please, take your seats,” Gustav said, gesturing toward the long table. “You’ll find your names where you’re meant to sit.”

Each seat bore a small glowing plaque with an inscribed name, the letters bending faintly as though alive. There were nine seats along one side of the table — the initiates — and a single chair opposite them, slightly elevated, where Gustav took his place. The arrangement felt deliberate, almost ceremonial — one observer facing nine subjects.