It was that dream again…
The dream that never failed to take his breath away…
His constricting throat refused any air to pass through it, only helping to increase his building panic…
Why?
It wasn't scary…
Truthfully, there was nothing to fear…
Yet he was more terrified than he could ever remember being…
Nothing that could potentially hurt him…
Yet he was feeling claustrophobic…
The world was closing in with the great distance that existed between galaxies…
The world was crushing him.
It's a dream, only a dream!
When had he ever said that while asleep? Thought it?
Lucid dreaming.
It was a concept he knew of, even a state that he had attempted to achieve. He had never succeeded. How ironic was it then that he couldn't control the dream that scared him more than any catastrophe now that he realised his lack of wakefulness?
Wake me! Someone, please wake me!
Space itself was smothering him…
It was making him feel sick, but like his throat refused to take in the air that he so desperately needed, it refused to allow the contents of his stomach to pass.
He wasn't meant to be here, he never was…
Everything was wrong, physics didn't exist, the laws of the universe had been turned on their head, become inverted, turned inside out, and perverted beyond any recognition. He was witnessing an impossibility… and it was slowly and surely killing him.
A subtle, echoing sound rang throughout the empty space, barely penetrating his darkening consciousness, giving him a surge of strength. Turning and tumbling, like an overtly manoeuvrable astronaut in space, he searched for the sound in desperation, hoping against hope that it hadn't been his imagination.
But it was gone…
Without knowing it, he was hyperventilating, but no matter how much 'air' he swallowed, his lungs still refused to absorb the precious oxygen his body so dearly needed.
With a final turn, he froze, eyes growing wide in terror. He barely recognised the colour and the forms they took within the Everest sized object that was coming ever closer to him at the speed of planets.
NO!
His arms came up in a hollow attempt to shield himself from the fatal crash…
It was like passing through a layer of air; it hit him like the warmth of a home after being out in the cold. There was a significant difference, though. Entering a house didn't mean your hair and clothes whipped around like you were in a storm.
Daring to open his eyes, he quickly realised his mistake and in some small way wished he was back in the anomalous space. The calm clarity of falling was in some ways worse than the panic-gripped struggle against being crushed.
He should have been panicking, but somehow, he had instead turned abnormally calm. Making an extremely rough calculation as to how far above the ground he was, taking note of the landscape below and even marvelling at the ever-growing structure immediately below him, his calm belied the conclusion he reached. His heart filled with dread even as his mind continued to methodically go through the information presented to it and apply it to the physics of a sudden stop.
It wouldn't be pretty, the impact would break every bone in his body, and the G-forces could likely rip his body apart depending on how and what he impacted. He wouldn't be a bloody puddle, he knew that. The human body could withstand much more punishment than most knew, but withstand didn't necessarily mean survive. Regardless of where in that spectrum he landed, he wouldn't be splattering on the ground like an overripe tomato, nor would he rip open like a tube of toothpaste. He would simply… slam into the ground, and he would be dead the very moment he made contact.
He felt some small gratitude towards that fact; he wouldn't feel any pain, wouldn't suffer, his world would merely go dark…
Simply wake up.
It's a different ending to a hated dream…
He had almost forgotten about that; this was a dream. Dreams couldn't kill you as far as he knew. Regardless, he was more than ready to end this nightmare, lucid or not.
The buildings below had grown in the seconds that it took to reach his conclusions, white lines forming a growing pentagon with four circular structures surrounding a larger one in the middle, interconnected by further lines of white. He noticed that one of the edges of the pentagon was bereft of a building. Instead, the structure only turned at an angle and continued towards the next building in the chain. Towers, he assumed. Outside of the circle was a sea of green, falling out of focus for the sake of the browns and greys of what was inside the circle.
If his calculations were correct, and so long as the wind didn't drag him off the mark, then he would hit the only patch of green inside the pentagon.
Dying on the grass… how quaint…
He closed his eyes tightly. He wouldn't die, this was a dream, but that didn't mean he wanted to witness his demise rapidly approach, that he didn't fear it.
"..."
Again?!
His eyes opened, and his head swivelled. It was impossible, but he had somehow heard it, this time more clearly: the voice of a woman. The wind made it impossible to identify the words or intent, but it was there, however briefly. Subtle, but clear.
No… this is a dream…
The thought wasn't even out of his head when he heard it again. Like turning the tuner in search of a radio station, it came in and out of the background noise that deafened his ears, never anything more than noticeably human in origin, never more than identifiably female.
Somehow turning over so that he was falling on his stomach, he could only conclude that he was hallucinating. The wind should have made it hard to speak to anyone close-by, and there was nobody else falling with him. There was only one other possibility, impossible though it may have been, and his eyes locked onto it, narrowed to keep the wind from drying out his eyeballs.
The buildings below were growing ever clearer, not mentioning larger. The roads travelling between the buildings that he couldn't see before were now clear, as were the grouping of black things on the grass.
No, not only black. He could see red, brown, blonde, even purple below, and they were approaching… not as rapidly as before?
The hell is happening now?
Was he slowing down?
That was impossible, he had hit terminal velocity, and nothing had-
No, wait, this was a dream…
Even so, the growth of the buildings had slowed where it should have remained constant, as had the things- people?- and the voice was becoming ever more distinct as the disturbance that the wind provided lessened, enough so to make out words.
It didn't take him long to conclude that it was a foreign language. It incorporated words of languages that he recognised, but had little to no knowledge about. The intent behind the voice was easier to decipher, requesting, asking… pleading?
Pleading wasn't the right word, the sentences were said with strict intent, but the voice didn't at all sound stern.
Begging?
Also wrong, but it-
I'm gonna have to think about this later!
He may have slowed down, and a lot at that, but that was all he had. He was still very much stuck in freefall as he passed the top of the tallest building, which he absentmindedly noted was the spire of a lighthouse-like tower. It was the drop that finally made the water spill, and it came out of him in the form of a panic-stricken scream.
It went unheard as the figure standing in the middle of the half-circle that the congregation had made pointed out in front of it, creating a loud and fiery explosion directly below him. He could feel the heat of it hit him in the face and penetrate through his clothes. It was more than enough to shut him up as he fell into the inferno, blacking out as he painfully made contact with the ground.
...
Am I… still… alive?
He tried to move his limbs, only to hiss in pain. It hurt, by damnation did it hurt, but it wasn't unbearable, and it wasn't enough to keep him from moving if he truly desired to.
Still, it wouldn't do to rush after…
The fuck happened?
A couple of seconds ticked by as he pondered that question, then it came back to him; the crazy space, falling, the voice, the explosion.
Right… So, why aren't I awake yet…?
He should have been by now, unless-
That would be a fascinating outcome.
Still, he discarded the idea of this being the real wake-up. Discounting his recent 'fall', there was no reason for him to be in pain.
Putting the thought aside for the moment, he opened his eyes. He was inside of a cloud, probably what remained after the explosion, which was beginning to disperse. This allowed him to have a less than perfect look out of it. In the distance stood a tall tower, with a connecting walkway and a three-floor tall wall. Beyond that were buildings of stone and brick. Beneath him was grass, strangely undisturbed by the recent happenings, while the blue sky stretched out above with only a couple of white clouds.
Or perhaps it was the dispersing smoke?
An unknown voice cuts into his observations, followed by a chorus of laughter, all coming from behind him.
A guy that fell from heaven and into an explosion is lying before them… Yeah, laughing is most certainly the most appropriate action to take considering the circumstances…
He tried moving again and managed to push himself over and onto his back. It hurt, yes, but it didn't seem like he was seriously injured beyond a few scrapes and bruises. It was as if he had taken a tumble on the road instead of having fallen from who-knows-how-high and been hit by an explosion on the way down.
He wasn't sure whether he should be worried about that or merely feel lucky.
Wait, dream…
Why couldn't he have awoken from that? Seriously, everything was feeling too real, the ache, the grass beneath him, even the wind. Was a dream ever this detailed?
And now a headache was starting to form...
Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he looked around. It looked like the courtyard of a castle, the area was walled in like one, and he could see three towers from his position alone. No, not towers, the central one was too large to be a mere tower, it had to be a keep, even if it looked more like a lighthouse on a pedestal than anything else. Not that the outlying towers were small, they were stretching far above the other buildings, but the difference was far too noticeable not to make a distinction.
Still, that wasn't the thing that truly caught his attention, nor was it the group of people that were standing before him. It was all too easy to categorise the people around him as cult members or cosplayers, the latter being more likely when he absentmindedly took note of the staffs some were holding. That conclusion was reached within two seconds but was ultimately unimportant.
No, it was the creatures that were present that gave him pause. His eyes travelled over the congregation, sparing only a passing glance to the owls, cats and dogs, staying longer on the more exotic animals like the golden-red hawk that was balancing on one kid's staff and a deer with very pronounced fangs.
The real winners, the ones that had him gawking stupidly, were the all too recognisable purple ball of fluff floating in mid-air, its single eye looking at him with what seemed like curiosity and the surprisingly cute and oversized mole with a blue triangle on its forehead.
Zero no Tsukaima…
The thought trailed through his head and echoed for a few moments; it was far too easy to make the connection between the franchise and what he was currently seeing.
As if to confirm the thought, his head swivelled about, taking in the archways and towers. The resemblance of the architecture was uncanny, even if the multitude of buildings were completely foreign to the picture.
He turned his attention back to the congregation of lowly chattering people and started to look for the known characters of the franchise. A problem quickly arose, however: while both 'Guiche' and 'Montmorency', or at least the people who were similar enough to them, were… relatively… easy to find, he only made the connection due to making smaller observations rather than by directly recognising them.
Or bigger, as the case was with 'Guiche'. That mole that he had summoned was far too easy to spot and just as affectionate as he remembered it being in the anime: it was currently doing everything it could to make the teen pay attention to it. The rose was harder to pinpoint, but he could see flashes of red as the mole nudged the nobles hand around in attempt to get pet.
He was a certain as he could get as to his identity.
'Montmorency' was a bit harder to pinpoint immediately, even with the assumption that she would be near her player boyfriend, as she didn't have an all too recognisable familiar that one couldn't help but not ignore. It was her excessively curled hair that caught his attention, a feature that he had almost forgotten about, only being reminded of once he got a glance of her.
He wasn't sure if that pink ribbon was something his mind had conjured up on the spot or if she actually wore one in the show.
The former was down on his hunches, the explosion likely having drawn his questioning thoughts and attention from his new favourite animal to the newcomer. A pronounced smirk of amusement split 'Guiches' face as he watched the events unfold before him. Similarly, his cheated on girlfriend, 'Montmorency' was attempting and failing to hold back laughter at what at what he could only assume was the result of 'Louise's' summoning ritual. It indeed seemed to be the correct assumption, seeing as for every person there, there was a creature standing close-by.
Further searching of the congregation didn't reveal any other person that he should have recognised, a fact that he found somewhat odd. 'Tabitha's dragon should have been the easiest to spot as it should have stood head, neck and shoulders above a grown man. It was possible that she had dismissed it, or that she had yet to summon it. But a closer look at the faces, or rather staffs, that existed in the crowd, didn't lead him to find her.
Well, she was short, so she could easily be overlooked. He also seemed to remember her being… dismissive, of things that didn't catch her attention, instead favouring her books. So it wasn't unexpected that she had witnessed the summoning and the resulting racket produced by the crowd and returned to reading after dismissing the situation as unimportant.
Another character that was hard found was 'Kirche' and her Charmander. Frankly, she should have been the first one to-
He paused as he caught sight of a short, tan girl with strawberry-blonde hair. For a second, he thought her to be the person he was looking for; then he registered the combination of colours. It wasn't possible for her to be 'Kirche', the young woman was a redhead for one, and she was more… physically… developed than whoever this was. Besides, standing next to her was a chimaera, a horse-sized creature that was currently nuzzling her side lovingly.
Have I seen her before…?
His mind said no, but his intuition told him yes.
She pet the chimaera's head almost absentmindedly, her rose eyes flickering from him and somewhere to the side with a strange frown clouding her features. Strangely enough, she was one of the few that wasn't laughing, her reaction seemingly leaning more towards negative rather than neutral.
Following her gaze, he was made privy to the person standing not too far off from him, someone he hadn't expected to see. Covered in a layer of soot, her hair frazzled and shades darker than he remembered it being and singed clothes, was the resident redheaded fire mage that all the boys and men in and out of the academy wanted in bed. 'Kirche' herself was bearing an uncharacteristically neutral expression as she looked at him, her arm half lowered from whipping part of her face free of soot with little effect.
A far as he could tell, she was completely ignorant of what he assumed to be jeering from her classmates. It was as if she had to dedicate all her processing power to understand what it was her eyes were telling her. Evidently, it wasn't going too well. But he could see a slow change in her one visible golden-brown eye: from shining in confusion to a dawning comprehension. Then came shock, accompanied by a silent gasp. He wasn't even sure if she realised that she had done so, or if any air had escaped her lungs. A flash of anger followed upon that, then a prolonged moment of crushing disappointment.
She turned her face away as her mind finally started to work as it should, but not in time for him to miss the sadness in her eye nor the tears that had begun to pool at its edge.
The hell is happening…?
Sure, it had been years since he had watched the anime, but there was no possible way that he could have misremembered who had summoned Saito. Yet there she stood: 'Kirche', a fire mage that had mastered her art to a point where she was considered a triangle class, with him as her summon.
Where is 'Louise' anyway?
He gave another searching look at the crowd, who was starting to grow louder but failed to spot her. It was as if she didn't exist.
His eyes travelled back to the girl with the rose eyes, whose identity still eluded him. She didn't belong to the majority, who was now starting to give sporadic shouts at the redhead that seemed to have more in common with a stone statue than fiery passion at that moment. Instead, she was looking at 'Kirche' with apparent worry while sending angry glances to those around her. She seemed to be on the edge of reaching for her wand and start slinging spells around.
"Zerbst!"
But where the girl was losing patience, another had already done so. Albeit in a far less destructive way.
Looking over towards the older man, evidently the teacher, he-
Who in the hell are you?!
He knew who it wasn't, and it sure as hell wasn't 'Colbert'. This man had a full head of black hair, first of all, but he also had a trimmed beard and moustache. He stood tall and proud and had a severe look in his brown, glaring eyes. His face seemed to be permanently contorted into a frown, making him stern looking. His deep and rumbling voice didn't help to dissuade the assumption.
Considering the harshness he was using to speak with first the group of student and then 'Kirche'; it was likely an accurate assessment…
The language he was using, fully audible in the silence that had come about the moment the first consonant had erupted from his mouth was odd and foreign. What sources he could remember had depicted the language spoken in the series as French, but the words were little more than gibberish to him. There was some French involved, but it was… tainted, for lack of a better word, as if it was hashed together with a multitude of languages that made it sound both melodious and harsh. It flowed well enough, though, giving harsh beginnings that turned into a flowing melody before ending in sharp exclamations. Far from ugly, but also far from being distinguishable. He could pick out words he recognised, coming from English, French, German, Spanish, Italian, Latin, Greek, Swedish, Russian, but there were a myriad more languages, or perhaps previous iterations of languages, that he didn't recognise represented as well.
It was so foreign to him there was no possible way he could glean context or meaning from any of the sentences uttered. Only one word was clear to him, one of the first ones used; 'Zerbst'.
Ignoring the small argument, and only called as such because it seemed like 'Kirche' was trying and failing to talk back, he looked around. Although there was silence reigning among the spectators, more than one seemed to be holding back laughter. He found that they weren't the only ones that wanted to laugh, he was himself somewhere between disbelief and a laughing fit. None of the characters around him was animated. Instead, they were flesh and blood, all of them looked different, yet with the hint of recognisability, from the anime. That had never happened in a dream before; this was something new.
He got snapped out of his introspection from the bark that the teacher made, cutting 'Kirche' off mid-sentence and efficiently silencing her. The next couple of sentences to exit his mouth were grave but methodical sounding. A couple of times she tried to intervene but was swiftly cut down after only a single word.
But as 'Kirche' slowly seemed to lose the will to argue, as evident by further sagging of her shoulders, the effect on the crowd was the opposite. The calm lingered, but now amusement had returned to most of their faces, laughter and jeering only held back due to the authority that the teacher had. But even that power only lasted so long, the moment that the man finished speaking it began anew, and this time, 'Kirche' was aware of it.
Her eyes travelled between the teacher, the crowd and him, almost making her spin on the spot. He could only guess what look she gave the teacher but based on the look of hesitance and unwillingness and even sorrow she gave him, it was most likely one of silent pleading. The man's face remained stern, though, his eyes almost glaring at her.
The looks she gave the crowd where divided, but distinct. Anger was the foremost, only reinforced by how her fist clenched. Displeasure was also there, but most shocking was the harder to identify look that seemed to be asking for a way out.
None was given...
Giving a last look towards the teacher, whose only response was to raise a single authoritative finger in his direction, 'Kirche' turned away in what could only be a hollow attempt at a moment of privacy from the crowd. She heaved a heavy, shaky sigh, noticeable even through the loose cape that hung off her shoulders. She either didn't notice or just didn't care that he still could see her face, even if it was only from an angle.
What he saw tore at his heart; for that short moment, she looked devastated. As if her world had come crashing down because of her attempts to keep it whole.
As soon as she had let the air out, the moment was over, and she turned towards him. Her features were expertly schooled into perfect, stone-faced neutrality, sending a small shiver up his spine at the blank slate her face and body presented. It was like looking at a doll, beautiful, elegant, refined, yet ultimately without any discernible emotion or life. Not even her eyes betrayed anything anymore.
Only one thing did: a single tear travelled down her right cheek from her hidden eye as she moved towards him, digging a groove through the soot.
Her every step was measured and without any wasted movement, fluid beyond what he thought possible for a mage, even if mages were practically synonymous with nobility in this case.
The redheaded woman came to a stop over him; her narrowed eye trailing across his form in what could only be called judgement, softening substantially as they made eye contact. The next moment there was wand pointing straight at him, making him go cross-eyed as his ocular organs instinctively tracked its tip to between his eyes.
A stream of words came from her mouth, calm, resigned, and without harshness. It wasn't as melodious as he thought it would be.
While he hadn't forgotten what came next in the summoning ritual, he was still shocked when 'Kirche' bent forward, muttered a few words audible only to him after a brief moment's hesitation, and kissed him. It was surprisingly chaste, there was no more pressure exerted than was needed, and it was over after only a couple of seconds.
At first, nothing happened. He felt no different from before he had been kissed. If his memory served him right, then it should have-
It did come, and it came hard, far harder than he had assumed. At first, it was nothing more than a simple feeling of warmth across his entire body, much akin to that of a campfire or after drinking spirits; it quickly grew in intensity beyond anything he had ever experienced before.
Before, in retrospect, he had considered Saito somewhat wimpy for passing out when the runes first formed. Frankly, the guy didn't inspire much confidence in being able to handle anything painful, even with all the abuse he suffered at the hands of Louise. Now, however, he was quickly developing the utmost sympathy for the teen, not mentioning respect. The pained gasps that escaped him turned into what Saito had never done when he had his runes form: a scream of the purest agony. And he wasn't even aware of it… It was like he had been dumped in boiling oil that had been set on fire. The cruel pain was all-encompassing, from his fingers and toes to his legs and arms and into his centre. Every part of him was feeling pain, down to the very last cell that made up his being.
Everything hurt, screaming out for aid to escape destruction.
Tears started to stream down his face as he tried to vocalise the plea of a quick death, of being relieved of this nightmare, only coming out as a shouted whimper among the endless stream of screams.
~-o0O0o- ~
Kirche couldn't regret things more than she did at that very moment. She looked on in horror, together with the rest of her class, as her supposed familiar steamed and suffered through the branding. It wasn't a quiet affair, the oddly dressed blonde man that had been on the other side of the explosion was screaming bloody murder.
I'm torturing him…
That thought was the one that finally broke the gate: silent tears started to pour as she tried and failed to contain a sob, the first of many.
She had to stop this; he was going to die! She knew that, but she couldn't think of anything except the image that was being ingrained into her mind's eye. For all her knowledge, she couldn't find a way to save him the pain. WHY couldn't she save him?!
Then the circle began again: regret, horror, analysis, failure and self-loathing.
Then it was broken. No matter how hard Kirche strained her ears, the man's attempts to speak went unheard. She didn't need to hear the words to know what he was saying, though: he was asking why she was torturing him. Begging for mercy from the torment that she had incurred on him. Begging to die so that she couldn't hurt him anymore…
Her heart constricted tightly in her chest. But, it was enough to snap her out of her panic and focus for the necessary length of time to conclude that she couldn't help him.
"Professor Bavarian! Help him!" She shouted in worry towards the black-haired man, who was already holding his hand out towards the stranger with a look of deep concentration on his face as he muttered lowly to himself.
She wasn't sure what he was doing, or whether it had any effect. For all she knew, he was only making it worse for the man. That was assuming his magic had any influence over him while the branding happened.
Regardless, she wouldn't get any answers from him, as focused as he was.
Kirche turned back to her familiar-to-be, fingers clenching the wood of her wand as she fought the urge to run to him. By the gods, she wished she could go to him, but disrupting the ritual could only make it worse, especially if what the professor was doing had any effect.
This wasn't how she had imagined how her summoning would pan out at all. Sure, there was a chance that it would fail, however unlikely it was considering the nature of the magic. Even so, it was still a frightening possibility. The summoning had succeeded, but considering what had arrived it may have been better if it hadn't worked at all. Hiring a commoner to pretend to be her familiar could in some ways be seen as a better alternative to actually summoning one.
She had never considered it, nor would any self-respecting noble, but in a way, it would have saved her pride that had taken a hit with this unexpected outcome. At least then she would know that her 'familiar' wasn't really hers, as small a comfort as it was. But summoning a commoner was without precedent, and far be it from being in a good way. She didn't even know that it was possible to do so.
Worse, her familiar, to be or otherwise, was currently suffering, likely because of her faulty magic, another hit to her pride, and she couldn't do anything for fear of making it harder on him. Not like there was anything she could do even if it wouldn't have made it worse…
It should not take this long! It did not go like this for the others, is it because he is human?!
The others didn't have even a quarter of the trouble with their branding; it was over within seconds and without fuzz.
This? This had long since passed the minute mark, she was sure, and still, there was no sign of it ending. She could hear professor Bavarian mumble under his breath on the rare instances when the screaming man would take a breath, yet it didn't seem to work.
Suddenly, a sharp light came from the man in front of her, or more precisely, his left hand, quickly dying off together with the man's screams as he passed into the merciful unconscious.
Tears still pouring down her cheeks, she finally allowed herself to run to him…
"Hey! Are you alright!? Please. Please, wake up… WAKE UP!"
Her anguished scream echoed through the courtyard as she shook the unresponsive body.
No one was laughing anymore…
~-o0O0o- ~
The first thing he did upon waking up was hiss in pain. This in and of itself was strange to him since he couldn't remember a reason for him having this all-encompassing ache. Every little move he made brought with it an electric sting, like touching metal after rubbing wool in your hair, and he couldn't for the life of him come up with a reason for it.
The second thing that came over him was shock, as when he opened his eyes he could readily say that he wasn't in any place that he recognised. That was as far as he got before a wave of dizziness came over him at the sharp image that looked like someone had put a magnifying glass in front of his eyes.
I don't remember getting new glasses…
Or going to sleep with them on, for that matter. Just another thing on the list of things he had forgotten. He would let it be for now, though, it was a minor thing with everything going on, and he would get used to it soon enough.
Returning to checking out the room only cemented his dropped thought; it sure as hell wasn't his bedroom, for it was a bedroom he found himself in.
Where am I…?
Once again hissing, he slowly pushed himself off the bed and sat on its side, looking around the new locale in interest.
The room was dimly lit. The sky outside the sole broad window in the room was reddish with spangles of purple, showing it was either early morning or late evening. The lack of a clock in the room made measuring the time impossible for him, not that it would have helped if it wasn't a digital, 24-hour, clock.
Carefully getting off the bedside in the hope of not agitating whatever injury or ailment he was currently burdened with, he took a walk around the room, careful not to disturb anything, though most he had to keep a watch out so that he didn't knock any of the piles of books over. Though most of them were concentrated on the surfaces that weren't the floor, there were still ten or so piles of them around the room that he could knock over if he didn't pay attention to how he moved his feet. Some of the piles were even topped off with candleholders to provide additional light.
As they were unlit, they weren't doing their job.
He mentally measured the place to be roughly six meters in length from door to window, four meters in breadth and two and a half meters to the roof. White walls with the lower part, roughly the first meter, being decorated with some faded brown wood carved into sideway diamonds surrounded by roses. A white ceiling with planks crisscrossing to hold it up.
The walls of the room were scarcely decorated by personal effects, being mostly white save for the meter-high panels of brownish-red wood, carved into sideways diamonds surrounded by roses. The only actual decoration on the walls were the candleholders flanking the door and a painting of a dark-skinned woman in full armour, riding upon a black and red dragon.
Most of the walls were otherwise occupied by furniture. To the left of the door, as seen from the entrance, was a tall cornered bookshelf running the available length of the wall. It was nearly filled with books, though several books were conspicuously absent, leaving open spaces on the shelves. While there were books piled in in high stacks around the room on both furniture and floor, they numbered far more than the bookshelf could hold by his estimate.
The meter and a half staircase meant to aid the owner in fetching the books from the very top of the bookshelf was almost an afterthought in his observations.
Both of them were of dark and shiny wood, though seemingly not very well cared for, he could well see the odd groove and nick on both in the fading light.
On the right side of the room, between further stacks of books and a partition, stood both an armoire and a dressing table. He was almost amused to see the books on top of the armoire, the bottom of which would barely be within his reach was he to stand on his toes.
This was in contrast to the dressing table, which seemed to be one of the only surfaces bereft of literature but was instead lined up with different make-ups that looked to barely have been touched. It had a marble top, and richly coloured wood with golden highlights along the sole two drawers, situated in the middle. The same highlights could be found around the mirror, which had flowers carved out around it.
In the corner between the right-hand wall and the window stood a brass coloured bathtub, decorated as if a rope was going around it beneath the rounded top edge. Beneath the rope, the surface was uneven. Grooves and enhancements were forming a single image on the side of the bath. A half sun, hiding behind a half blooming-half dead tree growing out of a lit cauldron hoisted upon a four-armed candelabra with burning torches on the outer arms.
The meaning behind the image was as foreign to him as the image itself. For all his knowledge of history, he could only assume that it was a crest of some kind; seeing as the single image wasn't enough to create a tapestry that could tell a story. He gave up as soon as he had started to make sense of it.
Immediately next to the tub was a small, low table, barely more than a stool to sit on. The only reason he even made the concession to call it a table were the hygienic articles that stood on it, together with a simple, glass carafe filled with what he assumed to be red wine.
Two wood partitions stood guard for the bather's privacy, red and white roses decorating a black background.
Standing at what could be considered the centre of the room, due to the placement of the bed along the left wall, was a dark, round and polished table, surrounded by four chairs of the same make. The surface was jam-packed, books upon books upon books were piled onto each other, some high enough to be reaching the top of his chest.
The only surface relatively clear of literature was in front of the fourth chair, which while still being occupied by three or four books open to be perused, still had enough room for you to see the surface of the wood table.
He noticed that all the titles engraved on their backs were illegible to him, being written in some combination of Norse runes and Arabic language rather than with Latin lettering. They were also not what one would call modern, the pages were thicker than ordinary paper, and the backs were leathery to the feel.
While leaning forward to try to decipher one of the pages from the topmost of the opened books, he took notice of the table top. Calling it polished was an understatement, it was reflective enough that he could see his mirror image on the surface. This, in itself, wasn't what caught his attention, it was that he was able to see his features near flawlessly in the dim light. His blonde hair, short reddish-blond beard, the slight angle of his eyebrows, the dark blue eyes, even the diamond shaped plastic of the studs in his earlobes…
As well as the lack of necessary eyeglasses for him to be able to do so.
He was close sighted, he couldn't read normal sized text thirty centimetres from his face without glasses on, yet he could see the details in the room without a single problem… it almost seemed sharper than when he was wearing glasses, not mentioning the weird feeling he was getting from seeing himself without them.
Impossible… Am I still dreaming?
Damnit, he should have woken up by now. Then again, it was the only way to explain why he was in this new locale.
Giving a deep sigh, he returned to looking around.
Around the table stood three chairs, each made in the same style as the desk, only they were a shade lighter in their colour, and with rich red cushions on the seats. Well, he assumed as much from the one chair he was able to see unhindered, the rest were being used as places to put even more books, though not to the same precarious height.
On the table, on top of the tallest pile of books, stood one of the rooms few lit sources of light, and he was surprised to find it was one of those old oil lamps, though the one standing there looked far from aged in any capacity of the word.
Thoughts about the fire hazard ran through his mind for the briefest of seconds, but he reasoned that it was likely stable enough to not suddenly fall and set the room aflame. It did call another thing to his attention, though: the growing darkness. Concluding that the lone light wouldn't be enough to keep the room sufficiently lit in the darkening room, he took it upon himself to find the light switch for the overhead lights. Stepping over to the door, by which a pile of books had been toppled over, he looked around, even felt for some kind of a switch, only to find none.
"Where else would it be?" he mumbled out, puzzled at the stupid design choice.
He switched his gaze to the chandelier hanging above the table, searching for an electrical cord to track with equal success. It wasn't as if it was well hidden; the chandelier was hanging from the roof by a chain, there was literally no place to hide it.
That was when he made the observation: candles were lining its circumference, and there were no lightbulbs anywhere on it.
"Right…"
He took his search elsewhere, looking for a standing lamp in some corner or on the bedside table, of which there were none.
"Huh…"
He went over to the table and picked up the oil lamp by its handle, taking off its top to light the candles, standing on the available chair to reach and spinning the chandelier around gently. They were halfway burned down, and he somehow doubted the owner would have any problem with getting new ones regardless.
The burning candles didn't expel the darkness from the room completely, but they did push it back enough for him to continue looking around uninterrupted in the red light. One thing it did reveal was the corner to the right of the entrance. Along that wall stood two closed cabinets, behind the glass which he could spy yet more books, though these had no titles as far as he could see. Sticking out clearly to him, however, was the sabre that was stored in one of the cabinets.
That was all to be seen; unless he started to dig through the cabinets and armoire, though he felt it was a privacy that he shouldn't breach.
Dream, Kenny! It's. A. Dream!
Was it? It felt far too real to be… but if he was lucid…
He concentrated, trying to change the area around him into a cave, a field, whatever, as a way of proving the dream hypothesis. But when he reopened his eyes nothing had changed.
Drawing a sigh of frustration, massaging his eyes in a shallow attempt to lessen the pain in at least one part of his body, he turned around. In front of him was the bed he had woken up in, a canopy bed with white curtains tied to the familiarly coloured wooden poles. The yellow blanket and pillows laid disturbed from his movements.
He gave a glance towards the window before moving towards it and opened it. A fresh wind carried into the room, and it was only then he recognised just how musky it was. The candles flickered, making the lights dance about in the room before stilling for the moment.
Leaning out slightly, he couldn't be sure which floor he was on, but he was far up above the carpet of roofs in a tower like structure. Looking about, he could get a glimpse of the lighthouse-like tower he had seen while falling from around the bend, and beyond it, up in the sky, two moons, one red and one blue, reflecting the receding sunlight down onto the land gently.
Halkeginia? Seriously…? Should I jump?
The impact wouldn't kill him if it were a dream, however real it seemed. Not like it could be anything but. Besides, even if it wasn't a dream, what where the chances of him being transferred into another world, and that said world would be a copy of a damn franchise of books and anime?
Strictly speaking, it wasn't an impossibility, just extremely improbable. Chances where higher that he had been kidnapped and put on an elaborate set of a film, though he doubted anyone had done the calculation for the odds…
He tried to think back to what had happened before this. He could remember that dreamscape he dreamed of at times, the feeling of being smothered that was so sure to accompany the visage that he could feel it by merely imaging it, and what sounded like a voice, then falling and the voice again… and an explosion…?
No, everything cut off after that explosion, assuming it had even happened, it was blank. The next memory was waking up in this bed.
This is irritating, why can't I-
Bending over in tired frustration, his eyes caught sight off it: the markings on his hand that was resting on the windowsill. They were similarities to the ones he had found in the books, but these were far more rudimentary and rough. They looked exactly like those runic letters the old Norse used to write with.
They were also familiar, though it had been too long since he had last seen Saito's specific runes, so he couldn't be sure. Their placement was far more telling, on the back of his left hand.
Okay… So, I go through some strange things, pass out for reasons unknown and wake up in what I should assume is a stranger's room. I can see perfectly without glasses and some of the things I see points to this being the world of a series of fantasy anime/light novels. Lastly, I have what I can only assume are the runes of a void mages familiar, the quote-unquote, legendary Gandafr, on my left hand…
If this isn't a dream, then I have certifiably gone insane.
All that was missing was an angry Louise, ready to blast someone and the picture would be perfect.
On second thought, it was better like this. He didn't want to be the victim of an explosion.
… or was it another explosion…?
… why would he have exploded?
His gaze lingered lightly on his hand before travelling across the room. The runes should start to glow if he held a functional weapon but breaking into the cabinet to grab that sword didn't sound like the most brilliant of ideas. Assuming it was, quote-unquote, functional and not a replica. And what if the person that had placed him here walked in when he was holding it…
Yeah, bad idea.
What were the chances of a stray dagger having been buried beneath the clutter of the room? Would that even work? What was the difference between a knife meant to be used as a tool and a knife intended to be used as a weapon? Did the runes care about the difference?
He wasn't sure but considering that Saito never wielded an improvised weapon beyond that gold sword, at least as far as he could remember, there had to be. So, confirming the hypothesis of him being 'Gandalfr' was out of the question for now...
"What to do now…?"
Jump out the window? A bad idea, it would cut this highly realistic dream short. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts and explore.
… take the door?
Why not…
The door was thick but didn't require all too much force to get moving.
The outside was far different from his hazy memory's depiction of the academy's housing corridor. It wasn't even a corridor, merely a circular space with a myriad of doors and candleholders between each entry, no windows. In the middle was a spiralling staircase of wood, barely broad enough for two people to pass each other by.
Whoever designed this place didn't take comfort into consideration…
That wasn't altogether surprising; the academy was a keep surrounded by a wall. Comfort wasn't even on the map when it came to defensive structures. Even so, the stairwell could do with some work, it almost looked like a dungeon in the low light, just less damp, cold and spooky.
That the students willingly stayed here was a right mystery...
Then again, the room he woke up in was far too nice to ignore, and perhaps they didn't consider it a discomfort either. Besides, the stairwell was murky, not creepy, and it wasn't as chilly as he expected of a castle-like structure far enough north on the globe to experience at least the cusps of negative Celsius, instead simply hanging at a degree that left you unable to comment on the ambient temperature.
Strange… Has to be magic.
He turned and walked round the stairwell, stopping on the floor landing for a couple of moments to consider how he would recognise which floor he originated on before going down the winding stairs. It was unlikely he would have to find his way back either way, so there was no reason for him to memorise the route.
The following floors were the same as the one he originated on, making them indistinguishable to anyone that wasn't privy to the little details.
He must have passed four floors by the time he hit upon the bottom of the stair. Walking through the lone doorway, he entered a large, unfamiliar hall with pillars holding up the roof. Around the room were sofas and couches, tables and chairs, all lit up with even more candles from several small chandeliers and well-placed candleholders. He felt safe in assuming that this was where the people who lived here socialised and had assemblies whenever it was necessary. It was the only place large enough to do so within the tower as far as he had seen.
Judging by the size of the room, he was close to the ground floor, assuming this wasn't it.
It was scarcely populated, maybe twenty people spread out about a hall that could contain eight to ten times as many. Some of them were embroiled in conversations, others were engrossed in books, and yet others were waving what looked like wands or staffs around, creating different effects as a result.
He stuck around for a while, clinging to the stairway entrance in a half-hearted attempt to remain unnoticed, and watched in fascination as the students weaved spells.
As small-scale and humble as they were, ranging from simple levitation, putting candlewicks on fire and manipulating and freezing water, it was interesting to watch how water coalesced from thin air before freezing into either boulders or spears.
Fires were dancing through the air, following the wand that produced them before extinguishing with a cloud of smoke.
Another were levitating things around in what seemed to be focus exercises, four books and a couple of unlit candle holders were floating around a girl frowning in concentration, doing so either jerkily and nigh uncontrolled or smoothly in near perfect orbits.
His curiosity was soon sated, at least to a degree where he didn't need to stare, though he would have loved to study what he had seen, and he started to look for an exit. Easily found, it was on the other side of the hall.
Despite how conspicuous he had to be, none of them was paying him any more attention than a glance given, likely seeing him as little more than a servant passing through. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, but it allowed him to reach the staircase without fuzz.
The stairs were straight this time, leading to a small hallway with a couple of doors on each side. The path was blocked by a couple of robed people, though, and one of them he felt he recognised. The blonde hair, black robe, laced and open shirt coupled with a red rose in hand; it was impossible for the person in front of him not to be 'Guiche'.
The only way could potentially cast doubt on the person's identity would be if he weren't making some grand gesture while sweet-talking a girl. But, considering the brown-haired girl with the brown robe next to him was smiling with a light blush on her cheeks, it was safe to assume that he wasn't entirely wrong.
He looked exactly as when he saw him last ti-
Wait, last time…?
His brow furrowed, and he gave the teen an inspecting look. Where and when had he seen him before to be able to readily identify him?
'Guiche', having cast the stranger a cautious look the moment his shoes were visible on the staircase, had his features light up in recognition once he registered who he was seeing. A look that quickly changed to amusement.
'Guiche' turned back to the girl and started speaking, "Katie, may I introduce you to the peasant familiar of none other than our renowned Zero, Kirche Anhalt-Zerbst."
"This is Lady Zerbst's familiar? Even the first years have heard rumours that she summoned a commoner and tortured him, it caused quite the stir. But since no one has seen him, some of us didn't believe it."
"Well, I can assure you that he is quite real. He did have quite a rough summoning, though I am sure that Lady Zerbst did not aim for that to happen. Regardless, he has spent the last several days in the infirmary. I suppose he's better now since he's walking around."
Weren't they supposed to speak French, or something akin to it, in Tristain?
He shrugged it off, it didn't matter, and it wasn't implausible that his brain would make it into gibberish. Wouldn't be able to understand what they were saying regardless.
Why they were talking about Kirche after seeing him was curious to him, however.
Giving up on remembering where he had seen the noble before and what Kirche had to do with him, he walked past the pair. He could hear the Guiche look-alike yell after him but ignored the foreign words. He was already halfway down the stairs and had no intention to stop and listen to what, for all intents and purposes, amounted to gibberish.
Didn't Guiche do something to Saito soon after he spoke to him?
He was sure he had, but couldn't remember what...
The bottom floor was another open hall. At just half the size of the one above, it was about the same as he remembered. There were benches with pillows coloured a rich red and a grand fountain in the middle. Hundreds of candles kept the hall well-lit, most of them sat in the large chandelier hanging above the fountain that took up most of the space, making the purling water reflect the light in a way that could easily be called romantic.
Across the room was yet another feature he recognised, the exit. A pair of unnecessarily large doors stood open, allowing clear access and an unhindered look at the sizeable courtyard.
Exiting the tower, thanking the small wonder that 'Guiche' hadn't attempted to stop him, he looked up into the sky. There was little cloud coverage and the night was pleasantly cool, all overlooked by the blue and red moon situated right next to each other.
One does have to wonder just how high the tides run when those moons are that close together… One must wonder why they haven't collided yet and created a global catastrophe… or a complete extinction event.
That was a scary thought. Binary star systems or planets in all honour, but a trinary one was bound to wreck chaos on each other if they were too close together. In the case of planets and moons, especially one where the moons were close enough to be peeking out behind a clenched fist while right next to each other… he really couldn't say, but his logic could only conclude that the only outcome would result in catastrophe.
Not that it mattered, people could do magic here, and there should be dragons, trolls, orcs and elves. A fantasy setting of the purest order. Besides, magic did, quite literally, break the laws of physics by willpower alone, so he was willing to give the two-moons-one-earth-like-planet setup a pass on pure principle.
More importantly, it was time for some sightseeing.