They walked in silence.
The Academy's grounds were vast, with a castle complex built on a high hill, surrounded by alleys, training fields, well-maintained gardens, and a lake connected to a paved path. The sun was hot, but not scorching. Thin, transparent clouds floated in the sky.
Kallen put his hands in his pockets and walked forward, leaning slightly to one side, as if he didn't want to lose his balance.
Reina walked beside him. Confident, straight. Crimson hair swayed quietly, reflecting the glint of the morning sun. There was no smile, no irritation on her face. Only calmness. It was as if she always knew where she was going—and why.
"Why did you come with me in the first place?" Kallen asked without turning around.
"I'm the headman. It's my duty to make sure the newcomers don't run away."
"Really?"
"No," she said, slowing down a little. "You just looked like you needed someone to be with."
He chuckled.
"I don't break down from loneliness."
— Yes. But you break down when you think no one can see how bad you are.
"How the fuck do you know?"
"Guess."
Kallen stopped. He sighed.
- Dreams.
Reina also stopped, next to him. She looked at him from the side, not directly.
"Do you think this is a dream?" she asked quietly. "What if this is real, and our Academy is an illusion?"
He paused. His eyes were fixed on the ground. The stones beneath his feet were smooth, polished by the rains. The sun was shining too brightly, as if it wanted to burn away the remnants of his sleep.
"If it were all an illusion," he replied, "I would have found the one who created it and burned him alive."
She looked at him. For a long time. Without saying a word.
"You're really strong," she said a little later. "But it's not because of magic. It's not because of your endurance. You're strong because you hate it."
He chuckled again.
"And you, too."
— Yes. But I hate silence. And you hate people.
The path led down to the lake. The water sparkled in the sunlight like a mirror. Several students were laughing on the pier. Someone was casting a spell, and an icy sphere hovered over the water, distorting the light.
Kallen sat down on the grass. It was soft and cool. He stretched out his legs. He closed his eyes.
"We have our first class in ten minutes," Reina said, sitting down next to him.
"I'll make it. I can even run there. With a burden. And on my hands."
— Did you run today?"
— In the morning. Ten kilometers. With a stone.
"You're crazy.
— I know. It's better than being weak.
Silence. Only the wind rustled the grass.
Then Reina asked quietly:
"You have a tattoo on your back. Is it pulsating?"
He didn't open his eyes.
"I won't tell you what it means. Not even you."
"I didn't ask. It's just that she's there. It's... heavy."
"Like from the past.
Reina lay on her back, staring up at the sky. Her hair spread out on the grass like blood on snow.
"It's all too clean," she said. "This day. This sun. This Academy. It's like a wrapper that's about to be torn off. And inside, there's meat again."
Kalen chuckled without opening his eyes.
"Welcome to my world.
***
"We're two minutes late," Reina said as she entered the classroom.
"It's not the end of the world," Kalen replied, yawning.
The auditorium was vast: circular in shape, the walls were decorated with ancient writings, and there was a magical sphere on the ceiling that simulated daylight. The students sat on stone benches that resembled steps, surrounding a central pedestal where a teacher was already standing.
"Sit down, Lady Reyna. And... Mr. Lionheart," he said without looking up from his scroll. His voice was as even as an official's in a court of law. "We are in the Fictional. And I will not tolerate any lagging behind the program."
"Pleasure to meet you..." muttered Kalen under his breath and sat down next to Reyna. His head was spinning.
A word appeared on the board in front of them:
Fiction is the Art of Lies that has become magic.
"Your task," the teacher continued, "is to learn how to invent so convincingly that the invention comes to life. The magic of Fiction is not an illusion. It is a lie that becomes reality, even if only for a few seconds.
Kalen's eyes narrowed.
"It's some kind of shit… Although…"
"Try," said the teacher, "to create the simplest fictional object. For example: you are holding a golden cube in your hand. Believe it. Don't think, but believe."
The students focused.
Kalen raised his hand — empty. He closed his eyes.
"I'm holding a cube. It's golden. It's heavy. It shines. Its edges are sharp. It's in my hand. I can feel its weight pulling on my wrist."
Something clicked next to him. He opened his eyes and almost jumped: there was indeed a cube in his palm, unrealistically bright, as if carved from the sun.
He blinked, and it was gone.
"Who got it?" the teacher asked. Half the class raised their hands. "Good. Who got it for more than three seconds?"
Kallen looked at the others. Only three of them had their hands up. Reina was one of them.
She turned to him:
"You too?"
"Yeah," he replied, "and you?"
— Six seconds. Mine was made of glass.
— Mine's made of gold. I won.
— This isn't a competition.
— For me, it's all about the competition.
Reina snorted and turned away, but the corners of her lips twitched.
The teacher snapped his fingers, and a line appeared on the floor:
— And now, fiction in battle.
Too soon. Too abrupt. And too interesting.
Kallen felt the shadow stirring again. He wanted to test whether it was possible to lie about pain.