Ethan stepped forward, boots whispering against polished stone. The air carried the soft scent of old books and candle wax. Above him, a chandelier glimmered like drowsy constellations, scattering sleepy light across the hall.
The lounge opened around him like a hushed chapel—brown-black walls, twin staircases curling down toward cushioned couches and towering shelves. At its heart, a small fountain murmured to itself, its statue strangely familiar, like a memory half-dreamt.
Soon they drifted into the cafeteria, a wide room of high ceilings and long tables. Copper pots shone behind the counter, catching the warm glow of hidden lamps.
"Here—grab some food," Chrissy said with a grin.
Tables overflowed with choices: stacked biscuits, gleaming fruit, crisp vegetables, chips, and a parade of sweets. Ethan quietly took a slice of cheese and a bit of bread.
Chrissy tilted her head. "Just that? How… delightfully simple."
He offered a shy half-smile.
"No, really," she said, amused. "I like someone who knows what they like."
They moved on.
"This is the library," Chrissy announced.
Shelves rose around them like a forest of stories. Lamplight pooled across long tables where students worked. A girl with half-white, half-silver hair tinkered behind a gas mask, wires and bubbling glass scattered before her. Across the room, a quiet boy read without looking up, while another sketched confidently—even though a blindfold covered his eyes.
At the end of a quieter hall, Chrissy stopped by a row of sturdy wooden doors.
"These are your quarters. Ms. Fauveline will help you settle in."
She waved goodbye, footsteps fading until the silence reclaimed the hall.
A woman in her fifties approached, radiant despite the years.
"You must be Mr. Von Claude?"
"Yeah… I think so," Ethan said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't really remember, but you can just call me Ethan."
Ms. Fauveline smiled warmly. "You'll find yourself in time, dear. For now—" she leaned back, squinting playfully—"brown like leather, a touch of gothic… you remind me a bit of Mr. Mycroft." She nodded, satisfied. "All right. I'll have your room ready in a moment."
She vanished through a door. The hall filled with the scrape and shuffle of furniture, then she returned and swung it open.
The room was split like day and dusk.
On one side: a bright blue bed patterned with tiny thunderbolts, a stuffed hero bunny, a nightstand cluttered with energy-bar wrappers, and a closet overflowing with clothes. A shelf displayed a timer, scattered figurines, and a framed photograph.
On the other: a dark brown bed beside a compact study nook and mini-lab—black-etched closet, shelves of flasks and beakers, and a chalkboard dense with notes.
"You'll be sharing with Dash," Ms. Fauveline said. "Do you like it?"
"Yes… it feels like me," Ethan murmured, brushing his fingers across the polished wood of his nightstand. "Amazing how you did this in a minute."
"You're welcome, Ethan." She beamed. "Oh—your bag's in the laundry, your notebook's on the desk, and the broken glass beaker was taken by Jamie Bluebell. I'll leave you to settle."
She closed the door softly behind her.
Ethan approached the desk. His battered notebook lay open, pages filled with equations, strange formulas, a sketched black flower, and cryptic notes titled Zermorphosis. He frowned.
A sudden plop broke the quiet.
A slick black goo seeped out from his palm.
"Ahhh!" Ethan flailed, splattering the goo across the floor in pure panic.
"Whoa, whoa—easy," said a voice.
Ethan froze. The goo squinted back at him with tiny, glinting eyes.
"It talks!" He stumbled backward. "What—what is this?!"
The creature tilted its head. "I'm you. You invented me, remember?"
"Me?" His heart thudded. "No way."
The blob wobbled, splatting and reforming. "If I get hurt, you get hurt, idiot. We're bound. I saved your life when you were drowning—when you hit your head."
"You… know how I died?" Ethan whispered.
"I don't know the whole story," the creature admitted. "I only woke up when you were on the edge. Someone stirred my consciousness. But I remember this: you made me in a flask with something carved into it. That's my first memory. Next thing I knew, you were bleeding in the river and something—someone—wanted me to save you."
"Save me? Then… do you remember who I was?"
The blob shook its jellylike head.
"No. Just that you created me. And someone else woke me up. That's all."