“I’ve brought the last one.”

  The man’s voice carried through the great hall.

  Not loud. Not sharp.

  But it had depth—

  and the conversations in the room fell quiet all at once.

  All eyes turned to the doorway.

  A man stood in the doorway, and behind him—half-hidden—was Crys.

  One glance was enough—there were dozens of boys and girls his age.

  The moment all that attention hit him,

  heat rushed to his face,

  and he dropped his gaze on reflex.

  “You have my thanks.”

  A man stepped forward on the dais

  and bowed with careful respect toward the voice.

  —That voice. He’d heard it before.

  Crys tried to find the one who’d spoken—

  and then the stares sharpened,

  unapologetic.

  Who’s the late one? Who’s that?

  It stung his eyes.

  He couldn’t stand it.

  He started to back the way he’d come—

  but before he could even turn—

  a man on the dais,

  a man who seemed lit even there,

  beckoned him over.

  And in the next moment,

  his feet moved.

  As if pulled,

  Crys stepped into the hall.

  He tried to stop—

  drove strength into his thighs—

  but his feet kept striking the hard floor

  like they didn’t belong to him.

  Behind him,

  the air shifted.

  He turned only his upper body

  and saw the huge doors closing,

  on their own,

  untouched.

  …The exit disappeared.

  His shoulders sagged.

  Beside him, boys whispered deliberately—loud enough to be noticed.

  But Crys was used to whispers like that at school.

  It almost steadied him—

  like slipping back into something normal.

  He lifted his head.

  And the moment he looked over the great hall—

  his breath caught.

  His eyes smarted.

  In this unreal room,

  even his exhale looked white,

  like it belonged to a day of falling snow.

  The hall wasn’t like any building he’d ever entered.

  Not like the castles and palaces in books and films, either.

  A picture book from childhood—

  if there was a place hands couldn’t make,

  it would be this.

  It was vast enough to swallow a cathedral whole.

  The ceiling rose so high

  he couldn’t even make out the ornament.

  Walls and floor glowed

  like white ice—

  soft in color,

  and yet clear.

  Now and then,

  the light shifted—

  to sky-blue,

  to lavender—

  as if silk were rippling.

  On either side of the dais,

  flowers stood in a row,

  so delicate they looked cut from diamond,

  bowing toward the center.

  They shone—

  transparent,

  then iridescent.

  Even Crys, who’d long since forgotten fairy-tale warnings,

  found himself thinking:

  If an Ice Queen’s castle existed,

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  her throne would look like this.

  Elegant.

  Still.

  So beautiful it made you uneasy.

  On the dais, a group in vivid cloaks stood in two lines, careful not to disturb the view.

  Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.

  Then black, clear, silver.

  Gold at the far right.

  And—

  one step above even that gold—

  stood the man who’d led Crys here,

  fingers resting on his beard,

  almost amused.

  Higher still.

  Far, far above—

  in the center,

  on a throne too large to make sense,

  a girl sat,

  a blindfold over her eyes.

  “Welcome, everyone.

  To Emet Echad Olam.”

  The moment she spoke,

  the air in the hall trembled.

  —That was the voice he’d been looking for.

  For someone so small, her voice was too composed.

  It sounded like it had watched history unfold from a distance.

  Her translucent blond hair flowed down past the steps,

  and a robe with a pearly sheen shifted as she moved.

  Crys stared.

  Different face.

  Different tone.

  And yet—

  too close to Tsitsi.

  He narrowed his eyes,

  rose slightly onto his toes to see better.

  A blond boy beside him

  knit his brows,

  slow and deliberate,

  as if to scold him without words.

  The girl continued, quietly.

  “I am the Seder Gadol of Emet Echad Olam.

  In terms you may know,

  I am called the Grand Order.

  Together with the council of eleven Seder behind me,

  I bear the role of guiding this world.”

  Her voice was pleasant—

  and still,

  his spine straightened on its own.

  Around him, the other boys and girls listened,

  as though her voice had weight.

  “You have been called here

  as Rofehim—

  stones cast into the world to change it.”

  She spoke with a voice that made it clear

  she was smiling.

  “To change the world

  is not only to accomplish something great,

  or to lead others.

  A Rofeh is not a ruler.

  A Rofeh must be a stone

  that makes ripples in water.”

  A casual word.

  A casual thought.

  Even without knowing it,

  the ripples spread—

  to people,

  to a place,

  to a whole society—

  and the world shifts.

  “Emet Echad Olam exists

  for that moment.

  This is where you learn

  to use power with awareness.”

  Her pale, cherry-tinted lips closed,

  then opened again.

  “The greatest difference

  between this world

  and your world—Chuts—

  is the speed

  at which thought takes shape.

  In Chuts,

  things take time.

  Here,

  thought becomes form at once.

  You may take any shape.

  You may have anything in your hands.

  But to give form at will,

  you will need training.”

  “This is Milu’im—

  a place to awaken to a new awareness

  through Initiation.

  The eleven Rav before you—

  the teachers—

  will be your guides.”

  The girl dipped her chin,

  just slightly.

  A young man in a red cloak—

  the kind who looked, at a glance, like he’d be all shallow charm—

  opened his mouth with a solemnity that didn’t suit him.

  First came a low vocalise,

  like a song from the earth,

  and it made the air tremble.

  Then—

  it began to turn into words.

  Next came the young man in orange,

  looking bored enough to sigh through the whole thing.

  Then came the one in yellow,

  bright-eyed, practically ready to break into song.

  Their voices layered one after another,

  passing like a relay,

  until they became a single melody.

  《Red of Awakening》Adom Yekitsa — color, to know the self

  《Orange of Wisdom》Katom Chokmah — numbers, to know the world

  《Yellow of Radiance》Tsahov Nogah — spirit, to know form

  《Green of Breath》Yarek Ruach — soul, to know healing

  《Blue of the Higher》Tehelet Elyon — stars, to know position

  《Indigo of Mystery》Kahe Sod — dreams, to know reality

  《Purple of Change》Argaman Temurah — arcana, to know truth

  《Black of the Abyss》Shahor Tehom — darkness, to know power

  《Clear of Insight》Tsarl Binah — light, to know forgiveness

  《Silver of Silence》Kesef Sheket — spirituality, to know the small

  《Gold of Enlightenment》Zahav He’arah — the sacred, to know the great

  Crys was overwhelmed

  by the chant filling the great hall.

  Voices that should never have matched—

  voices from people who looked like they had no sense of teamwork—

  were becoming one,

  like a disciplined choir.

  It felt like the words had color.

  The vibration hit his whole body,

  then slipped inside him.

  A shiver ran down his spine.

  Without thinking,

  he tugged at his hoodie sleeve

  like he meant to rub his arm—

  then jerked his hand away.

  Goosebumps.

  He hadn’t even realized they’d risen.

  The sudden feel of that rough, pebbled skin made him nauseous,

  and he scrubbed hard at his arm.

  The cheerful young man in the gold cloak

  closed his mouth slowly,

  letting the last note hang.

  And then—

  applause and cheers rose from nowhere.

  It sounded lonely.

  Just a scattered flutter.

  Probably only because the hall was that huge.

  When the last person finished clapping,

  the Grand Order spoke, unhurried.

  “When you come to understand yourself,

  you will begin to see the colors of others.

  When you learn the units that shape a world,

  you will be freed from the mechanism of numbers.

  The more you master Milu’im,

  the more Chuts will change in your eyes.

  Some possess such rare aptitude

  they do not require even a year

  to learn everything.

  Others may not complete it

  in their entire lifetime.

  But you are not forbidden to return to Chuts

  until you have mastered all of it.

  Most receive Milu’im

  while continuing their lives in Chuts.

  However—

  as newly arrived Rofeh in Emet Echad Olam,

  you, Talmeed,

  will spend three years in this world,

  until you can grasp—

  with your senses—

  how thought reshapes both the self and the world.”

  “Three years?”

  Crys shouted it—

  too loud,

  like a scream tearing through sacred air.

  Every eye in the great hall swung back to him.

  He didn’t care.

  “Hey—what is this?

  This is a dream, right?”

  Crys spread both hands wide

  and looked around at the teens,

  like he could force agreement out of them.

  But what came back—

  was fear.

  Wariness.

  They visibly stepped away.

  “This is a dream, isn’t it?

  Hey! Someone say it is!”

  Panic scorched his throat.

  He searched—desperately—

  for a face that would nod along.

  Clinging to the smallest hope,

  he reached for the nearest boy.

  But the answer was short.

  “Don’t come over here.”

  Disgust seeped out

  from behind the words.

  The teens backed away even farther,

  until—

  a clear circle formed around Crys.

  His throat went dry.

  He couldn’t even swallow.

  If they’d been laughing,

  like it was some prank—

  or if they’d all been expressionless,

  like a horror movie—

  maybe he could’ve still told himself,

  It’s just a dream.

  But this was different.

  The looks in their eyes weren’t “funny.”

  Uncomfortable.

  Contempt.

  Don’t involve me.

  The kind of reaction you’d give

  to someone making a scene on the street.

  For a second,

  Crys thought—

  …This might not be a dream.

  And the moment that thought landed,

  it changed shape into fear.

  His self-control peeled away

  ridiculously fast.

  “Wake up!

  Wake up—wake up—wake up!”

  He screamed,

  raking his fingers through his hair.

  But nothing changed.

  No matter how much he shouted.

  Even when he squeezed his eyes shut,

  opened them,

  shut them again—

  what was there was still there.

  The opalescent floor,

  glowing with a beauty that felt almost hateful.

  And pale faces,

  looking down on him

  with open disdain.

  If he stayed here,

  he was going to break.

  Before he could even think it through,

  his body answered first.

  Run.

  He spun around

  and bolted for the door,

  his feet tangling beneath him.

  He didn’t even have to push through—

  the teens split left and right,

  as if he were contagious,

  leaving him a path.

  Still running,

  Crys slammed his shoulder into the massive door.

  —It didn’t move.

  He searched for a knocker

  like the ones castles always had.

  Nothing.

  He couldn’t push it.

  Couldn’t pull it.

  “Open.

  Open!”

  He pounded his fist against it.

  The same strange material

  as the walls and floor.

  It didn’t hurt.

  It just didn’t budge.

  With every strike, despair scraped at his chest from the inside.

  “Wake up…

  hurry… wake up…”

  His strength drained,

  his fist still pressed to the door.

  He slid down

  and collapsed onto the floor.

  Three years.

  The words dropped on him

  with the weight of something real.

  What if I really can’t go back?

  What happens to my body?

  Would Dad even notice something was wrong?

  Or—

  was he ever close enough to notice?

  His thoughts wouldn’t stop.

  It was too terrifying.

  His mind started running on its own.

  —Stop. Stop. Stop.

  I don’t want to think anymore.

  Crys decided

  to end the useless spiral here.

  He would close his eyes—

  and when he opened them,

  this time he’d be in his bed.

  And if he was still here—

  then he’d give up,

  and look for another way out.

  A charm.

  A spell.

  Something he told himself

  like it could make it true.

  He drew in a slow breath,

  and let it out even slower.

  Crys closed his eyes.

  And imagined—

  lying on his bed.

  The spring of the mattress.

  The feel of the sheets.

  The scent of cotton.

  The tension that had been stretched to its limit

  began to loosen,

  little by little.

  Crys let his weight sink into the door,

  completely.