“All right—first up,

  we’re heading to Adom Yekitsa.

  That’s where the Color Initiation is.

  So—

  try to keep up.”

  The moment the young man in the red cloak spoke,

  the air behind Crys shifted—softly.

  Someone—probably the red-cloak guy as he passed—ruffled his hair, like he was trying to push his head down.

  Crys didn’t like being touched.

  He fixed his already-messy hair, somehow looking even more annoyed.

  From the back of the great hall, whispers drifted in—someone laughing under their breath.

  Then—

  one presence, then another,

  coming closer.

  “Can you stand?”

  Crys nodded and got to his feet.

  With one hand stretched out in front of him

  to feel for something—

  a door, a wall, who even knew—

  he took a few unsteady steps.

  The boy’s voice turned wary.

  “…You can’t see?”

  Crys shook his head.

  “I don’t want to open my eyes.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m putting a spell on myself.”

  “Then that’s even more reason you can’t.”

  The boy laughed softly,

  still polite.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Before he even finished saying it,

  Crys’s eyes were open.

  No.

  They opened on their own.

  The first thing that rushed in

  was a pair of glittering eyes—

  a vivid green, like chrome diopside.

  Crys blinked hard.

  His vision stung.

  The boy, seeing him finally look up,

  smiled like he was honestly delighted.

  “Wow.

  Your irises are the color of heaven.”

  “You ever seen heaven?”

  “Yeah.

  Just now.”

  “I’m in hell.”

  Crys snapped it back,

  flat and rough.

  The boy only kept smiling.

  Crys let out a long breath.

  —Relying on a spell. That was stupid.

  Still,

  it had been better than doing nothing.

  Now he’d been forced—

  once again—

  to accept this situation as “not a dream.”

  Which meant he had to find another way out.

  And gratitude toward this boy,

  who’d been kind to him the whole time—

  was smaller than the resentment

  of having his gamble ruined.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Let’s go.”

  The boy took Crys’s hand.

  Crys tried to pull away—

  and for some reason,

  he couldn’t.

  But he stopped thinking about it right away.

  If this dream wasn’t ending no matter what,

  then being with this boy—who kept getting in his way—

  was still a thousand times better

  than moving with the ones who kept staring him down.

  Crys nodded without a word

  and started to step forward—

  when—

  someone grabbed his shoulder from behind, firmly.

  The boy’s hand slipped away.

  “Apologies for interrupting your friendship,

  but go on ahead.

  I have something to discuss with him.”

  The boy’s eyes widened for a beat,

  then he straightened.

  Hand to his chest,

  he bowed with careful respect.

  “My actions earlier were thoughtless, Seder Soliorbis.

  I will be in your care from here on.”

  Then he turned back to Crys again.

  With a face that made people soften without even meaning to, he smiled, quick and bright.

  “See you later, Crystal.”

  He left as if he had no regret at all,

  and stepped out into the corridor.

  As if that was a cue,

  the others in the great hall began filing out too.

  Most of them filed out neatly—well-behaved.

  But Crys still felt the glances—

  quick ones, sideways ones,

  like needles.

  Only the friendly-looking boy wore a guilty expression,

  like a puppy that had just been scolded, but—

  the blond boy who’d been beside Crys earlier

  frowned at him on purpose,

  like he wanted Crys to notice,

  and the boy in the black hoodie,

  hood pulled low,

  clicked his tongue—loud.

  The last of them left—until even their silhouettes faded.

  Only then did Soliorbis speak.

  “You didn’t listen to my warning, did you?”

  “Warning? What are you talking about?”

  “I see. You’ve already forgotten I said it at all.”

  Soliorbis laughed,

  brightly—

  as if none of it bothered him.

  “The Seder Gadol said what she did,

  but you didn’t have to turn yourself into a spectacle.

  Earlier, I let it slide,

  assuming you were simply putting on a show of defiance…”

  His tone softened, almost amused.

  “But don’t tell me you truly believe

  this is a dream.”

  “What else would it be!”

  Something inside Crys snapped.

  Ever since he’d entered the great hall,

  it had been one ridiculous performance after another—

  and he was done holding it in.

  “Seder Gadol, Rofeh—

  all of it.

  It’s all just my dream.

  This castle.

  Those people.

  When I wake up, it’ll all vanish.

  You too!”

  “Setting your mood aside for a moment—let me be frank…”

  Soliorbis smiled.

  “It seems you’re… not much for remembering things.”

  “What did you say?”

  Before Crys could spit anything back—

  Soliorbis tapped the floor lightly

  with the tip of his shoe.

  His golden cloak loosened

  like mist,

  then disappeared.

  And in the next instant,

  the man standing there

  was no longer a cloaked figure at all—

  but someone in a sleek suit,

  the kind you could tell at a glance had always belonged in rooms like this.

  Crys froze,

  eyes and mouth wide open.

  Soliorbis looked at him,

  calmly,

  perfectly gentlemanlike.

  “I never properly introduced myself.

  Urielis Eligence Soliorbis.

  And perhaps you’ve heard of—

  Uriel & Company?”

  “…At least the name.”

  A suspicious man in a cloak, turning into a celebrity CEO and casually dropping the name of a global corporation—

  it knocked the breath out of him.

  He looked away.

  “If you know even the name,

  I’m honored.

  It means the advertising budget wasn’t wasted,”

  Soliorbis said lightly.

  “I happen to be the one running it.”

  He winked—

  full of mischief.

  Crys had no intention of buying any of it.

  And yet—

  even standing still,

  Soliorbis carried something real.

  A charisma that didn’t need proof.

  “If you were really the CEO,

  I would’ve seen your face online.

  This is just my brain pulling it back up

  inside a dream.”

  “I see.”

  Soliorbis nodded,

  as if he’d been given a reasonable argument.

  “A fair point.”

  Then—without hesitation—

  he produced a hat from thin air,

  twirled it once at his fingertips,

  and placed it on his head

  with an exaggerated flourish.

  “So what you’re saying is this.

  No matter how close someone is to you—

  if you meet someone you know from Chuts here,

  you can’t believe it.

  To accept it as reality…

  you’d have to meet someone you came to know in Emet Echad Olam—

  back in Chuts.

  Is that what you’re saying?”

  “A dream can’t become reality.

  No matter what.”

  Crys said it quietly,

  and flatly.

  Soliorbis watched him,

  almost interested—

  like he was waiting for the rest.

  That made Crys’s tone sharpen,

  just a little.

  “My clothes changed in an instant.

  A hat appeared out of nowhere.

  That’s not normal.

  Unless you’re telling me

  this is just a magic trick.”

  “You’re clever,” Soliorbis said.

  “That’s not always a compliment.”

  Crys started to argue—

  but Soliorbis stopped him with a raised palm,

  and went on.

  “There are, indeed,

  certain differences between the laws that rule Chuts

  and the laws of Emet Echad Olam.

  Those are things

  you’ll understand soon enough

  as you go through Milu’im.”

  “You’ve been steering this conversation this whole time.

  I’m not staying here.

  And I’m not here to learn anything.”

  Crys didn’t bother hiding the bite in his voice.

  “You’re an important person in this dream’s setting.

  Right?

  Then—

  could you tell me

  how to get back to my world?”

  “On that matter,

  I will tell you nothing.”

  Soliorbis’s voice stayed easy.

  “Because you already know.”

  “If I knew, I’d be back!”

  Heat snapped through him.

  Whatever scraps of politeness he’d been holding onto

  fell apart.

  “What is this?

  You stopped me because you “needed to talk,”

  and then it’s just—

  nonsense after nonsense.

  I want to wake up.

  If you’re going to be kind,

  then tell me how.

  If not—

  leave me alone.

  Which is it?”

  “Problems are not always answered

  in black and white.”

  Soliorbis said it simply.

  “It is neither of the choices you offered.”

  Then, without changing his tone—

  “I intend to respect the power you carry.

  I will not meddle with it.

  But I do intend to support you.”

  “So you’re not going to answer.

  How generous.”

  Crys threw it out there,

  polite on the surface,

  a blade underneath.

  Then he turned

  to leave the great hall.

  —But.

  He couldn’t move.

  Not even a step.

  Like the floor had him glued in place.

  The moment Soliorbis touched his shoulder—just lightly—

  Crys’s body suddenly went free—

  and the backlash made him stumble forward.

  “—Tch…!”

  He hit his nose on the floor.

  Pain flared.

  Crys cursed under his breath.

  Above him,

  Soliorbis smiled.

  “Of course,

  I can give you an answer.

  But if you give it too easily

  to someone who isn’t ready for it—

  the road to truth

  can become a detour.”

  His smile thinned.

  “One thing I can say is this:

  this is reality.

  And you will have to accept it.”

  “Why should I—”

  Crys muttered,

  sulking.

  Soliorbis answered,

  bright—

  like he’d been waiting for that exact question.

  “Because you’re a magician.”

  Crys forgot to breathe.

  “…Why do you know that word?”

  Even as he asked,

  he stared at Soliorbis.

  A tailored suit.

  Hair and beard the color of the sun.

  —For some reason,

  it felt familiar.

  “We’re far enough from the others now.”

  Soliorbis didn’t answer.

  “Come.”

  He stepped through the door.

  Crys followed,

  a step behind,

  slow and unwilling.

  A cooler breeze flowed in from outside

  and brushed his cheek.