Chapter 2

This Has To Be A Dream

Before Adom could finish his swearing, he felt a sudden, violent punch to his jaw. The world spun as he crashed to the ground, the impact resonating through his body. His eyeglasses propelled to another side of the room.

As Damus's careless shove sent Adom's glasses flying, he instinctively tensed, anticipating more of the blur that used to swallow his sight. But the classroom snapped into an unprecedented clarity — the intricate patterns on the walls, the distant scribbles of alchemy equations on the blackboard, all stark and vivid. His hand reflexively reached for the absent frames, a silent testament to years of reliance on those lenses to navigate a world forever out of focus. In that moment, with the weight of the glasses lifted, the realization dawned on him: his eyes, unaided, were now piercing the world with more acuity than the finest crafted lenses ever could. It was as though a veil had been lifted, revealing the world in all its crisp, unadulterated glory, and he was seeing it anew, through eyes reborn.

Above him loomed Damus, his face twisted in a sneer. "Oi, shrimp, it's Great Sorcerer Rolland for you," Damus taunted, looming over Adom with a menacing glare. "How many times will I have to tell you? And smile when I beat you, your brooding face irritates me."

As Damus continued his tirade, Adom was only distantly aware of the pain in his jaw. His mind was racing, trying to piece together the surreal turn of events. He wasn't on the beach anymore; he was back in his old classroom, a place he hadn't seen in decades. He touched his cheek, almost in disbelief, feeling the sting of the punch but also the smoothness of his youthful skin, and the absence of facial hair.

Antor, one of Damus' lackeys, nudged his leader. "Hey, Damus, I think there's a problem with Sylla. Maybe we hit him too hard?" he suggested, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Damus turned his threatening gaze on Antor, who quickly looked down in intimidation. Then, refocusing on Adom, Damus demanded, "Shrimp, what bullshit are you spouting now? Have you gone mad?"

Adom's response was a laugh – a deep, hearty laugh that echoed through the classroom and startled every student present. It was a laugh of disbelief, of irony, a laugh that seemed to acknowledge the absurdity of his situation.

"Mad? Yeah... I think I did," Adom replied, his voice laced with a newfound sense of amusement. "That's definitely what happened..."

The classroom fell into an eerie silence, every pair of eyes fixed on Adom. His classmates, accustomed to seeing him as the quiet, frail figure at the back of the class, were visibly shaken by this unexpected display of defiance and humor.

Adom, still laughing, stood back up, his unexpected defiance fueling Damus' rage. In a swift motion, Damus grabbed Adom by the tie, pulling it taut and strangling him. "Shrimp," Damus sneered, his face contorted with anger. "I'm not sure what you're trying to do, but if you're simulating this, I'll be beating the shit out of you even more often, you hear me?"

Gasping for air, Adom looked into Damus' eyes, his own face inches away. Despite the tightening grip on his throat, Adom's smile never faltered. "Yeah, sure, loud and clear, haha," he wheezed, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Woah, you really talk like Damus used to."

With a boldness that shocked even himself, Adom reached up and touched Damus' face, examining the details as if he were a scientist observing a fascinating specimen. "Hmm, not a mirage magic and certainly no hologram," he mused, his voice strained yet steady. "You really look like Damus, just as ugly, too, damn."

A few stifled chuckles erupted from various corners of the classroom. No one dared to laugh out loud, but the tension was palpable. Everyone was utterly shocked at Adom's audacity. This was not the Adom they knew – the quiet, sickly boy who shrank from confrontation.

Damus, now red with rage, lifted his hand to deliver another blow. "You little..." he began, his fist poised to strike.

Adom braced himself, a wry smile still playing on his lips. "Oh boy... here it comes..." he said, his voice laced with an ironic anticipation. Yet, there was not a hint of fear in his eyes.

The moment stretched, the classroom holding its breath. The expected punch never came. Damus' hand hovered in the air, his anger battling with confusion. This reaction from Adom was unprecedented, unsettling.

As Damus' hand was raised, poised for another strike, a commanding voice echoed from the classroom door, "Stop!" Instantly, all heads turned towards the source. Standing at the threshold was Mia Arristid, the class representative, the best student of the Xerkes Sorcerer Academy, and undoubtedly the most popular and beautiful girl in school.

Adom, still grappling with the surreal nature of his situation, quipped, "Ooh, there she is. You're in trouble now," his voice laced with amusement, not quite taking the scene before him seriously.

Damus, still seething but visibly restraining himself, faced Mia. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he muttered, trying to downplay the situation. "We were just having some fun. Can't a guy just play with his friend? You're really overreacting here, Mia."

Mia sighed, her gaze shifting between Damus and Adom. "When did you become friends with Adom?" she asked, skepticism evident in her tone.

"Oh, we've always been friends, we just..." Damus started, but his explanation was cut short.

Adom, his tie still clenched in Damus' grip and struggling for breath, interjected, "Hey, if you don't mind, I kinda need air to live, you know?" His tone was light, almost mocking, but there was an underlying seriousness to his words.

Damus, taken aback by Adom's audacity and under the scrutinizing gaze of Mia, finally released his grip. As Damus and Mia engaged in a heated argument, with Mia reprimanding him for his behavior, Adom quietly assessed the situation.

Mia turned towards Adom, presumably to check if he was alright, only to find that he had vanished. Despite the fact that classes were due to start in five minutes, Adom had slipped away unnoticed. His disappearance added an extra layer of confusion and intrigue to the already tense atmosphere in the classroom.

Roaming the halls of the Xerkes Sorcerer Academy, Adom still grappled with disbelief. His body, now seemingly free from the constraints of his debilitating illness, felt almost alien to him. He ran his hands along the walls, feeling the cool, solid texture under his fingers. He sprinted down corridors, reveling in the ability to move without pain, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Each sensation, each breath he took was a reminder of his youth, of a time before his body had betrayed him. Even the punches from Damus had felt undeniably real. Yet, he refused to believe that the deal with the mysterious woman was anything more than a figment of his imagination. It had to be a dream, a trick of his mind – it couldn't be real.

Adom found himself in front of a mirror near the 1st-year pavilion. He couldn't help but stare, utterly baffled. There he was, his younger self reflected back at him—no wrinkles, no signs of aging, minus the bruise caused by Damus, just the unmarred skin of youth. In disbelief, he began pinching and stretching his skin, half expecting it to snap back to reveal the older man he once was. Yet, the elasticity of youth held firm, springing back with each tug and pull.

Completely engrossed in his self-examination, Adom paid no mind to the students passing by. Whispers of "What's he doing?" and "That kid's weird" floated in the air as they stole curious glances at his odd behavior. But the sheer amazement of witnessing his young visage, so vivid and real, overshadowed any concern for the bemused onlookers.

In the wake of his newfound clarity, skepticism gnawed at Adom. To dispel any illusions that might be at play, he decided to cast a disruption spell, leveraging his deep understanding of Essentia, the world's mystical energy fabric. Essentia, invisible to most, is the core from which all magic is drawn, flowing through everything and manipulated by the mind's intent to shape reality.

With focused intent, Adom began to gather Essentia, feeling its flow like a gentle stream converging within him. In this world, spellcasting was an art of mental constructs, requiring no spoken words but a vivid, detailed visualization of the desired outcome. He envisioned the Essentia coalescing, forming a lattice around him that resonated with the frequency of reality, ready to shatter any facade.

Channeling the Essentia through his internal pathways, he directed it outward in a silent burst, the air around him shimmering briefly as the spell took effect. This disruption spell was not an aggressive force but a subtle unraveling, designed to peel away layers of deception, much like sunlight piercing through fog.

The moment of realization hit Adom like a tempest, throwing into chaos everything he once held to be an immutable truth. Standing amidst the swirling confusion of his thoughts, he grappled with the incomprehensible fact that the illusion before him remained unbroken, unyielding to the logical frameworks of magic he has mastered over lifetimes.

Adom's mind raced, dissecting the scenario with the precision of a seasoned scholar. "Time travel," the words echo in his skull, a concept relegated to the realm of fantasy and dismissed by the academic community as mere folly. The fundamental laws of magic, as ancient and unchanging as the stars themselves, decree two unequivocal impossibilities: the resurrection of the dead and the traversal of time's one-way stream.

Yet, here he stood, confronted with an anomaly that defies the very foundation of magical doctrine. How could this be? Adom pondered, his thoughts a labyrinth of theories and counterarguments. He recalled the countless texts and treatises he had studied, each reiterating the impossibility of time manipulation, citing the immutable nature of the past and the sanctity of the timeline.

Could there be a loophole, a neglected asterisk in the annals of magical law? He considered the principles of Essentia flow, the lifeblood of all magic, wondering if a rare confluence of energies might momentarily warp the fabric of reality. But no, such an event would require astronomical amounts of power, beyond the reach of even the most potent sorcerers.

Adom delved deeper, exploring the realm of quantum magic, where the impossible teeters on the brink of reality. Here, in the subatomic dance of particles, could lie the answer—a fleeting chance for time's arrow to be bent, if only for an instant. But the risks, he knew, were monumental, threatening the very fabric of existence.

Frustration mounted as each theory crumbles under the weight of logic and established knowledge. Adom's world, built on the solid bedrock of magical principles, now quaked with uncertainty. The incontrovertible truths he had sworn by now seemed as fragile as glass, leaving him adrift in a sea of doubt.

Adom's heart raced, a storm of emotions brewing within him as he pondered the bewildering encounter on the beach. The mysterious lady, her cryptic words, and the surreal sensation of his mind expanding with memories—it all seemed too fantastical, too far removed from the reality he knew. Yet, the vividness of the experience, the clarity of the memories flooding his mind, made it impossible to dismiss outright.

As he trudged along the familiar path of the academy's corridors, his feet dragging against the firm ground, Adom found himself grappling with a whirlwind of thoughts. The story of the Scarlet King, a legend woven into the fabric of his culture, suddenly didn't seem so far-fetched. King Gaius the conqueror, the mythical figure who supposedly bargained with an otherworldly entity, returning to his past with a wealth of knowledge and power, had always been a tale to inspire awe and skepticism in equal measure. But now, faced with his own inexplicable circumstances, Adom couldn't help but draw parallels.

The weight of potential, the sheer possibility of what this could mean, pressed down on him with an intensity that was almost suffocating. His mind teetered on the edge of belief and disbelief, fear and exhilaration warring within him. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to entertain the thought that this could be real, that he might have been given a second chance, an opportunity to forge a life he had only dared dream of. The notion of reclaiming his health, of seizing a destiny far removed from the constraints of his frail body, was tantalizing.

But then, the cold grip of fear closed around his heart. Hope was a dangerous thing, a fragile thread that, if snapped, could plunge him into an even deeper abyss of despair. Adom knew all too well the pain of dashed hopes, the crushing weight of disappointment. He had never been the lucky one, always on the sidelines, watching as life passed him by. To allow himself to believe, to truly invest in the idea that this could be his path to a new beginning, was a risk he wasn't sure he could afford to take.

With a heavy sigh, Adom resolved to tread carefully, to guard his heart against the seductive lure of hope. He would navigate this bewildering new reality with caution, treating it as nothing more than an elaborate illusion until undeniable proof said otherwise. The walls he had built around his heart, fortified by years of setbacks and sorrows, remained firmly in place, a bastion against the potential heartache that unbridled hope could bring.

Then, a thought struck him. If this was indeed a dream, he might as well make the most of it. Memories flooded back to him – of friendships, of simpler times. He remembered Sam, his best friend back then. Guided by these recollections, he made his way to the library, the place where Sam would invariably be found.

Entering the library, he scanned the room and, sure enough, there was Sam, sitting in the exact spot he used to occupy. Adom was struck by the detail and consistency of what he still believed to be an illusion – it was like stepping back in time.

In a moment of unbridled emotion, forgetting the sanctity of the library, Adom called out, "Sam!" His voice echoed through the quiet space, turning heads. Every student in the library looked at him, their expressions ranging from annoyance to curiosity.

Mrs. Pottleclod, the goblin librarian, famous for her strict rules and no-nonsense attitude, shot him a stern look. She gestured for silence and mouthed a warning, threatening to banish him from the library if he caused any more disturbances.

Adom, realizing his mistake, flashed an apologetic smile and quickly made his way towards Sam. As he approached, he noticed Sam's surprised expression – a mix of confusion and recognition.

"Adom?" Sam said, his voice low and cautious. "What are you doing here? And why are you shouting?"

Adom stood before Sam, trying to reconcile the flood of emotions he felt. Here was his friend, unchanged by time, a living memory from a past he thought he had left behind.

"Sorry about that, Sam," Adom said. "I just... I wanted to see you. It's been a long time."

Sam studied Adom, trying to make sense of his unusual behavior. "You're acting weird, man. Are you okay?"

Adom hesitated. How could he explain the unexplainable? How could he convey the journey he had been on, the deal he had made, the second chance he was living? Was all this even real to begin with?

"I'm... fine," Adom finally said, deciding to keep the truth to himself for now. "Just felt like catching up, you know?"

Sam nodded, though still looked skeptical. "Alright, but keep your voice down. Mrs. Pottleclod is already eyeing us like we're her next targets."

The two friends found a quiet corner, and Adom sat down, absorbing the familiarity of the library, the presence of his friend. He was still unsure of the reality of his situation, but as they began to talk, Adom felt a sense of peace and belonging, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a very long time. The illusion, if it was one, was perfect. And for now, that was enough.