Miles stepped into the bustling assembly hall of his junior high school, his eyes darting over the crowd. The room buzzed with energy as parents filled the seats at the back, their chatter mingling with the rustle of uniforms in the student section up front. Teachers and school authorities sat poised on the stage at the front, their expressions a mixture of formality and anticipation.
Weaving through the rows of students, Miles scanned the sea of faces until his gaze landed on a familiar figure—Laurel. Her blond hair caught the light, and her bright blue eyes sparkled as she waved at him. He grinned, returning her wave before carefully making his way toward her.
"Hey, watch it!" a student barked as Miles accidentally nudged their foot. "These are new kicks!"
"Sorry!" Miles replied hastily, pointing toward Laurel. "Just trying to get over there."
Finally, he reached her row, but before he could finish an apology, Laurel grabbed his arm and tugged him into the empty seat beside her.
"Sit down quickly! The program's about to start," she whispered, her voice tinged with excitement.
Miles opened his mouth to reply, but Laurel's sharp eyes were already appraising him. "Your uniform isn't buttoned properly," she remarked, leaning in to fix his collar. Her fingers worked deftly, and before Miles could protest, she leaned even closer.
"Wait, there's a mark on your cheek," she added, licking her thumb. Miles froze as she reached up, her thumb brushing gently against his skin. Her soft breaths warmed his face, and her delicate scent filled the air between them, making his heart thump wildly.
Miles felt his cheeks burn with an intense blush as the world around him seemed to blur. He recoiled slightly, breaking the spell. "I-I can do it myself!" he stammered, rubbing his cheek with the back of his hand.
Laurel sat back with a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that," she murmured, glancing away.
Miles swallowed hard, willing his heartbeat to calm down. "It's fine," he mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. Yet, the lingering warmth on his cheek betrayed him. He stole a glance at Laurel, now focused on the stage, her serene expression glowing under the soft overhead lights. A small, secret smile tugged at his lips, and he straightened in his seat. The flutter in his chest was unfamiliar but exhilarating.
Then it struck him—like a bolt of lightning through his mind.
His vision blurred, and he didn't see Laurel's bright blue eyes and blond hair for a fleeting, horrifying moment. Instead, he saw the severed head of Idris, who, in death, had Laurel's face. The macabre image slammed into him with sickening force, wrenching his gut. He doubled over, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
Panic surged through him like wildfire. The cheerful chatter of the assembly dissolved into a distant hum as dread clawed at his chest. His stomach churned violently. He bolted from his seat, stumbling over legs and bags. "Hey! Watch it!" a student snapped as Miles shoved past.
Ignoring their complaints, he barrelled toward the exit, his hand clamped over his mouth. His legs felt like lead, but the sheer urgency of his nausea propelled him forward. As he burst through the double doors and into the open air, the oppressive weight of the assembly hall lifted slightly.
He barely made it around the corner of the building before his body gave out. Falling to his knees, he retched, the acidic taste burning his throat. His breathing came in sharp, ragged gasps as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
"What the hell was that?" he whispered hoarsely, his hands trembling. The sharp pang in his head returned, digging deeper this time. He clutched at his temples, the pain blurring the edges of reality. "That was Laurel," he muttered, his voice cracking, "but why...?"
He slammed his fist against the ground, frustration and confusion boiling over. He leaned back against the wall, the cold surface grounding him as he tried to piece together his spiraling thoughts.
The Dream Walker's grip faltered, its grip loosening as Miles's mind clawed at clarity. The horrifying image of Idris, with Laurel's lifeless face, lingered in his thoughts. But even that grotesque memory began to feel fragile, its edges unravelling like a poorly woven thread. Was this truly real or just a bad memory?
Suddenly, the assembly hall doors burst open, the echo of hurried footsteps breaking through his spiralling thoughts. Laurel appeared, her blond hair catching the sunlight as she scanned the corner of the building. Her gaze landed on Miles—slumped against the wall, pale and trembling.
"Oh no, Miles!" she cried, rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees, the worry etched across her face palpable. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Her warmth flooded over him, grounding him in a way nothing else had. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice trembling with concern.
Miles opened his mouth, his voice shaky. "Yes, but this is just an illu—"
He didn't get the chance to finish. Laurel pulled back abruptly, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Don't you dare scare me like that again!" she exclaimed, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her eyes, shimmering with emotion, locked onto his.
Before Miles could respond, she leaned in, her lips pressing firmly against his cheek. The peck was soft but urgent, filled with a mix of relief, fear, and something deeper. Time seemed to freeze, the world around them blurring into nothingness.
For a brief, fleeting moment, the weight of illusions, the haunting memories, and the Dream Walker's manipulations faded into the background. All that remained was the feel of her lips on his and her embrace, grounding him in the here and now.
When she pulled away, her cheeks flushed, she searched his face with watery eyes. "You're real," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "And I won't lose you."
Miles blinked, the warmth of her kiss still lingering. For the first time in what felt like ages, his mind found an anchor amidst the storm.
The Dream Walker's grip tightened. Miles willingly surrendered, immersing himself in the illusion it created. This was no longer just an illusion; it was the perfect reality he had always wished for.
The enchanted current carried Lilith onto the floating library's wide marble terrace, depositing her in an unceremonious sprawl. She gasped for air, pushing herself onto her hands and knees, the shimmering water dripping from her hair and clothes, clinging to her like a second skin. She wiped at her face, her breath heavy, her heart pounding as she took in the vast, glowing structure before her.
The tranquillity was shattered by the sharp echo of footsteps. Her head snapped toward the sound. Two figures emerged from the haze—Crimson and Miles.
"There she is!" Miles exclaimed with his eyes wide open, pointing directly at her.
Crimson, his attention still focused on Miles, turned swiftly to follow his gaze. His sharp eyes locked onto Lilith, and a flicker of recognition flashed across his face.
Lilith's heart leapt into overdrive. Without hesitation, she bolted toward the library's massive archway, her soaked boots slapping against the smooth stone floor. The glowing doors loomed ahead, promising sanctuary or perhaps more danger, but she didn't care. All that mattered was escaping their reach.