I woke up with a start, like someone had pulled me out of a dream way too fast. My head was spinning, my temples pounded, and for a second everything looked blurry, like I was staring through foggy glass.
I blinked a few times until things sharpened. That's when I realized—this wasn't my room. I was lying on a hard wooden bed in a small, shadowy cabin. The walls, the floor, even the ceiling were all rough planks. A thin beam of sunlight slipped through a narrow window, lighting up the dust swirling in the air. No lamps. No outlets. Nothing modern at all.
My heart sank. The last thing I remembered was sitting at my desk, buried in notes for my economics exam. I had leaned forward on my notebook just for a second to rest my eyes. And then… blackout.
When I pushed myself up, something felt off. My hands didn't look like mine—they were pale, flawless, almost glassy. And then a strand of hair fell across my face. Bright red, with orange glints. Long and straight. Not mine.
I shot a glance down at myself and almost forgot how to breathe. My T-shirt and jeans were gone. Instead, I wore this oversized linen shirt, weird old pants tied with a leather belt, and—seriously?—a tight sash wrapped around my chest, flattening everything. Like I was supposed to pass for a guy.
"What the hell…" I whispered, touching my face, hoping to find something familiar.
My legs felt shaky as I walked to the window. I pulled the curtain aside, and my breath just… stopped.
Outside, a whole city stretched out before me. Cobblestone streets packed with people in tunics, armor, long dresses—like I'd fallen into the middle of a Renaissance fair, except it was way too real. Horses pulled carts, merchants shouted over one another, kids darted between market stalls. And in the distance, massive stone towers and castles rose against the sky, straight out of a fantasy movie.
I staggered back, my pulse hammering.
"This isn't real. It can't be."
But the rough sash digging into my ribs, the heavy smell of wood and dirt, and the noise of the crowd outside told me the truth.
Wherever this was, it definitely wasn't the world where I'd fallen asleep the night before.
I forced myself to sit up properly and take stock of the small cabin. That's when I noticed a small chest tucked under the bed. My curiosity piqued, I opened it—and immediately found a stack of books. To my relief, they were in English. My heart skipped a beat; maybe this was the universe's way of giving me a lifeline.
I flipped through the pages. Most were filled with strange symbols and diagrams—clearly something beyond my usual reading material. Magic, maybe? I couldn't be sure, but the words leapt off the page in a way that felt… important.
At the bottom of the chest, I found a small pouch. Coins clinked as I lifted it. Silver, bronze, and some that looked almost too shiny to be real. I had no idea what they were worth here—or if they even had any real value—but the thought was thrilling.
Finally, I unfolded a piece of parchment sealed with a wax emblem. The handwriting was elegant, almost ornate:
"To the bearer of this letter: You are hereby enrolled in the Arcane Academy of ThunderGate. Present this letter at the gates, and your training shall begin."
I blinked. My rational mind immediately kicked in. Fraud. Scam. Someone's idea of a cruel joke. But deep down, a part of me already knew: this wasn't my world. My body, the streets, the smells… none of it was real. And if that was true, then maybe this letter was real, too.
I stuffed the letter into my pocket, grabbed the books, and left the cabin. The streets of the city stretched before me, alive with colors, noises, and a chaotic rhythm that made my pulse quicken. I didn't know exactly where to start, so I decided to ask.
"Excuse me," I called to a passing merchant. "Can you tell me how to get to… the Arcane Academy?"
He looked at me as if I had grown another head, then pointed vaguely toward the north. "Follow the river until you reach the towers. You can't miss it."
I thanked him, trying to keep my hands from trembling. As I walked, I felt the weight of the letter in my pocket and the strange pull of the city around me, as if it was nudging me forward toward something bigger than I could yet understand.
And for the first time since waking, I let myself wonder: Maybe this world isn't as hostile as it seems. Maybe it's… mine now.
Clara walked through the streets, following the directions she had been given, trying to absorb every detail of this world that kept her on edge. The markets were a spectacle of colors and scents: fruits and herbs she had never seen, spices that filled the air with an intense, unfamiliar perfume. Shops filled with artifacts and ancient contraptions lined the streets, and from the large buildings came the rhythmic pounding of hammers on metal, as if each structure were breathing with life of its own.
Clara stopped for a few minutes, on the verge of panic, with a strong desire to return to the inn's bed and wake up from this dream. But she calmed herself; another part of her burned with curiosity and a desire to experience it all.
Slowly, she began to relax, taking in everything new. Some carriages seemed to defy logic: they floated just above the cobblestones, gliding without wheels, with horses that neighed with a strange metallic echo. Among the crowd, Clara saw faces from all walks of life: barefoot children selling bread, artisans covered in dust and sweat, and guards in gleaming armor, swords at their sides and calculating gazes. Everything was chaotic, yet incredibly alive.
As she moved forward, her heart quickened with each step, driven by a mix of fear, wonder, and a strange sense of belonging that was beginning to bloom inside her.
Then, on one of the main streets, the noise became deafening. Drums rolled and trumpets blared, announcing the imperial procession. Clara froze, astonished, as the crowd parted reverently before the formation of soldiers marching with impeccable precision.
She had never seen such a pompous event before: foot soldiers and knights marched in line, and some carriages carried groups of people who seemed highly respected.
At the front, atop a majestic black steed, was him. A young man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to pierce her soul. The moment she focused on him, their gazes met, and a shiver ran through both of them, as if time itself had slowed. The crowd, the drums, the wind—everything disappeared, but inside her, a different drumbeat sounded, something growing and urging them closer, a mysterious force like a magnet saying come closer… closer…
Clara felt a tug in her chest, a warmth that made her stumble. But she wasn't alone in the sensation. In the prince's eyes, the same confusion, the same inexplicable magnetism that pulled her, was reflected. An invisible thread seemed to connect them, and for a moment, neither could look away.
The crowd was thick in between, and although Clara wanted to understand what was happening to her, she decided to extinguish the fire in her soul, telling herself it was probably just a side effect of this unreal dream.
The horse continued its march, and with it, the prince disappeared behind the procession, leaving her heart pounding and wondering if that encounter had been a coincidence—or something special for both of them. The truth was that something had changed in them both, a tremor of fate that neither could ignore.
Clara forced herself to breathe, to compose herself. The academy still awaited her, but a persistent thought had taken hold in her mind: I have to see him again, and in her body, a warmth was spreading, rising from her heart through every fiber of her being.
Clara shook off the lingering daze of the procession and continued toward the Arcane Academy, the streets gradually opening into wider avenues lined with grand, towering buildings. The closer she got, the more she noticed the intricate carvings on the walls, the soaring spires, and the faint hum of magical energy that seemed to vibrate in the air itself.
As she turned a corner, she nearly collided with a striking girl walking in the opposite direction. Blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkled with confidence. Men walking past couldn't seem to take their eyes off her, bowing or tipping their hats in silent admiration.
"Watch where you're going," the girl said lightly, though her tone was more amused than annoyed. "Though I suppose you're new. Haven't seen you around before."
Clara nodded, still catching her breath. "I… I'm here for the academy."
The girl's smile widened. "Ah, a fellow applicant! I'm Emma. Daughter of Baron Halström of the North." She tilted her head slightly, appraising Clara with curiosity. "Don't worry, I know how it feels walking into this place for the first time. It can be… overwhelming."
Clara's eyes widened as Emma continued. "The entrance exam isn't just about knowledge or spellcasting. They're looking for raw magical potential, as well as talent in specific fields. Fire, air, earth, electricity, water… and the more advanced disciplines: light, darkness, time, space. Those last four are the most coveted—you'll be tested in multiple fields, depending on what the examiners feel you're suited for."
Clara swallowed, her mind spinning. "That… sounds intense."
Emma nodded knowingly. "It is. But don't worry too much. Just focus on discovering what you're naturally drawn to. Some of the greatest magicians have risen from the most unexpected places."
As they walked side by side, Clara felt a strange mixture of intimidation and fascination. Emma's confidence was almost magnetic, yet there was also a hint of kindness in her words that made Clara feel a little less alone in this strange new world.
"The exam is tomorrow," Emma added, glancing back at the academy looming ahead. "Make sure you rest tonight. You're going to need every bit of strength and focus you can muster."
Clara nodded, her mind already buzzing with questions. Magic, advanced disciplines, and now a world full of people who could manipulate elements and forces beyond her imagination… She felt a thrill she hadn't felt since waking up in this world. And, somewhere in the back of her mind, the memory of the prince lingered, a quiet, insistent pull that promised that her journey was only beginning.