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And the pain. It started the way it always did: a dull throb at the base of his skull. It spread down his spine like spilled ink. Kagoyama Neural Deterioration Syndrome. Even the name sounded like slow decay. Five years, the specialists had said. Five years from diagnosis to total collapse of his nervous system, starting with extreme pain throughout his body, beginning with his legs. He was already four years in. He didn’t mind the idea of death. He’d made his peace with it. Everyone went eventually. But the pain was different. It was relentless. It chewed at his time. It drained his days. Jason sat in his wheelchair, shoulders tight, hands moving with agonizing slowness as he sketched. His crutches leaned against the far wall. He was still studying illustration. It had been his passion all his life, and he’d given it his all. Now, even in pain, he’d focus on perfecting his craft. Every line came with effort. His fingers trembled from strain. Each mark on the page was a defiance of time itself. He had once painted hyperrealistic portraits with colored pencils, so intricate that they looked like photographs. Now even a clean line took planning. His muscles fought him. His body rejected him. But still, he drew. The medication waited in the bathroom, but it barely helped anymore. He ignored it for now. What he needed more than relief was control. Just one more layer, he thought. His pencil hovered over the half-finished eye of the woman on the page. A flash of lightning turned night to day for an instant, followed by a thunderclap that rattled the windows. The storm was directly overhead now. The pain spiked in response, as if lightning had struck inside his skull. Another lightning strike illuminated the room. This time the light didn’t fade. It remained, searing his retinas. He shut his eyes, shielding them from the light. “What the hell?” he hissed through his teeth, narrowing his eyes before the prevailing light. A jagged tear of light floated in the air behind him, white light so bright it made him squint. The edges twitched and flickered like something alive. It widened quickly, whirling with hues of gold. For a moment, Jason thought he was probably back in a hospital bed, under powerful opioids, but the burning pain brought him back to reality. And then, Jason felt a sudden pull. His wheelchair slid back, as if it were rolling down a slope, as if gravity had turned hostile. A powerful wind began to blow, and sheets of paper, sketches and studies, flew around the room. The pull became stronger. It dragged at him. His body seized. His hands clawed at nothing, and soon, he lost awareness of his own body. With a grunt, his body was hurled toward the light. His mind split from his body. He remained aware of his existence, but every bodily sensation dissolved into nothing. Consciousness returned in fragments, as if he were being put together after being turned into Lego and dismantled. He couldn't even scream. But he felt strangely calm. His eyes opened, and grogginess washed over him, as if he had just woken up from a bad dream. First came a strange herbal smell, then smooth sheets against his skin. Soft like silk, but thick and warm. Definitely different from his cheap dormitory bedding. And that was no hospital bed. To his shock, the pain was gone. The pain in his legs that made every move excruciating just wasn't there. He turned around, his hips responding smoothly, his knees curving without any issue. His head was completely pain-free. He felt like he could turn his eyes toward the sun and face it directly. Was this a dream? Then, he heard the faint sound of glass clinking against glass. Jason opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the golden light that poured through tall windows. It didn’t even give him a headache. He lay in a narrow bed with white linens, one of many arranged in rows. An infirmary of some kind. In Hogwarts or someplace. Jason blinked again. The ceiling soared overhead, curved like an ancient cathedral, golden and white, full of bas-reliefs of strange creatures. “You're finally awake,” said a female voice. A woman stood at his bedside. At first glance, she appeared young, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with platinum blonde hair and fair skin. But as she drew closer, Jason realized her skin wasn't just fair; it was glowing. Her eyes were pale blue and seemed to belong to someone far older and wiser. She was beautiful—almost ethereal. She wore a pale, flowing white robe with open shoulders, slight cleavage hinting at an abundant chest, and wavy hair that reached her hips. She even had pointy ears like an elf. “I—” Jason's voice cracked, his throat dry. “Where am I?” “You're in the infirmary of the Divine Tower Academy, or rather, the adjacent compound,” she replied, as if that explained everything. “I'm Zerina Laradiel, healer and instructor of Spiritual Cultivation.” Jason stared at her. None of those words made sense in that order. “How are you feeling?” she asked, placing a cool hand on his forehead. Jason’s voice came out rough. “Like I got hit by lightning and woke up in a perfume commercial.” He blinked at her. “Not complaining, though.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. She poured water from a crystal pitcher into a matching cup and gently helped him sit up. The water tasted faintly sweet, like spring rain, and eased the tightness in his throat. Then, he started to make sense of what she’d previously said. Divine Tower? Spiritual Cultivation? It sounded like a fantasy RPG. “Right,” he said, exhaling slowly. “Definitely dreaming. Or dead. Either way, I’m not in Kansas anymore. And you’re an elf, aren’t you?” Zerina gave a soft laugh. “Not elven. I’m from the Lumina race. Though some of us here have some lineage from the higher races. You’ll get used to it.” Jason smirked. “Gorgeous, glowing, and humble. Dangerous combo.” She shook her head with a faint smile and set the pitcher down. “You flatter easily for someone who just crossed through a rift.” “Rift,” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “So that wasn’t just a bad reaction to cafeteria tamales again? Seriously, I always have the worst flare-up after those. They're tasty, though.” “I do not know what any of that means.” Zerina's expression softened. “You experienced a realm transit, though I've never seen one quite so... dramatic. We found you unconscious on the academy grounds during this morning's Celestial Convergence.” “Dimensional transit,” he repeated slowly. “You're saying I'm not on Earth anymore?” “Earth?” Zerina tilted her head. “Ah, that must be your origin realm. No, you're in Celestia now, specifically the central continent of Avalon, at the most prestigious cultivation academy in the Five Realms.” She said it like it was common knowledge. Either she was delusional, or... Jason wasn't sure he wanted to finish that thought. “Alright, that's not possible,” he muttered. “I must be hallucinating. The pain gets bad sometimes. The meds screw with my head—” “Your pain,” Zerina interrupted, leaning forward and narrowing her eyes. “It's gone, isn't it?” Jason cleared his throat. She was right. And... even in dreams, some of it usually remained. This felt all too real. He pinched himself. Could it be... just an extra-high dose of ketamine? She didn’t look like a clockwork elf. She was more like a pin-up elf. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, half-expecting the agony to snap back, but it didn’t. His legs held, and there was no fire behind his knees and no electric knives dancing down his spine. “Alright, so... how come I got completely healed? I couldn’t bend my knee without screaming in pain?” “Your condition...” She gestured to the air around them, as if pointing out something visible. “Whatever affliction you suffered in your realm seemed to have been caused by your meridians. Transitioning into this realm, which is more friendly with energy channeling, finally released them.” Jason stared at her. A thousand questions clawed at the inside of his head—but one managed to slip out first. “Okay, so let me get this straight. I crossed dimensions during a celestial... whatever, landed in a magic academy, and my terminal illness just got patched by my chakras clearing up or some nonsense?” Zerina nodded, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Essentially, yes.” Jason leaned back. “I’m gonna be pretty pissed when I wake up.” Zerina smiled, and her eyes sparkled. “I understand your confusion. Dimensional transits are quite rare and usually happen by design, not accident. Some mysterious interdimensional entity must have seen your potential or another mysterious event that we can’t really fathom. The Headmaster will want to speak with you once you feel better.” As if summoned by her words, the infirmary doors swung open. Several people entered, most of them students, Jason presumed, because they looked the part. They wore high-collared tunics in various jewel tones, with black pants and boots. But it wasn't their clothes that made Jason's breath catch. One girl had skin with a blue tint that shimmered like water. A stocky young woman seemed to be taller than an NBA player. She had long blonde hair, deep blue eyes, a pretty face, and wore a Viking-looking dress made of chainmail. A blue-haired girl had actual cat ears poking through her hair. A tall boy at the back of the group had tiny horns coming out of his head. And the third one was a hot blonde with wavy hair and lips made for kissing. The red uniform cloak did little to hide a figure like a fitness model. “Oh, he’s actually handsome,” the super tall girl whispered to the cat girl. “Mistress Zerina,” called the short blonde in the red dress, “is the transfer student awake yet? Malkarius wants—” The speaker stopped abruptly upon seeing Jason sitting up. She was striking. Her eyes were literally the color of fire, with pupils that narrowed on him. “So you're the one who caused such a commotion,” she said, approaching with confident strides, hands on her hips. “What’s special about you?” “Aside from that chiseled jaw,” mumbled the tall Viking girl. “Kari, Freya,” Zerina chided gently. “He's just regained consciousness.” Jason noticed that the short blonde girl—Kari—had small feathers at her temples, almost hidden. It looked like an accessory at first, but the more he looked, the more they seemed to be growing out of her scalp. Her fingernails were hawkishly pointed, not ugly—actually quite sexy-looking and lacquered with the color of her hair—but they did look sharp enough to rip someone's eyes out. “The Headmaster doesn't believe in coddling,” Kari replied. “And if he's to join mid-term, he has some catching up to do.” “Join what?” Jason asked, finding his voice. Kari looked at him as if he'd asked what air was. “The academy, obviously. Why else would you transfer here?” Before Jason could utter a word, a prickling sensation at the back of his neck made him turn. In the shadows of a far corner, half-hidden behind a column, he caught a glimpse of gleaming eyes watching him—slitted like a At least, this place had a lot of that. “I didn't transfer,” Jason said, turning back to Kari. “I don't even know what this place is.” Kari's eyebrows rose. “Is this some kind of joke? Everyone knows the Divine Tower Academy. The testing grounds of the hundred floors? The path to immortal cultivation? The place where mortals become gods? Your Hegemon himself, the God-Emperor of the Myriad Realms, had this institution as his alma mater. Don’t tell me you hit your head when you landed.” “Kari,” Zerina said, cocking her head, “I believe our guest has experienced an unintentional transit. He's not from any of the Myriad Realms.” That made the entire group exchange weird glances. The blue-tinted girl stepped forward, cocking her head in curiosity. “A wild transit? During the Convergence? Is that even possible?” “Well, isn’t that unfair?” said the fire-summoning boy. “We trained for so many decades to be found worthy! And this kid just walks in by accident. Is he even a cultivator?” “And this shouldn't be possible at all, given the tower's protections,” added the eight-foot-tall Viking girl. Jason’s head began to spin, not from pain but from confusion. The blonde narrowed her eyes. “There's a lot off with his mana signature. He's a cultivator, no doubt.” “Alright, it’s been nice meeting you all,” he muttered, pressing his palms against his eyes. “I’m gonna go back to sleep—” “Your concerns are understandable,” said a new voice, deep and resonant. The students immediately straightened, turning toward the infirmary entrance. A tall man with silver-streaked dark hair and a goatee stood there, leaning on an ornate staff. His eyes, when they fixed on Jason, were an unsettling violet. “Headmaster Malkarius,” Zerina acknowledged with a respectful nod. “Leave us,” the Headmaster commanded the students. “Return to your cultivation. I would speak with our unexpected guest alone.” The students filed out, though Kari lingered a moment longer, giving Jason one last look before turning around and departing. Jason returned the look. Her blonde locks looked fantastic from behind. Zerina hesitated as well. “He's still recovering, Headmaster. His meridians show unusual patterns—” “All the more reason for our conversation,” Malkarius replied. “I won't overtax him, Healer Laradiel.” Something in his tone made it clear the discussion was over. Zerina nodded reluctantly and retreated to the far end of the infirmary, still within sight but out of hearing range. Malkarius turned his full attention to Jason, giving him an intense look. “So,” he said finally, “you've crossed time and space to come here, millions of light-years from your home. Quite the accomplishment for one so young and untrained.” “I didn't do anything,” Jason protested. “There was a storm, and my condition—” “Ah yes, your affliction.” Malkarius nodded, as if confirming something to himself. “Kagoyama Syndrome, I believe you call it? A death sentence in your realm, but here...” He gestured vaguely. “Here it might be something else entirely.” A chill ran down Jason's spine. “How do you know that's my condition?” Malkarius smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. “When dimensional barriers thin during Convergence, information flows both ways. I know many things about you, Jason Reynolds. More than you might expect.” The man moved closer and sat next to him. “The question now,” Malkarius continued, “is what to do with you. Transit events are often meaningful. The universe seldom makes errors in such matters.” “I should be waking up, I guess,” Jason insisted. Malkarius laughed. “This is no dream, I'm afraid. And going home is no easy feat, at least for now. The Convergence has passed, and the barriers between realms have stabilized. The next opportunity won't come for some time.” Malkarius tapped his staff against the floor thoughtfully. “In the meantime, I propose you stay here as a student.” “A student? I don't even know what you teach here.” “Cultivation, of course. The art of refining one's essence to ascend beyond mortal limitations.” Malkarius gestured toward the window, pulling the curtains. Jason gasped. A massive tower overshadowed everything, so high it disappeared into the clouds. “The Divine Tower has one hundred floors, each offering challenges and opportunities. Those who reach the top are said to achieve immortality and more. Some become gods in outer realms, commanding legions in realities beyond your imagination. They command the wind, the rain, the oceans.” Jason found himself drawn to the sight of the tower. Something about it resonated with him. He couldn't even understand why. “I don't belong here,” he said, but with less conviction than before. “Perhaps. Or perhaps this is exactly where you're meant to be.” Malkarius placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. It felt unnaturally heavy, as if it carried more than physical weight. “Your condition—your former condition—has altered your essence in fascinating ways. I believe you may have aptitudes you never imagined possible.” Before Jason could respond, the door snapped open. A woman strode in, with beautiful copper skin, wearing robes of deep red and gold. Her black hair was wavy, half hidden by a flowing veil. And that figure. That figure could melt iron. That was female perfection. A true hourglass. Massive hips, a narrow, exposed waist, and an abundant chest. He instantly wished he could draw the woman for one of his portraits. And that deep red dress was a match made in heaven. She did look at him, but her features didn't betray whatever she was thinking. “Khalida,” Malkarius acknowledged, a hint of irritation in his tone. “We're in the middle of a discussion.” “A discussion you should have delayed until I'd examined him,” the woman—Khalida—replied sharply, a thick, perhaps Arabic accent in her voice that made it all the sexier. Her amber eyes, lined with kohl, fixed on Jason again. “This is the transit subject?” “Jason Reynolds,” Malkarius said. “I was just explaining that he'll be joining the academy as a student while we investigate his situation.” Khalida approached. “Hold out your hands,” she ordered Jason, ignoring Malkarius entirely. “Well, sure,” Jason said, biting back a pickup line. Khalida's fingers were warm and dry as they wrapped around his wrists. The moment she touched him, her hands started glowing, and Jason felt a tingle, as if something was flowing from him to her, or perhaps the reverse. Her eyes widened. “Interesting.” “What’s so interesting?” Jason asked.
