Alaric opened his eyes to morning light spilling through stained-glass windows. For a long moment, he stared at the ornate ceiling, trying to remember how he'd gotten here.
His last memory flickered:
A cramped office, coffee gone cold, lines of code glowing on a computer screen. A late-night debugging marathon, frustration mounting with every error message. The hum of his monitor, the blue light in the dark, the familiar ache behind his eyes.
He remembered reaching for his mug. Then—nothing. Only darkness, and the strange feeling of falling.
Now, he found himself lying in a bed that wasn't his, surrounded by walls lined with old books and the rich scent of parchment and ink.
A heavy scroll rested on his chest. The title, Faculty Appointment — Ivory Spire Academy, gleamed in gold. Near the bottom, a name seemed both foreign and familiar: Alaric Telwyn.
Beneath it was a signature in a careful, practiced hand. It looked like his, but he had no memory of signing it.
A soft chime echoed inside his mind.
He blinked, and a shimmer of text appeared at the edge of his vision: [Initialization: Arcane Compiler v1.0]. He squeezed his eyes shut, half expecting the words to vanish when he looked again. They stayed, patient and unblinking.
A knock at the door startled him. He found a blue coat with silver trim hanging nearby, its cut elegant and strange, yet it fit perfectly when he slipped it on. At the door, a young servant greeted him with a nervous smile.
"Master Telwyn? They're expecting you at the faculty hall for orientation," she said. Her voice was soft, polite, but a little wary. "There's been a lot of talk. People didn't know what to expect."
He tried to smile back, though his own uncertainty lingered. He followed her into a corridor bustling with students in midnight robes, voices echoing off marble floors. Some glanced his way. A few stopped and whispered.
"Is that him?"
"The new instructor?"
"I heard he's some noble's second son. Always in trouble…"
Alaric kept his head down, not trusting himself to respond. He found his way to the staff wing and paused in front of a tall oak door. Taking a steadying breath, he stepped inside.
Professors sat in a semi-circle, their eyes tracking his every move. In the center was a severe woman in emerald robes. Her name tag read "Helena Valen." She offered a nod that was polite, but nothing more.
"Alaric Telwyn, welcome to Ivory Spire Academy," she said. Her words were crisp and formal. "You are here as a provisional instructor. We expect you to show your worth."
A flicker of light pulsed at the edge of Alaric's vision.
[System Event: Console Initialized!]
Outside, in the courtyard, he spotted a silver-haired girl among a group of students. There was something arresting about her posture and presence, but she didn't look his way. Alaric couldn't help but wonder who she was—someone important, maybe, though her name escaped him.
That night, Alaric sat on his bed, the faculty contract spread across his lap. The strange blue interface hovered above it, words scrolling across in a language he felt he should understand:
[Welcome, Instructor Telwyn. Would you like to begin your first script?]
He pressed his hands to his knees and let out a slow, shaky breath.
He didn't know the rules of this world, or even the story he'd fallen into. But for now, this was real.
And he would have to find his place in it.