Date: 19th August 1895
A horse-drawn carriage rattled through the fog-choked streets of London, the sound of hooves clattering against cobblestones echoing through the city. Inside, ten passengers jostled slightly with each bump of the uneven road.
"Next stop: Myton University!" the carriage man shouted, his voice cutting through the murmur of the city.
Guess that's my stop then, thought Julian Ashcroft, 19, a recent arrival in London after receiving a university scholarship. Born in the countryside, the sprawling capital with its soot-stained streets and gaslit fog was still strange to him.
The other passengers seemed to be arriving at the same destination, their chatter blending into the creak of the carriage.
"Oh gosh, I'm starting to get all nervous again," Sitting beside him was his twin sister, Clara Ashcroft. She wore a rich, elegant dress, and her long purple hair caught the dim light of the carriage lamps. Her fingers twisted nervously in her lap.
Julian glanced at her. "Are you okay, Clara?"
"Ah, yes… sorry, it's just—"
Before she could finish, the carriage lurched violently to a halt. Passengers stumbled, clutching seats and straps to keep from falling.
"What's going on?" someone called from the back.
"Was there a problem with the horses?" another voice asked.
The carriage man said nothing, his eyes fixed ahead as the horses stamped restlessly, steam rising from their flanks in the chilly morning air.
Clara clutched Julian's arm. "Was there an issue?" she whispered, her voice tinged with unease.
Julian peered through the fog outside. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a faint, crimson shimmer amidst the swirling mist. Then it vanished, leaving only the dim glow of gas lamps and the distant clatter of the city beyond.
A shiver ran down his spine. Something about London already felt… different. A young man rose from his seat and opened the carriage door, peering out into the thick fog that swallowed the streets.
"Anything wrong, mister?" he asked, his voice cautious but firm.
The carriage man squinted into the mist, his rough hands gripping the reins. "Hmm… don't rightly know, but I've got a feelin' somethin' ain't right up ahead," he said, his Cockney accent thick, dragging his words.
"I see… would you like me to have a look?" the young man offered, stepping forward.
The driver blinked, confused. "What? You some sort o' detective, is it?"
"I'm… not exactly, but I can help if you like," the young man replied, keeping his tone measured.
"Forget it. Best get back in — it's probably nothin'," the carriage driver muttered, giving the reins a tug. With a reluctant glance, the young man stepped back inside the carriage.
"Don't worry, everyone. It's all fine," he announced, closing the door behind him and taking his seat.
Julian gave his twin a reassuring smile. "See? Told you it was nothing."
Clara exhaled, a mix of relief and lingering unease. "Yeah… you're right."
The carriage creaked as it began to move again, rolling through the foggy streets. Gas lamps flickered along the way, casting long shadows over the cobblestones. Soon, the sprawling silhouette of Myton University appeared ahead, its stone towers rising majestically through the morning mist.
Slowly, the passengers began to step down from the carriage. Julian offered his hand to Clara as they descended.
What happened back there…? Something tells me it wasn't just nothing, he thought, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine.
"Well then… let's be off," Clara said, forcing a calm tone as she tried to mask her nerves.
Like Julian, she had also earned a scholarship to the university. Back in their village, they had been known as the brightest duo. Now, carriages lined the streets behind them, disgorging more students. The prestigious school clearly drew talent from across the country.
As Julian and Clara made their way toward the main campus, he felt a strange tension in the air. Something about the academy didn't sit right.
Then, a voice — low, eerie, and seemingly inside his head — whispered:
"I am thou, Thou art I."
Julian froze. "Did you… say something?" he asked Clara, his eyes scanning the crowd.
"No," she replied, glancing at him with concern.
But Julian was certain. He had heard it. A strange, unnatural voice, neither here nor fully distant. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Something had just touched the edge of his reality — and it felt far from normal.
It was probably nothing…
The twins passed through the towering gates of Myton University. Five young women in crisp uniforms guided the new arrivals, their shoes clicking against the stone paths.
"New arrivals, head to the assembly hall," one called. "You will be introduced to the academy and receive your timetables."
Julian would be studying History, while Clara would focus on Divinity. Both were challenging subjects, but they were passionate and driven, eager to prove themselves in their first year.
"Man… I hope there won't be anything too difficult," Julian muttered, adjusting his grip on the strap of his satchel.
Clara glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Well, the harder, the better, right?"
Julian raised an eyebrow, surprised at her enthusiasm. "If you say so," he replied, shoving his hands into the pockets of his long, flowing black cloak. Its lining shimmered faintly with a deep crimson, catching the light as he moved. Beneath, he wore a fitted vest with black pinstripes and trousers tucked neatly into his boots. A ruffled crimson silk ascended from his high collar, spilling elegantly over his chest.
His mother had insisted on one final touch: a single monocle resting over his eye, connected discreetly behind his ear, giving him the appearance of intelligence and refinement. Julian tugged it lightly, hiding a smirk at the curious reactions it often provoked.
"Dear students of Myton… I welcome you to this grand school!" a voice rang out from the stage.
Julian and Clara settled into one of the many red velvet chairs. The hall was dim, draped with crimson curtains along the sides. A spotlight illuminated the woman at the center, casting her in a warm glow against the shadowed room.
"I am Victoria, the headmistress of this academy," she continued, her voice both commanding and gentle. "During your stay here, I hope you grow not only as students but as individuals. One day, I trust you will achieve something truly grand in this world."
Her speech was a mixture of motivational rhetoric and polite encouragement, the sort meant to inspire ambition and decorum in the young scholars. At its conclusion, students were instructed to proceed to the desks along the side of the hall to receive their timetables.
"Julian Ashcroft?" called a clerk.
"Here you go, lad," a young attendant replied, handing him a neatly folded sheet.
Julian unfolded it and scanned the schedule:
Monday: Latin – 12:30 pm to 1:30 pm
Tuesday: Ancient History – 1:00 pm to 2:00 pm
Wednesday: Philosophy – 10:32 am to 11:50 am
Thursday: Rhetoric – 1:20 pm to 3:00 pm
Friday: Off day
Hmm… where's Clara? She should have been right behind me.
He scanned the vast hall, rows of red velvet chairs stretching farther than he could see. Students moved in clusters, murmuring to one another, and the sheer number of people made it impossible to locate her immediately.
"Clara! Clara, where are you?" he called, his voice echoing against the high ceilings.
Where could she have gone? A prickle of unease crept up his spine. Something about the crowd, the shadows cast by the dim lighting, made the hall feel suddenly… unfamiliar. Something outside the window caught his eye. He couldn't explain why, but it seemed as if a quiet voice were urging him forward, whispering insistently in the back of his mind.
Julian rose and moved toward it, each step measured, almost reluctant. As he walked, he felt time itself begin to stretch, slowing around him. The chatter and laughter of students faded into a distant murmur, as if swallowed by the very air.
Then, a melody reached him — soft, haunting, the delicate notes of a piano echoing through the silence. Drawn in by the sound, Julian barely noticed the world around him shifting.
When he blinked, the familiar hall was gone. The crimson curtains, the rows of chairs, even the faces of his classmates had vanished. In their place was a room bathed in deep, ethereal blue. Shadows stretched along the walls, and the piano's melody continued, mysterious and otherworldly.
Julian stepped cautiously, heart hammering. He had no idea where he was — only that this place felt both impossibly vast and intimate at the same time. Something told him he had crossed a threshold, into a world that existed just beyond the ordinary. The room exuded a sense of strange royalty. Knights in gleaming blue armor stood rigidly along the walls, their visors glinting in the ethereal light. Before him stretched a long red carpet that led to an imposing throne.
Seated upon it was a peculiar figure — small, with a strangely elongated nose and an otherworldly presence. A woman stood gracefully beside him, her expression calm but inscrutable.
Julian tried to step forward, but his body refused to obey. His heart pounded.
Where the hell am I?
The small figure's voice echoed through the chamber, calm and resonant.
"Welcome to the Velvet Room, young man."
T-The Velvet Room? Julian's mind raced, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
The figure inclined slightly, a subtle bow that seemed almost ceremonial.
"My name is Igor. I am delighted to make your acquaintance."
The piano's haunting melody filled the space again, each note vibrating through Julian's chest. Every instinct told him this was no ordinary place — and that his life, his very reality, was about to change forever.