Chapter 1: A Labyrinth of Shadows
The boys' dorm at Nevermore Academy was a crypt of shadows, its air heavy with the scent of aged wood and a metallic tang that stung Oliver Smoak's throat like a warning. Rain lashed the warped window, a relentless drumbeat echoing the thudding in his chest, each drop a reminder of his dislocation.
The walls, clad in peeling wallpaper, bore faded floral patterns curling like skeletal hands under the flickering glow of a lone gas lamp. Oliver sat on a creaking bed, his lanky frame hunched, fingers tracing the coarse weave of a threadbare quilt, its texture grounding him against the chaos in his mind.
His hazel eyes darted, catching glimpses of a life not his own—a stack of textbooks etched with cryptic symbols, a cracked mirror leaning against the wall, a navy tie slung over a chair like a noose. His mind churned with fractured memories: a city skyline blurring past, tires screeching, then a void swallowing him whole.
It was as if his life had been a film reel, sliced and spliced into this gothic nightmare, the edges jagged and unfamiliar.
"Where am I? This isn't home. This can't be."
His hands trembled, breath shallow, as he tried to anchor himself in the unfamiliar. The metallic scent sharpened, like a spell gone sour or the sterile chill of a hospital room, tying him to a reality he didn't understand.
He stood, boots scuffing warped floorboards, and paced to the window. The glass was cold under his fingertips, rain's rhythm a mocking counterpoint to his racing pulse.
His reflection stared back—lean face, sharp cheekbones, eyes wide with panic. A stranger wearing his soul, a face that didn't match the name he clung to.
"Who am I now? Oliver Smoak, sure, but that name feels like a borrowed coat. Too tight, too heavy."
A sharp, cold voice sliced through his thoughts, not from the room but within his skull, invasive and devoid of warmth.
[SYSTEM: Welcome, Host. Your Journey Begins. Survive.]
The words were a probe, like ice water poured into his mind, sending a shiver down his spine. Oliver flinched, fingers clutching the quilt, its rough texture a lifeline against the System's chill.
The voice was alive, sarcastic, almost cruel—not a guide but a challenger, testing him, waiting for him to falter. He swallowed hard, throat dry, muttering, "Survive? What kind of game is this?"
His voice was barely a whisper, defiance in the oppressive gloom. He was a pawn, the System the unseen hand moving the board, its rules hidden in shadows.
The dorm's gloom thickened, the gas lamp's flicker casting jagged shadows dancing like specters across the walls. Oliver paced, boots scuffing, the sound swallowed by the rain's relentless patter.
His mind raced—fragments of laughter, a warm hand on his shoulder, a city's hum—clashing with Nevermore's alien reality. The metallic scent grew stronger, sharp and unnerving, like blood or magic gone stale.
He stopped at the desk, fingers brushing a quill, its feather soft but cold, untouched for years. The air felt alive, pressing against his skin, heavy with secrets he couldn't yet hear.
[SYSTEM: Quest: Stabilize Dorm Anomaly. Reward: 10 SP.]
A faint glow pulsed from a crooked picture frame, its chipped wood holding a faded raven painting with unblinking eyes that seemed to watch him. Oliver's stomach twisted, fingers twitching toward his tie, the fabric a lifeline against the unknown.
An anomaly? Here? The air around the frame hummed with unnatural warmth, like a heartbeat trapped in wood.
He approached, hand hovering, the glow intensifying. It felt like a trap, a test designed to lure him into failure, the metallic tang sharpening as if in warning.
"What if it's cursed? What if I touch it and end up a toad? Or worse, what if this is how I die here?"
His heart pounded, memories of failure—missed shots, fumbled exams—clawing at his confidence. He closed his eyes, grasping a scrap of warmth from his past: a voice saying, You've got this. It steadied him.
He let instinct guide his hand, tilting the frame. The glow faded, the hum silenced, the air lightening, lifting the weight from his shoulders.
[SYSTEM: Anomaly Stabilized. Reward: 10 SP.]
Relief flooded him, tainted by unease. He'd passed the test, but why did it feel like he was being played? The System wasn't helping—it was toying with him, a puppet master pulling strings.
He stepped back, boots creaking, muttering, "Thanks for the points, I guess. Care to explain what I'm surviving?" The System was silent, its absence unsettling, leaving him alone with the dorm's oppressive weight.
A muffled voice broke through, bright and chipper, from the girls' dorm nearby. "No, Mom, I'm fine! Just… figuring it out!" The voice was vibrant, a contrast to the room's gloom, but strained, a crack in its cheer.
Oliver pressed his ear to the wall, wood cold against his skin, catching snippets—parents, expectations, a fight to prove herself. She sounded like sunshine in a storm, a beacon in the darkness.
[SYSTEM: Ally Detected. Emotional Anchor—High Probability.]
The label made him frown, fingers curling into fists. "She's a person, not a quest marker," he muttered, as if the System could hear his defiance.
The metallic tang sharpened, a warning, tying this moment to the anomaly he'd stabilized. He stepped back, heart racing, the voice lingering in his mind, a thread to the next mystery.
Oliver moved to the cracked mirror, its surface reflecting a stranger—pale, sharp-cheeked, hazel eyes heavy with doubt. His fingers brushed the glass, cold and slick, and a shimmering message appeared, not from the System but scrawled in glowing script: Seek the Serpent.
The words pulsed, then vanished, leaving his reflection, its eyes watching with a life of their own. The air crackled, the metallic scent overwhelming, like a storm about to break.
"What's the Serpent? Another test? Another trap? This place is a maze, and I'm the rat."
He stepped back, heart pounding, the mirror's surface rippling faintly, as if alive. The System stayed silent, offering no answers, the dorm's gloom pressing closer, rain's patter a relentless reminder of his isolation.
He was Oliver Smoak, Host of the Wandless Magician System, but the title felt like a chain, a leash to an unseen master. He wasn't ready—not for magic, cursed mirrors, or voices in his head.
But the mirror's message lingered, a spark of curiosity igniting, pulling him toward the unknown. The metallic tang tied him to the anomaly, a thread linking to the next step in Nevermore's puzzle.
"Okay, Smoak, don't lose it. The System's a jerk, but it's all I've got. That voice through the wall—she's real, not a game piece. The Serpent's not the System. Something else is watching. I'm a college kid, not a wizard. But if this is a game, I'm not letting it play me. I'll find the Serpent, whatever it is. Her parents sound like a nightmare, but she's fighting. If she can, I can handle a creepy mirror. Maybe. The System's hiding something, and so is Nevermore. It's a puzzle, not a school. I'm not failing the first level."
He sat on the bed, quilt's texture grounding him. The room felt alive, shadows whispering secrets he couldn't hear. He was hunted, guided, manipulated—but by whom? The System? The Serpent? Himself?
A flicker of defiance burned in his chest. If he was a player, he'd play on his own terms. The rain slowed, a faint promise of dawn, but the metallic tang lingered, tying him to the mystery ahead.
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