At the beginning, there was nothing. Neither this noise, nor that bell.

"No, I'm not talking about the school," the teacher began with a raised brow. "I'm talking about the beginning of it all. No sound, no light, no darkness, nor the world, the universe, the multiverse, or even the Omniverse."

The class hung on his every word, feeling both intrigued and somewhat adrift in the vastness of his claim.

"At that time, time itself did not make sense. Space did not make sense, because, to make sense of something, there has to be…" He searched for the right words, finally saying, "Something."

"Do you understand?" he asked, an eyebrow quirked in amusement.

"No," said the class in unison, looking slightly sheepish.

"Good," he replied, smiling as if that was exactly the answer he'd been hoping for.

The teacher adjusted his robes and continued. "Anyway, so, at the beginning, when there was nothing, something—or perhaps someone, or maybe nothing at all—no one really knows what happened, but somehow 'it' ignited a fire."

The word "fire" seemed to linger, filling the room with an electric silence. The students could almost feel the warmth of something ancient, primeval, something on the edge of understanding but just out of reach.

"But if there was nothing at the beginning," one student dared to ask, "how did 'it' start a fire?"

"Good question," said the teacher, eyes glinting with approval. "For that, we need to understand and question: What is magic? How do we perform it? How did it even come into being?"

The teacher's gaze moved over each student, as if he were trying to pull the answer directly from them. It was almost like he expected one of them to break the silence with a cosmic truth. Instead, several students hesitantly voiced their thoughts, each trying to define magic in their own way.

"Magic is a phenomenon," ventured one, "something we call upon to do things science alone can't explain."

Another added, "But some think magic is just advanced science, only we don't know how to decode it yet."

"It's a law," another student offered, "like the law of motion, relativity, or thermodynamics."

"Magic is energy," chimed in yet another. "It can't be created or destroyed, only converted."

"Magic is…" But before anyone else could continue, the teacher nodded, seemingly satisfied.

He folded his hands behind his back, listening to the students as they shared their ideas. All the while, nobody noticed one boy staring into the distance, his expression blank yet conflicted. He was lost, far beyond the classroom, grappling with something only he could see.

'How… how am I here? Just a moment ago, I was standing in front of that door.' The boy clenched his fists, his pulse quickening. 'It's not possible.'

Only hours earlier, he had been on the threshold of something—something monumental, something he had been chasing for what felt like lifetimes. He had been steps away from crossing the door and reaching the End. Yet here he was, once again, within the familiar confines of his classroom.

"Why now?" he muttered under his breath, fury bubbling inside him. "Damn it…"

"Alright, class." The teacher's voice jolted him back to the present.

The teacher looked at his students, one eyebrow raised, amused by their debate. "What you all said is… correct. Magic is, essentially, the art of making the impossible possible. Just like that primordial 'something' did by igniting the fire, even though there was no fuel, no oxygen, and no temperature."

Several students furrowed their brows. "But if the fire was hot, wouldn't there have to be some temperature?" asked a curious voice from the back.

The teacher smiled cryptically, as if that question alone could open realms of knowledge. But before he could answer, the academy bell rang, cutting through the room's atmosphere.

"Alright, class, that's it for today," the teacher said, his voice brisk. Without another word, he turned and left.

Not a single student tried to stop him. They were used to it. Unlike other teachers who might linger to discuss lingering questions, this teacher always left as soon as the bell rang, as if bound by some unspoken rule.

"Every time," one student muttered, still trying to process what had just been discussed.

The rest of the students started gathering their things, shuffling out to their next class. The bell marked the end of this strange discussion, yet the mystery it stirred lingered in the air, heavy and unsolved.

Meanwhile, the boy who had been grappling with his own dilemma sat still, staring into nothingness as the room emptied. He barely noticed his classmates leave.

"Hah… at least the teacher is still in school right now," he muttered, pulling himself out of his reverie. But his mind was elsewhere, still grappling with the reality he had just been torn away from.

'That door… the End… I was so close.'

He slumped back in his chair, a frustrated exhale escaping him. Every second here felt like an eternity in the wrong place. He wanted to stand up, to march out of the classroom and return to where he'd been. But he didn't know how he'd gotten here—or why.

If magic could make the impossible possible, could it undo what had just happened to him?

Maybe, he thought, if he could learn what this teacher knew… if he could decode the secrets of that primordial fire, that something which started everything… maybe he'd find a way to reach his destination again.

So With renewed resolve, he sat up, determined to find answers. This was only the beginning.