Kyler sat on the edge of his mattress, visibly sleep-deprived, staring at the academy-provided amenities neatly arranged on the makeshift wooden table: a folded uniform, a bar of soap, a toothbrush, and a comb missing a tooth. The room smelled faintly of smoke and lavender, the latter no doubt an attempt to mask the former.
Behind him, chaos reigned. Todd was perched on a stool, laughing hysterically as Smokey attempted to mix something into Fin's drink while he was gone—salt, pepper, and some strange liquid.
Kyler rubbed his head and sighed. "This is my luck for having sitcom roommates."
"Sitcom?" Todd turned, his curious expression breaking through his laughter.
"It's like a bard's story," Kyler said, not bothering to explain further.
"What's wrong with bard tales?" Smokey asked, dropping the vial of liquid.
"Nothing, except I didn't sign up to be in one," Kyler muttered. He stood abruptly, grabbing his outfit from the bedpost.
"Where are you going?" Smokey asked without looking up.
"Anywhere that still has hope. I'll be there," Kyler replied in a deep, narrative voice as he headed for the door. "FREEEEEEDDDDDDDDOOOOOOMMMMMM."
The academy halls were dimly lit by torches mounted on the walls, their flickering light casting shadows that danced across the stone. The sound of distant footsteps echoed in the quiet, mingling with the occasional creak of old wood. Kyler shoved his hands into his pockets, his boots scuffing against the uneven floor as he wandered aimlessly.
"Skipping out on roommate bonding already?"
Kyler turned to see Caesar leaning against a column, his golden blonde hair catching the torchlight. His sharp blue eyes sparkled with their usual air of superiority, and his perfectly tailored uniform contrasted starkly with Kyler's rumpled appearance.
"You noticed," Kyler said flatly.
"It's hard not to. You looked like your social battery ran out."
"Something like that," Kyler muttered, brushing past him.
Caesar fell into step beside him. "You know, wandering around the academy isn't exactly inspiring. Come with me into the city. It's interesting this time of day."
Kyler hesitated. "What's the catch?"
"No catch," Caesar said, smirking. "But you look like a hobo. Get a haircut."
The city was a hive of activity, its cobblestone streets alive with the sounds of merchants hawking their wares, the creak of carts, and the chatter of townsfolk. Stone and timber buildings lined the roads, their shutters painted in faded colors. The air smelled of baked bread, roasted meat, and the faint tang of iron from a nearby blacksmith's forge.
Kyler's eyes darted around, taking in the scene. It was loud and overwhelmingly unfamiliar. He muttered under his breath, "I hate crowds."
"What was that?" Caesar asked, his gaze fixed ahead.
"Nothing," Kyler said quickly.
They stopped in front of a small shop with a wooden sign depicting a pair of scissors and a comb. Caesar turned to Kyler, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "You need to look less feminine."
Kyler groaned. "What is it with you and appearances? Am I turning you on or something?"
Caesar's face visibly paled, and with a disgusted expression, he started in a chilling tone, "NEVER say that again. Don't get that stuck in my head."
"Call it a public service," Caesar replied, pushing open the door.
The barber shop was cramped but clean, its walls lined with faded sketches of various hairstyles. The barber, a wiry man with sharp eyes, looked up and gave a curt nod.
"Just a trim," Caesar said before Kyler could protest.
Kyler reluctantly sat in the chair, his reflection in the tarnished mirror showing messy hair and dark circles under his eyes. The barber worked quickly, the sound of scissors snipping almost rhythmic. Kyler closed his eyes, exhaustion creeping in like an unwelcome guest.
When he opened them again, Caesar was gone.
Outside, Caesar stood near a lamppost, scanning the crowd. The city was bustling, but his sharp gaze caught subtle movements in the shadows.
"Kiki," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
"I'm here," came the soft reply in his mind.
"Let me know when they act."
"They're watching him," Kiki reported after a pause. "But they don't seem interested in acting."
Caesar frowned. "Odd. Keep observing."
***
The courtyard buzzed with activity as arriving students milled about, engaged in conversations. A Young lady stood nearby, in the shadows of an archway.
Two boys leaned casually against a column, their voices low but sharp with derision.
"Everyone's always talking about that Kyler guy," the first one spat. "I bet he thinks he's something special because of his 'reputation.' What a joke."
"Reputation?" the second boy scoffed. "Please. If you ask me, he's just a fraud with a pity pass, (Amnesia.)" the boy scoffed. Bet now he couldn't even swing a sword without breaking his arm."
The first boy laughed cruelly, his voice rising. "Yeah, I'd love to see him try. Probably why he hides behind the prince. He knows he wouldn't survive out here on his own."
"Pathetic," the second boy added. "It's actually embarrassing how everyone lets him slide by. If I wanted, I could make his life a living hell. He'd cry like a baby."
The first boy smirked. "You should. Maybe then you could some Bitches."
"Shut Up, but you are right If we have some fun with him maybe he will break."
From the shadows, her crimson eyes narrowed, her expression a mask of calm despite the sharp anger flickering beneath the surface. Her hands clenched into fists, but she didn't move immediately. She simply watched, her gaze unflinching.
***
The stone walls were now streaked with blood. the lively chatter replaced by the faint drip of something pooling near the base of the wall.
The two boys lay crumpled on the cold stone, unconscious and pale, their bodies sprawled as though tossed aside. A trail of blood smeared the wall behind them.
She stood nearby, her hair matted against her cheek and the faintest trace of red on her knuckles. Her gaze was calm, almost detached, as she brushed her hand against her skirt, straightening it with meticulous care.
She turned, walking away without so much as a glance back at the carnage she'd left behind.
***
Kyler stepped out of the shop, his freshly cut hair feeling strange and unfamiliar. He looked around for Caesar, but the street was too crowded. Irritated and feeling abandoned, he wandered aimlessly until he found himself back at the academy library.
The massive wooden doors groaned as he pushed them open, revealing rows of bookshelves stretching toward the high vaulted ceiling. The smell of aged parchment and candle wax filled the air, and the only sounds were the soft rustle of pages and the occasional creak of a chair.
Kyler moved to the history section, pulling out books at random. The titles were foreign to him, and the text inside was dense and unfamiliar. Still, he scanned for anything that might hint at the world's secrets.
He slumped into a chair, the weight of exhaustion finally pulling him down. His hazel-green eyes drooped, the world fading around him as sleep caught him at last.
Kyler stirred slightly in his chair, a faint groan escaping his lips as he sank deeper into sleep. His face, normally guarded and aloof, was now relaxed in the soft glow of a nearby lantern. The flickering light danced on the shelves around him, casting long, shifting shadows across the library.
From the shadows near a row of enormous shelves, a Young lady stood silently. Crimson eyes glowed faintly beneath a curtain of snow hair that caught the light, giving her an ethereal, almost ghostly appearance. She stood unnervingly still, her gaze locked on Kyler sleeping face as if memorizing the detail of his face.
Her pale fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the shelf. She took a small step closer, her soft footsteps muffled by the rug beneath. Her lips curled into a faint, imperceptible smile. Her crimson eyes softened as they focused on Kyler's sleeping form. Her hand hovered briefly near the edge of the table before retreating. She whispered, her voice barely audible, "You don't have to worry. I'll keep the nuisances away."
The faintest hint of a smile ghosted across her lips before she slipped back into the shadows, wind rustling against the open book next to Kyler's sleeping form her movements soundless as the library door creaked faintly behind her. Kyler didn't stir.
***
Caesar paced a dimly lit room, the torchlight casting sharp angles across his face. His golden blonde hair was slightly disheveled, and his sharp blue eyes betrayed frustration.
"This was perfect," Caesar muttered to himself, slamming his fist against the edge of a desk. "I set it all up, and they didn't bite."
Kiki's voice chimed softly in his mind. "Their behavior has changed. It's possible they've caught on."
Caesar frowned deeply, crossing his arms. "A spy, then? Someone feeding them information?"
"It's a possibility," Kiki replied. "But they might just be waiting for the right moment. Their actions don't suggest panic, just caution."
Caesar's scowl deepened. "They're toying with us. Fine. Let them think they're in control. When they slip, I'll be ready."
He turned abruptly, his cape swirling around him as he moved toward the door. "Tell me if there's even a flicker of action. I don't care how small."
"Understood," Kiki said quietly.
***
Kyler's dream dragged him into a cold, clinical room, lit by harsh white lights that flickered occasionally. He floated, disembodied, unable to move or speak. A group of researchers stood around a metal table, on which a body lay motionless. The figure was pale, almost lifeless, its skin stretched tight over the skeletal frame. Tubes and wires connected to the body, feeding into strange, humming machines that blinked with a pale blue light.
One of the researchers, a tall figure with glasses perched on the end of their nose, glanced at the monitor in front of them. "The illusions have worked," they said, their voice cold and methodical. "Any remaining memories from the original subject have been purged through targeted torture simulations. The body is empty—nothing left but a shell."
Another researcher, shorter and with a nervous twitch, leaned over the body, inspecting it. "It's still not moving. The neural pathways are intact, but it's like there's nothing inside. The motor functions are responding... but it doesn't have a will of its own."
The lead researcher, a woman with sharp features, tapped a few buttons on a console, bringing up a series of digital readouts. "Of course it's not moving. The mind has been broken, the soul removed. We're dealing with nothing more than a husk now."
A third researcher, older with a graying beard, turned from the monitor, his face creased with concern. "I understand that, but what do we do now? If it's truly empty, how do we make it function? How do we fill that void?"
The first researcher raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of thought passing through their expression. "Well, there's one option left… we could implant a soul."
The room fell silent for a moment, and the lead researcher's eyes narrowed. "Implant a soul? Are you suggesting we just… shove any soul into this thing and expect it to work?"
The second researcher, more tentative, spoke up. "Souls are unique. You can't just pick any random soul and expect it to fit. They're tied to the person's identity, their experiences. The chances of finding a soul even remotely similar to the original subject's are slim to none."
The older researcher crossed his arms, frowning. "You might be right. The body might accept a soul, but it's just as likely the personality of the original owner will resurface. If it does, we've wasted all our time. This husk needs to be a blank slate—no distractions."
The lead researcher clenched her jaw, frustration simmering beneath her professional demeanor. "We've spent too long and too many resources on this. We need results. A soul implant might be the only way forward. If it doesn't work, we can wipe it and try again with something else. But it's our best shot at getting this thing operational."
The nervous researcher shifted uneasily. "And if it works? What if the body actually begins to show signs of life?"
The lead researcher glanced at the body, her lips curling into a faint, calculated smile. "Then we'll have what we've been waiting for. A perfect weapon. No emotions. No memories. Just pure obedience."
The older researcher looked doubtful. "It's still a gamble, and you're not just playing with the body. You're playing with something far more dangerous."
"We have no choice," the lead researcher replied firmly, turning to the body once more. "Get ready for the next phase. We'll proceed with the soul implant. If this fails, we'll move on to another body. But we're not giving up."
The sterile, oppressive atmosphere of the room intensified as the researchers continued their work. But then, the door creaked open, and a new presence entered. Logic's voice, smooth and commanding, filled the air as he addressed someone in a cold, deliberate tone.
"Karma, come in here."
The room's tension shifted immediately as a tall, imposing figure stepped into the room. Karma's sharp eyes scanned the scene, narrowing at the sight of the body on the table. Her expression twisted with disgust, her lips curling as she took in the remnants of what had once been a living being. She wore a dark, flowing cloak that seemed to swallow the light around her, her striking features reflecting a deep, unsettling mix of emotions.
"What... have you done?" Karma's voice was laced with barely restrained fury. She took a step closer to the body, her gaze flicking from the researchers to the lifeless husk before her. "This... this isn't my father."
The lead researcher, unfazed, answered with a measured tone. "It's not your father anymore. It's just a vessel. We've removed his lingering memories, his essence. This is the body of a tool now."
Karma clenched her fists, her shoulders shaking with rage. Her eyes glowed briefly as a burst of energy pulsed around her. "A tool? You've desecrated his body! This isn't just a vessel! This is my father's—" She stopped herself, taking a slow breath. A mix of guilt and anger flickered in her expression as she glared at the body, her emotions raw and evident. "You've turned him into nothing more than a puppet."
Her gaze lingered on the empty shell. She reached out, touching the lifeless hand of the body, her fingers trembling. The briefest flicker of sorrow crossed her face before it was replaced by anger once again. "I should've never trusted you to do this," she muttered. "You could've at least given him peace…"
The lead researcher didn't respond, but a faint smirk played on his lips. "The next phase is almost ready. We just need the soul to finish this. Once we implant it, the body will serve its purpose."
Karma spun around, facing Logic, her voice sharp and accusing. "You're willing to just… erase him like this? Turn him into something that's not even him?"
Before Logic could respond, a cold, calculating voice cut through the tension, sharp and sudden.
"YOU."
The dream world shuddered, the once-smooth flow of reality distorting. The voice reverberated with disdain, its tone furious. "You always interfere, don't you? Calling yourself Advisor now you Scum. You think you can just play around with my plans like this? You think you have control over anything here? You never will again. Now get out of my way and stop messing with things you can't understand!"
Kyler felt the cold fury of the voice wash over him, its words cutting into his very soul, shattering the illusion of his dream. He wanted to scream, to respond, but no sound left his lips.
"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Advisor," the voice hissed, venom dripping from every syllable. "This is ME, MY creation. You're just an- "
Then, as if the voice itself was reaching through the layers of the dream, everything stopped. The dream, the sterile room, the body, Karma—everything disappeared, leaving Kyler alone in silence. The words of the voice echoed in his head, unsettling and sharp.
With that, the dream came to a screeching halt, leaving Kyler hanging in the nothingness, the voice still ringing in his mind. Wait how did I unconsciously know their names?