Kieran's first breath scorched his lungs. The air felt sharp, almost too clean, every inhale burning as it clawed its way down his throat. He doubled over, coughing hard, his hands slipping against a cold, unyielding surface. Panic sparked deep within him, growing brighter with every ragged gasp. Everything felt wrong. His breathing was uneven, and his heartbeat thudded in an unfamiliar rhythm, too fast, like it wasn't entirely his.
His hands trembled as he pushed himself upright, the sensation foreign. It was as if his limbs belonged to someone else, the nerves firing slightly out of sync. Even the ground beneath him felt strange—not like the cotton softness of his hospital bed or the slick linoleum of the floor. It was cool and hard, unnervingly smooth, and yet it seemed to hum faintly, as though alive. Kieran clenched his fists, trying to steady himself, but the unsteady thrum of his body betrayed him.
Then it hit him: this wasn't his body. Panic gave way to horror as the realization took root. His fingers flexed alienly, the joints moving too easily. His chest no longer carried the dull ache that had been his constant companion for as long as he could remember. The heaviness of sickness was gone, replaced by something lighter, sharper. It should have felt freeing. Instead, the absence of familiar pain created a hole far heavier. This body didn't feel like salvation. It felt borrowed. Like wearing someone else's skin.
He forced his head up, his breath hitching as the disorientation threatened to send him sprawling again. The chamber came into focus slowly, a surreal haze resolving into sharp detail. Smooth, featureless walls stretched around him, their surfaces shimmering faintly. They pulsed, not in light, exactly, but something soft and rhythmic, like an invisible heartbeat. The air was crisp, almost metallic, carrying a faint vibration that hovered on the edges of perception. It wasn't loud, but he could feel it pressing in against his skin, resonating in his chest like a low hum.
Where was he?
He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, but it did nothing to loosen the knot tightening in his throat. He turned in a slow circle, his movements stiff, as though his new body had yet to calibrate itself. There were no doors, no windows, no monitors. No faint scent of disinfectant. No soft knock at the door heralding his mom's arrival. No Aya's purple stars to anchor him, no Cass grinning mischievously from his corner. No Amara sitting cross-legged in her chair, with her sly grin and teasing jokes.
They're gone.
The thought hit like a punch to the stomach. He inhaled sharply, bracing himself, but the pain only deepened. That warmth, their love, the chaotic din of his family crowding into his sterile hospital room…it was gone. Completely, utterly gone. His mother's lavender lotion, Aya's squeals of excitement, Amara's laugh curling around his aches like a lullaby—ripped away as if they had only existed in a dream. He could still hear Amara's voice faintly, teasing him about tomorrow, but her words felt like a cruel echo now, ringing hollow in the suffocating silence.
He sank to the ground, his chest heaving. "They're gone," he whispered hoarsely to the empty chamber. "And I'm here. Of all places, here."
The air grew cooler. A faint shimmer took shape across the room, curling and shifting like light refracting through water. Kieran scrambled back instinctively as a figure emerged from the haze, flickering like a mirage. Their form was fluid, the edges constantly shifting, bleeding into the air as though they were only barely tethered to this reality. When they spoke, their voice rippled—not loud, but powerful. It pressed against Kieran, pulling at his skin and bones, each word grounding him in place.
"You're awake," they stated, the words calm and deliberate.
Kieran's voice came out raw, scraping against the air. "Where am I?"
"This is Astraevia. More specifically, Shademire Academy of the Fourth Rank."
Time stopped. Kieran stared at the figure, uncomprehending. Those words. Shademire Academy. Fourth Rank. They rang out like the tolling of a bell, impossibly loud and clear. His pulse thundered in his ears as his mind raced, trying to reject the truth his heart already recognized.
"No," he whispered, his voice trembling. He stumbled back, shaking his head. "No, that's… That's impossible."
The figure was unmoving. "It is not."
Their indifference stoked a spark of anger inside him. Kieran's hands balled into fists, his voice sharp with disbelief. "Shademire Academy? Fourth Rank?" He stared at them as though his anger alone could unravel their calm. "That's a story. A Star Beyond the Veil is a story, not… reality!"
The figure's flickering form shifted slightly, their head tilting almost imperceptibly. "Reality is more fluid than you perceive. You have been placed here within this Academy."
"Why the Fourth Rank?" Kieran demanded, his voice rising. "Why would you throw me into the bottom of the barrel? That's not even where it starts—not the First Rank, not where…" His breath hitched. "Not where the protagonist of A Star Beyond the Veil starts."
"The reasons for your placement," the figure said evenly, "will reveal themselves as you walk the path laid before you."
Their words only fueled the storm building inside him. "Reveal themselves?!" He took a step toward the figure, frustration boiling over. "You rip me from my life, my family, everything I know, and drop me here, in Shademire of all places, and you can't even bother to explain WHY?" His voice cracked on the last word, raw and desperate.
The figure dissolved slowly, their form dissipating into shimmering light like grains of sand slipping through fingers. "You have been given a second life, Kieran. What you do with it is up to you." The words echoed faintly as they disappeared.
"Don't walk away!" Kieran yelled, his voice shattering the fragile silence. "Don't you dare leave like that! You owe me answers! You owe me... something!" But his cries went unanswered. The chamber was empty once more, the only sound his ragged breathing.
Kieran stared at the spot where the figure had stood, his knees buckling until he sank to the cold floor. His hands covered his face as the reality of his situation sank in. Shademire Academy. Fourth Rank. His mind scrambled over the implications, dredging up everything he knew from A Star Beyond the Veil. The story had always been a lifeline to him, its world one he knew as intimately as his own. He'd admired its heroes, dreamed of standing where they stood. But this? This wasn't a dream. Shademire's Fourth Rank wasn't where heroes were made. It was where they faltered. Where they failed.
"Why?" His whisper wavered, barely audible. "Why me?"
The silence offered no answers. Just the faint hum of the room's heartbeat pulsing around him.
His shoulders slumped, but somewhere beneath the weight of despair lay something else. Smaller. Softer. When Amara had spoken about tomorrow, her voice had held certainty, even when nothing about their world had been certain. That certainty, fragile as it was, lingered now. She had believed in him, in something brighter, even when he hadn't.
Kieran dragged a slow, uneven breath into his burning lungs, his fingers curling tightly against the cold floor. He didn't know what this world wanted from him or why he had been placed here. He didn't even know if he could survive. But as Amara's promise echoed faintly through his mind, one truth began to crystallize.
If this was Shademire Academy, then survival wasn't guaranteed. But if there was even a sliver of a chance, he had to try. For her. For them. For himself.
Kieran took one final, bracing breath before lifting his head. The room's cold light reflected in his eyes, sharp and unyielding.
If this was going to be his second life, then he would claw his way through it.