Crimson & Light

"And with th—" The woman's voice faltered, interrupted by the unmistakable sound of soft snoring. She turned sharply, already knowing the culprit. In her classroom, no one dared to sleep—no one, except him. It happened at least a few times a week, like clockwork. She sighed, her tone heavy with exasperation. "Changra Leville…"

"CHANGRA!" the woman's voice thundered through the classroom. The young boy jolted awake, springing to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest.

"And with that, he has officially won the spelling bee!" Changra blurted, still half-asleep. The classroom erupted into laughter, their voices ringing with a mix of amusement and disbelief. Blinking rapidly, he glanced around, trying to piece together what had just happened. "Oh… shit."

He quickly adjusted to his surroundings, his mind scrambling. Mrs. Holly's class. Right. But wait—was this sex-ed? Or math? What even is this? he thought to himself.

"Well… here goes nothing," he muttered under his breath, standing awkwardly. "The answer to the question has to be… uh, something that couldn't be, but was there to begin with. Add a small splash of honey, because, you know, what's good isn't always what it seems."

The room fell silent. Dead silent. Until a voice shattered the awkward pause.

"Dawg, what are you even on about? That makes zero sense." It was Stephen Currigula, his long-time tormentor, speaking with that same mocking tone Changra had grown used to.

Changra stared at him for a moment, his inner monologue already revving up. Why is he even trying to roast me? His last name is literally Currigula. Shaking his head slightly, Changra's eyes locked onto Mrs. Holly, whose expression was hovering somewhere between disbelief and pure irritation.

"Changra, I think you already know where you have to go," Mrs. Holly said, her tone dripping with exhaustion. Her brown hair, streaked with gray, frizzed slightly as if even it had given up on her patience. Her emerald-green dress clashed spectacularly with her knee-high socks, patterned with what looked like… flamingos? Or maybe pineapples. Changra squinted. Definitely flamingos.

She pointed at the door, maintaining unbroken, soul-piercing eye contact. The silence in the room was unbearable.

Yep. I screwed up. Changra sighed internally. Without a word, he shuffled toward the door, head hung low, already imagining the lecture waiting for him.

Principal O'Gassery. The man's name alone sounded like a medieval knight on a quest to ruin fun. Yeah, he's really gonna love this. As Changra reached for the door handle, he muttered under his breath, "Might as well start drafting my will now."

The halls were as boring as ever. No one around, just the faint smell of cannabis lingering like a secret no one wanted to admit. Ah, the aroma of higher education. Changra thought wryly as he walked, his brown hair shifting slightly with every step, as if trying to escape the awkwardness radiating off him.

He moved swiftly, navigating the maze of beige walls and motivational posters that screamed "Your future starts now!"—a lie, he was certain. Rounding a corner, he approached Principal O'Gassery's office, the door already ajar. How convenient. The gates to hell are always open.

Inside, Principal O'Gassery was waiting for him, seated like some grumpy monarch. His foot was tapping out a beat against the tiled floor, oddly enough in time with Staying Alive. Changra paused in the doorway, raising an eyebrow. Well, at least he's got rhythm. He stepped inside, bracing himself for what was sure to be a Grammy-worthy performance of disappointment.

"Changra. This is the fourth time this month, and it's only September 11th," The look of disappointment was immense. O'Gassery wasn't a small man by any means. Standing roughly six-foot-four, 250 pounds and wearing clothes that made him seem like just the average Joe. But he was intimidating to all. "You know what this means, son. This is going to be your first suspension this year. It won't be long, but you have to be punished for this."

Changra did not say a word, just nodded and walked out the door.

"Changra. This is the fourth time this month—and it's only September 11th," Principal O'Gassery said, his voice carrying enough disappointment to flatten a small car. The man himself was no small presence. Towering at six-foot-four and built like a linebacker, he wore a button-up shirt and khakis that screamed "just a regular guy"—except regular guys didn't scare the entire student body with a single glare.

O'Gassery leaned forward, his voice deepening. "You know what this means, son. Your first suspension of the year. It won't be long, but you have to be punished for this."

Changra didn't bother arguing. What was there to say? He gave a silent nod, turned on his heel, and made his way toward the door. Better to leave before O'Gassery decided to assign extra lectures on consequences and accountability.

"Oh! And make sure you say hi to your aunt for me!" O'Gassery called after him, his tone shifting unnervingly to something almost… cheerful.

Changra froze mid-step, grimacing. Why is he so obsessed with my aunt? Does he not realize she's been single for 15 years by choice? With a silent groan, he walked out, deciding he didn't want to think too hard about it.

It doesn't matter. My aunt doesn't even like him. Not one bit, Changra thought as he made his way toward the front entrance. At the same time, it's not like it matters if I do tell her. She hates me. For what I did.

The thought lingered, heavy in his chest, as the bell rang and a wave of students flooded the hallway. He weaved through the crowd, sidestepping backpacks and the occasional rogue elbow, his head still hung low.

Fouteen years of life, and this is just how it is for me, he mused, slipping out the school doors. The air outside was crisp, the kind of fall breeze that made the world feel alive. It contrasted sharply with how numb he felt.

Changra started the familiar trek toward his house, his feet moving on autopilot. Minutes passed, his thoughts swirling in a mix of self-pity and vague annoyance at O'Gassery's flamingo-sock-wearing accomplice. His head stayed down, focused on the cracks in the pavement.

And then—bam! He collided with something—or rather, someone. A girl, roughly his age. The impact sent him stumbling backward, and before he could react, he hit the ground with a thud. The back of his head smacked the pavement, and the world spun out of focus.

Oh, great. Just my luck. The thought barely formed before everything faded to black.

Wake up, Changra.

Wake up.

WAKE UP!

The words thundered through his mind, each repetition louder than the last. With a sharp gasp, Changra jolted upright, his chest heaving. What the hell?

He blinked rapidly, but his vision remained dark. Panic flickered in the back of his mind as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Where am I? What's going on? His hands instinctively groped the ground beneath him, the surface soft and unfamiliar.

For a fleeting moment, he wondered if this was some weird prank—maybe Stephen Currigula finally upgraded from verbal insults to psychological warfare. Yeah, because that's exactly what I need right now, Changra thought bitterly, still struggling to get his bearings.

Changra's vision slowly returned, blurry at first, then sharpening into something utterly alien. He sat up, his breath hitching as he took in the sight around him. This… isn't home.

The world before him was unlike anything he'd ever seen. The sky stretched above him in an endless swirl of purples and golds, as though someone had spilled a cosmic paint set across the heavens. Towering trees with leaves of shimmering silver and deep crimson lined the horizon, their trunks glowing faintly as if alive with some inner magic.

The ground beneath him was soft, not like dirt or grass, but something in between—spongy and warm, pulsating faintly under his hands. Nearby, a small brook wound its way through the landscape, but the water wasn't clear—it was a glowing teal, emitting a soft hum as it flowed. Strange creatures fluttered above the brook, their forms like butterflies, though their translucent wings flickered with fiery light.

Changra staggered to his feet, his head still spinning. What… what is this place? He turned in a slow circle, the surreal beauty of the world both awe-inspiring and deeply unsettling. A chill ran down his spine as he realized one thing for certain: he wasn't on Earth anymore.

As Changra tried to steady his breathing, a small creature emerged from the glowing underbrush, padding toward him with cautious curiosity. His stomach flipped. What the hell is that?

It resembled a fox—or at least, parts of it did. Its face was covered in soft, bright-green fur, its pointed ears twitching like radar dishes. The body was elongated, like a fox's stretched out over twice its normal length, but it didn't have paws. Instead, dozens of tiny, segmented legs—caterpillar-like and disturbingly coordinated—moved in perfect rhythm as it approached.

Changra froze, his eyes narrowing as the thing tilted its head at him, its large, reflective eyes gleaming with an almost playful intelligence. A flickering blue tongue darted out of its mouth, tasting the air.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. This is some cursed Pokémon nonsense, he thought, his heart hammering. The creature sat back on its many legs, letting out a soft, trilling sound that vibrated the ground beneath him. It didn't seem aggressive, but its alien appearance was more than enough to keep him on edge.

"What… even are you?" Changra muttered aloud, instinctively taking a small step back. The creature blinked at him, its fur shimmering faintly in the golden light, then scurried a few steps closer.

"Okay, cool, no boundaries. That's fine. Totally fine." Changra's voice cracked slightly as the creature let out another musical chirp, almost as if laughing at him.

This has to be because I hit my head. That's the only explanation. Changra's thoughts raced as he cautiously began to walk, his gaze darting around the bizarre landscape. This is just crazy.

He moved slowly, taking in the surreal world around him. The air shimmered faintly, almost like heat waves on a summer day, but it felt cool against his skin. The trees loomed high above, their silver and crimson leaves whispering softly in a wind he couldn't feel. Occasionally, a few leaves would break free, floating down in lazy spirals, glowing faintly before dissolving into sparkles upon touching the ground.

The terrain shifted beneath his feet with each step, soft and pliant like some organic mattress. Small, bioluminescent fungi dotted the landscape, their faint pulses casting flickering shadows that danced across the ground. Overhead, strange bird-like creatures with crystalline wings soared in elegant arcs, their calls sounding like distant chimes.

Changra stopped and ran a hand through his hair, still trying to process it all. Okay, yeah, I definitely have a concussion. Or… maybe I'm in a coma? He pinched his arm, wincing at the sharp sting. Nope, not a dream. Awesome. Totally not freaking out.

A sharp, piercing ring echoed through Changra's ears, cutting through the stillness. He winced, clutching his head as the sound grew louder, more insistent. His gaze darted around, searching for the source of the disturbance.

And then he saw it.

Half-buried in the soft, glowing earth, a dagger stood upright, its blade emanating a faint crimson light. The air around it seemed to ripple, like heat waves on pavement, and the ground beneath pulsed in time with the light. Changra froze, his heart pounding in his chest. The dagger wasn't just glowing—it felt alive, like it was reaching for him.

It was calling to him.

Against all reason, Changra found himself drawn toward the blade, his legs moving of their own accord. His hand trembled as he reached out, fingers brushing against the hilt. The moment he touched it, a jolt shot through his arm, and the ringing in his ears stopped abruptly.

A voice whispered, low and cold, curling into his mind like smoke. "There you are."