Fuck… am I dead? Aurelius Vennor thought to himself.

  His limbs lay limp, unresponsive, life seeping from them. He could feel himself laid down on a cloud of nothingness. Panic bubbled in his chest.

  As a student of the Sorcerous Academy of Aethernalis, he was used to bizarre situations, especially around upperclassmen and their cursed dormitory, and was consequently no stranger to injuries. But this… this was something else entirely.

  Tiberius, an idiot of a friend, had just blasted him in the chest with a mana-bomb. One would expect, given the severity of such an unusual injury, that it should have left him gasping, screaming and grovelling in AGONY. And yet… nothing. Not pain. Not fear. Not even the prickling sensation of broken ribs. Just a hollow, chilling nihility that seemed to stretch into infinity.

  No… no, this isn’t right. I shouldn’t feel… nothing! His voice echoed unnaturally in his own mind, like a ghost speaking to itself. His mana still hummed faintly, like a distant heartbeat, but his body was gone—or refusing him. The immobility screamed one terrifying word: dead.

  He despaired. Painfully average as he was in magecraft, he had plans. Simple ones. Elemental magic under some country noble, maybe even marry into the southern nobility. After all, those folks craved for more mages in their bloodlines. There was time for that. There had to be time.

  Tlacualtzin, capital of Aethernalis, should have felt alive around him: merchants hawking their wares, theatres glowing with light, the Magical Commission humming with purpose. But in his current state, the city felt distant, like he was looking through water, muffled and surreal. He felt as if Terravex Himself were gripping his soul.

  He shivered silently. Death was not the worst thing in the magical world. And his current situation was clearly deviant from the death that magical scholars had lectured on. It instead reminded him vaguely of the dangers of blood magic.

  “Every nerve aflame, every atom torn apart, soul blended with countless others. The pain is enough to break your mind. And it broke mine.”

  These words were from one of the guest speakers. A survivor of a horrible blood magic ritual. His eyes were hollow, empty and distant. His survival was only thanks to a catastrophic failure of the magic circle, and it was a miracle of modern mind magic that he was able to retain any semblance of sanity after rescue. Or so they said.

  The alternative possibilities, such as the involvement in some blood magic ritual, ran through frantically in his brain. He didn't want to die, and yet, his current predicament within the emptiness was so sinister and strange that he subconsciously hoped this was death.

  He focused his attention on his hands, only to feel nothing. Not even a breeze of wind could be felt. The reality he knew—the warmth of life, the comfort of food on the table, the small privileges of his middle-class upbringing—felt impossibly distant, like he was peering at it from the wrong side of a glass coffin.

  Never one to give up too soon, Aurelius started to chant in his mind.

  “Manus Moveo”, he chanted internally. He felt his mana surge and spread throughout his body as usual, and through the movement of his soul, he tried to reach out to the mana around him.

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  To his shock, he couldn't feel any of the normal reactions around him.

  His soul should be shaping the ambient mana into the spell, and he should have at least elicited a small response from his surroundings!

  A chill ran up his spine. A deep sense of foreboding settled over him, and his body trembled uncontrollably. He once again prayed to the True Dragons, and to Terravex, the prime deity of the Church.

  Then, a voice pierced the silence.

  “Well, invoking the name of that c*nt of a dragon right in front of me—how rude of you, kiddo,” it said, every word dripping with silky authority.

  Aurelius froze.

  I-Impossible. Something was talking to me?

  Holy dragon dung—have I been kidnapped by some twisted mage? Transported after death into a soul-trap? Am I about to get DEVOURED BY A LICH?

  Insane thoughts tumbled through his brain. He was nowhere old enough to get caught in some sick, dark elven magic or whatever ritualistic nightmare. Clearly, the voice had to be some lunatic from a rival church, or a deranged mage cult! They were blaspheming a Dragon so casually!

  He nearly fainted.

  “Don’t be like that! I’m not some evil Lich!”

  “Really, I have a knack for choosing the weirdest creatures for jobs.”, the voice continued smoothly.

  HOLY SHIT THE MAN IS READING MY GODDAMN MIND!

  “Yes I am.”

  A CRIMINAL MAGE! Or some fucking WEIRDO CULTIST!

  Aurelius was now certain that death was definitely a better alternative than whatever was about to happen. He continued to try to channel mana, or move his limbs in attempts to kill himself now.

  “How strange. A ghost trying to kill itself? How long will it be before you realise that it’s useless?”

  A GHOST? OH TERRAVEX, PLEASE SAVE MY SOUL AND LET ME RETURN TO MANA, I PRAY FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE AND GRACE! SAVE ME FROM THIS EVIL BEING! Aurelius could only pray.

  “Ugh, again with those dragons. Just recite my honorific name so I can be done with this” , the voice grumbled, now with a clear hint of annoyance.

  That gave Aurelius pause. An honorific name? Was he a high ranking spirit? An angel? Things started to click into place in his mind.

  I’m in the spirit world! That’s why I can’t move my body!

  “There he goes again. The spirit world? Quite creative for a youngling mage, aren’t you. Are you unable to sense the lack of mana around you? Very interesting…”

  “And blaspheming me by suggesting I’m some old, dusty… spirit. Very bold! I approve!” The voice continued.

  I- fuck, it’s not the spirit world either? W-wait, why am I even trusting the words of this weirdo? Thought Aurelius.

  “I’ll have you know that I’m a whole lot more interesting than those lil sh*ts in the spirit realm. But the rationalisation is commendable given the circumstances, I suppose.”

  And without giving Aurelius time to jump back into another bout of despair, the voice started reciting his honorific name with his silky voice. An ageless echo formed, and the cosmos itself seemed to lean in to listen to its words. The pressure was suffocating, taking Aurelius’s breath away.

  “Quetzalcoatl, Feathered Serpent of Might,

  Who wakes the dawn and governs the night,

  Bearer of souls, of dragons, and of flame,

  Whose wisdom and wrath none mortal can tame,

  Through cosmos his lessons cast,

  Death, and creation entwined in his past.”

  The voice propagated around the emptiness around Aurelius and fell silent.

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