The transition from the Department of Magical Bureaucracy felt like being squeezed through a cosmic tube of toothpaste. One moment I was going through a portal like gate, the next I was tumbling through a kaleidoscope of magical streams before landing with all the grace of a meteor in what appeared to be a waiting area.
"Ah, survivors!" Professor Zephyr's voice carried that particular blend of enthusiasm and barely contained chaos that meant we were about to experience something that would make the bureaucratic nightmare seem like a peaceful meditation retreat. "Welcome to the intermission between your sanity and whatever's left of it after the next challenge!"
Around me, other students were materializing in similar states of disheveled confusion. I spotted Finn brushing what looked like temporal dust off his robes, while Gavril was studying a small tear in his sleeve with the fascination of someone who'd just discovered a new law of physics.
"Before we scramble your brains like eggs in a cosmic blender," Professor Zephyr continued, conjuring a floating display board that sparkled with constantly shifting numbers, "let's see how our lovely contestants are faring in the rankings!"
The board materialized in all its glory, showing names and scores that seemed to dance across its surface. My eyes immediately sought out the familiar names.
Elias Aurellian — Rank 49, 467 points Soren Valdris — Rank 57, 435 points Vael Moridian — Rank 60, 423 points ... Asher Ardent — Rank 68, 401 points Gavril Moridian — Rank 73, 390 points Finn Thorne — Rank 76, 375 points
"Soon you'll be threatening to break into the top half!" Finn appeared beside me, grinning despite the bureaucratic trauma we'd all just endured.
"Don't jinx it," I replied automatically, then paused. "Actually, given my track record, maybe you should jinx it. Reverse psychology might work in my favor."
Gavril joined us, still examining his torn sleeve. "Fascinating. The spatial distortions in of going through the berucratic portal created micro-tears in the fabric itself. I wonder if…"
"ATTENTION, BEAUTIFUL CATASTROPHES!" Bloombastic voice boomed across the waiting area, somehow managing to sound both delighted and slightly unhinged. "It's time for the main event of Level 2, Section 2! Ladies, gentlemen, and entities of questionable dimensional stability, I present to you..."
The world shifted around us like reality was changing its mind mid-sentence. The waiting area dissolved, replaced by something that made my brain file an immediate complaint with the Department of Making Sense.
"THE COGNITION SCRAMBLER!"
We stood in a vast space where the architecture seemed to have been designed by someone who'd read about the concept of "up" and "down" in a book but never actually experienced them (which seems to be everyone in this academy). Stairs made of what looked like crystallized thoughts spiraled in impossible directions, their translucent surfaces pulsing with soft, colored light. Walls that should have reflected our images instead showed fragments of memories, some familiar, some completely alien.
A floating platform of pure concept drifted past, looking exactly like the mathematical representation of "perhaps" given physical form. My probability field immediately started resonating with it, creating small ripples in the air around me.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Professor Zephyr appeared beside me, standing casually on what appeared to be a ceiling made of liquid logic. His words occasionally transformed into small butterflies mid-sentence, fluttering away to join a constellation of linguistic phenomena overhead. "Welcome to a place where the laws of consciousness are more like friendly suggestions!"
As if to demonstrate his point, his gesture left a trail of colored mathematics in the air, equations that spelled out concepts I didn't have names for, all glowing with the soft light of pure thought.
"The rules are magnificently simple!" he announced, though his voice was now coming from several directions at once. "In the Cognition Scrambler, your thoughts become semi-physical entities that can be stolen, weaponized, or simply lost behind the cosmic equivalent of a couch cushion!"
A second year student near me out a small yelp as what appeared to be his own thoughts about lunch materialized as a small, hovering sandwich that promptly tried to eat his hair.
"Your physical forms may temporarily alter based on your mental state!" Professor Zephyr continued, now somehow standing right-side up while the rest of us remained upside-down relative to him. "You might gain or lose entire fields of knowledge! Language itself becomes unstable, spells might need to be cast in languages that don't exist yet!"
As if summoned by his words, a figure materialized near the entrance, translucent and awkward, making everyone suddenly uncomfortably aware of the sound of their own breathing.
"Ah," Professor Zephyr noted with delight, "and here comes our first helper! The Personification of Awkward Silence! Don't worry, it's perfectly normal to feel like clearing your throat every few seconds now."
Indeed, the entire group of students suddenly became aware of breathing patterns, swallowing sounds, and the general acoustic reality of existing in one's own body. It was like being trapped in a library where everyone was trying not to make noise and failing spectacularly.
"Memory becomes a fluid medium," Professor Zephyr continued, apparently immune to the awkwardness that was making everyone else fidget, "that can be shaped, traded, or weaponized! And just to keep things interesting…"
Another figure popped into existence, this one appearing to be made entirely of frustrated scientific principles. It immediately began manifesting near a group of students who were attempting to cast basic levitation spells.
"The Personification of 'That's Not How Physics Works' is here to… help!" Professor Zephyr announced cheerfully.
"Actually," the Personification said in a voice like chalk on a blackboard, materializing next to a student whose fire spell was burning downward, "thermal dynamics clearly states that heat rises, so…"
"No one asked you," the student muttered, which only made the Personification more enthusiastic about explaining why fire couldn't possibly burn in the direction of increased gravitational potential.
And then, as if the universe had decided we weren't suffering enough, a third figure appeared, a cringing, face-palming entity.
"The Personification of Secondhand Embarrassment!" Professor Zephyr announced. "And oh, look! It seems particularly drawn to…"
The entity immediately began following me around.
"Of course it is," I muttered, feeling the familiar weight of cosmic irony settling on my shoulders like a particularly vindictive shawl.
"Now then," Professor Zephyr called out, his voice echoing from the liquid logic ceiling, "begin! Navigate the space, solve the puzzles, and try not to lose yourselves in the process! Literally! We've had to retrieve students from their own subconscious before, and the paperwork is dreadful!"
I took a tentative step forward, and immediately my automatic thought—This can't be that bad—sprang into existence as a small, sarcastic imp that perched on my shoulder.
"Oh, this can absolutely be that bad," the imp said in my own voice, but with extra pessimism. "In fact, let me list the ways this could go wrong: First, we could lose our mind entirely. Second, someone could steal our reasoning and we'd spend eternity trying to figure out which way is up. Third—"
"I get it," I hissed at my own manifest anxiety, "you think this is a terrible idea."
"I don't think it's a terrible idea," the imp corrected. "I know it's a terrible idea. The probability matrix suggests at least forty-seven different ways this could end catastrophically, and that's just in the first five minutes."
Around me, other students were experiencing their own cognitive chaos. A green haired third-year student was arguing with what appeared to be his own sense of direction, which had manifested as a compass that insisted north was actually a color. Another student was chasing her own confidence, which had taken the form of a small golden bird that kept just out of reach.
I tried to take another step, aiming for what looked like a stable platform made of crystallized concepts, but my nervousness at the situation caused my physical form to shift. For a moment, I became slightly translucent, which had the unexpected side effect of allowing other students' thoughts to pass through me.
—wonder if lunch will be——definitely going to fail this——why does my hair look like——Asher Ardent is right there and he's—
"Gah!" I stumbled, solidifying again as random fragments of other people's internal monologues cluttered my head. The Personification of Secondhand Embarrassment practically vibrated with delight at my distress.
"Asher!" Finn's voice called out, though when I looked for him, I saw he was dealing with his own problems. His wind magic had somehow gotten mixed with someone else's cooking knowledge, and every spell he cast smelled like fresh bread and created what could only be described as "pastry tornadoes."
"This is ridiculous," he muttered, trying to cast a simple air current spell and instead producing a whirlwind of croissants. "How am I supposed to…"
He stopped mid-sentence, his face flickering for just a moment to show unfamiliar features before it went back to normal. The brief lapse was so quick I almost missed it, but something about those unfamiliar features tugged at a memory I couldn't quite reach.
"Gavril!" I called out, spotting him near a staircase made of pure mathematics. "Are you…"
But Gavril was having his own crisis. A sneaky third-year student had somehow managed to "steal" his advanced spatial manipulation knowledge, leaving him staring at his hands in confusion.
"I know there's a way to fold space," he said, looking lost. "I can feel the theory in my head, but the practical application is just... gone."
The theft seemed to energize the thief, who was now creating elaborate dimensional portals with what had clearly been Gavril's expertise. But as I watched, I noticed something interesting, my probability field was making the stolen knowledge unstable. The thief's portals kept flickering and occasionally depositing small objects from completely different dimensions.
"Fascinating," my anxiety imp commented, still perched on my shoulder. "Your chaotic field is interfering with the theft. Though this probably means…"
"That someone will try to steal my thoughts next," I finished, because of course they would.
Sure enough, a group of students had noticed the theft interference and were now approaching me with the unmistakable look of people who'd identified a useful resource to exploit. But when they tried to grab my manifest thoughts, something unexpected happened.
My thoughts were so unstable, constantly shifting and contradictory thanks to my probability field, that they literally couldn't grab them. One student reached for what appeared to be my mathematical knowledge, only to have it transform into a recipe for disaster, then shift into a meditation on the nature of chaos, then become a small theoretical treatise on why everything was probably fine (which immediately argued with itself).
"They keep changing form mid-grab!" one of the would-be thieves muttered in frustration.
Which would have been great, except that my own manifest thoughts seemed determined to provide running commentary on everything that was going wrong.
"Remember when you fell down those stairs in front of everyone?" my anxiety offered helpfully, now manifesting as a small cloud of pure mortification.
"What if everyone's just pretending to like you?" added what appeared to be my social insecurities, taking the form of a tiny, worried-looking version of myself.
"Probability says this will end badly!" chimed in my mathematical pessimism, appearing as a small blackboard covered in equations that all somehow equaled 'doom.'
The Personification of Secondhand Embarrassment was practically having a party.
I tried to focus on navigating the space, looking for whatever puzzle or challenge was supposed to advance us to the next stage. But the architecture kept shifting, and my manifest thoughts kept offering their "helpful" observations about everything that could go wrong.
Then, without warning, just as Professer Zephyr wanred, language decided to take a vacation.
One moment I was trying to cast a simple light spell, the next my words were coming out as colors and geometric shapes. Around me, other students were experiencing the same phenomenon, attempts at verbal communication were producing streams of pure concept and emotional projection.
"This is…" I tried to say, but instead of words, I projected the concept of overwhelming cognitive chaos mixed with grudging fascination.
Finn somehow managed to project back agreement with undertones of pastry-scented frustration, while Gavril's response felt like theoretical understanding hampered by practical confusion.
And then the walls began displaying memories.
Not just any memories—random memories from various students, playing across the surfaces like some cosmic slideshow of embarrassing moments and private thoughts. I saw flashes of childhood fears, first crushes, failed magical experiments, and—
There. On the wall to my left, a memory that made me stop breathing for a moment. It showed a familiar figure, not Finn, but someone else, someone with different features but the same laugh, the same way of gesturing with his hands when he got excited about something. Lance. My best friend Lance, who I hadn't heard from since leaving for the Academy.
But why was his memory playing on the walls? Unless...
I looked at Finn, who was staring at the wall with an expression of barely controlled panic, his wind magic faltering around him as pastry crumbs fell like snow.
"The Personification of 'I Meant to Do That'!" Professor Zephyr's voice echoed through the space, as another entity materialized near a student who had just accidentally turned her own hair into tentacles. "It offers face-saving explanations that make everything worse!"
"I was actually trying to develop prehensile hair extensions," the student protested, as her hair-tentacles began knocking over other students. "This is exactly what I wanted!"
"Of course it is," the Personification agreed enthusiastically, making the situation somehow even more embarrassing.
But I was barely paying attention to the escalating chaos around me. My mind was focused on that memory fragment, on the implications of seeing Lance's face in what should have been student memories, and on the way Finn was very carefully not looking at me right now.
My probability field began to resonate more strongly, and I noticed something else, throughout all this chaos, certain students kept targeting me with unusual intensity. Not just the normal tournament competition, but something more focused, more deliberate. Invisible magical tendrils kept probing at my probability field from multiple directions, testing its boundaries and reactions.
And the attacks always seemed to happen when the minor Personifications were creating the most chaos, providing perfect cover for whatever was really going on.
My anxiety imp was practically vibrating with vindication. "See? I told you it would get worse! There's definitely something more dangerous happening here than just academic competition!"
For once, I had to agree with my manifest pessimism. This wasn't just about navigating cognitive chaos or solving puzzles. Someone was using this scrambled reality as cover for something that felt distinctly less academic and more... threatening.
The Personification of Secondhand Embarrassment gave me what I could only describe as an encouraging pat on the shoulder, which somehow made everything feel even more ominous.
The chapter of cognitive chaos was just beginning, and I had the sinking feeling that by the end of it, figuring out who I was might be the least of my problems.
After all, in a place where thoughts could be stolen and memories could be weaponized, the real question wasn't whether I'd survive with my sanity intact.
The real question was whether I'd survive at all.