What Is Real

“Can you explain this to me? I really don’t understand.”

The very next day, Emi sat across from Sterling in his office, the old book laid out between them like a patient under examination.

Sterling turned it over in his hands, frowning thoughtfully. The blinds behind him filtered the daylight into thin silver slats, striping across his tired face. For once, he didn’t crack a joke, didn’t even smile. He was focused, the kind of focus that made Emi’s stomach tighten with nerves.

“Remember when we talked about this book?” he said at last, his thumb brushing along the leather binding. "How sometimes pages you’d never seen before could appear?"

Emi nodded, her fingers twisting in her lap.

"Maybe," he said slowly, turning another page with a featherlight touch, "we should consider that some pages might... change as well."

The thought struck her harder than she expected. She opened her mouth to protest but found nothing to say. Pages changing? Not just hidden passages, but rewritten ones? How could she ever trust anything it said then?

“I once told you, my dear,” Sterling continued, “that there are mysterious magicks with this book. But… I might have underestimated the scope of this whole thing. Stories are baked into the very fabric of the cosmos, Miss Emi. Existing in the minds, as well as the vast endless space. Even on this planet Earth, despite the mystery limiting our powers, that in and of itself is also a kind of magick.”

She listened intently, trying to process every word. Sterling went on:

“Do you know who Qrtplke is?”

The name seemed to fly past her ears like water being poured out of a cup. She shook her head.

“Well, he was a student here,” he said, “right at this school. He went to your class too. You sure you don’t remember him?”

She shook her head once more.

“Hmm, I had a feeling,” Sterling stroked his beard. “The boy was a loner, he did not speak to anybody in class, always off in his own world. Nobody talked to him, and more importantly nobody talked about him. To the point where people no longer remember him. He was there, but slowly he slipped and fell into an empty void. Was it depression? Darkness? I do not know.”

“Did… did he commit…”

But Sterling instantly shook his head, he said:

“No. He simply ceased… to be. Records of him no longer exist. The school keeps an archive on almost every single student who has been going here for the last couple of decades. I went through the files – he was not here, not anymore.”

“I… I don’t… understand,” she stammered. “If that’s the case, how come you remember him?”

He shrugged, wearing a somber expression on his face.

“I’m rusty, but I still have a lot of magick left in me. But the point is this – stories are powerful. If enough people tell a story, and enough people believe in that story strongly enough – it will come true.”

Emi sat there, not knowing how to even begin handling what it was Sterling was telling her. Thousands of thoughts scrambling in her mind, making her wish she had an ice bag to soothe her brain.

She then leaned forward, pushing past her confusion.

“Orion’s story… why don’t you just tell me what happened?" she pressed. "You were there, right?"

Sterling let out a soft, dry laugh, running a hand through his messy hair.

"It’s..." He paused, searching for the right word. "What's that word you used once? Ah – cliché. It's the typical story. You've already read it."

Tapping his chin, as if trying hard to remember.

"He was the Chosen One," Sterling said. "But he fell to the darkness."

Emi bit the inside of her cheek, frustrated. That wasn’t enough. That wasn’t even close to enough.

Sterling seemed to sense her dissatisfaction. He tapped the book once with his knuckle, a hollow, echoing sound. Then, almost hesitantly, he added:

"There are memories I have now," he said quietly, "memories of things that happened. Things I remember clear as day. Somehow slowly coming out of my mind? It’s not that I’ve forgotten. I’m old, but not that old. But…"

He lowered his gaze back to her, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Truly, the strangest thing is... I could’ve sworn I didn’t have them before."

The silence that followed was a heavy, brittle thing, like the room itself was holding its breath.

The bell rang for lunch break, but Emi barely heard it.

She wandered the hallways, her mind a tangled mess of questions and half-formed fears, Sterling’s words still echoing in her ears. About the power of stories, the strange way his memories were changing, all digging at a fear that one of the few people she could rely on for answers were now also struggling to understand what was going on.

She clenched her fists tight, then gave in to the exhaustion as she walked on autopilot, not even noticing the scattered groups of students laughing and chatting around her.

"Hey, Emi!"

A voice called from across the hall. She blinked, looking up to see one of her classmates – she couldn't even remember the girl's name, though they shared a few classes.

The girl jogged over, slightly out of breath.

“Mr. Sato said you and Orion are supposed to grab some equipment from the sports shed," she said. "For the school festival. You know, tables and stands and stuff."

Emi frowned.

“Really?”

"Yeah. He said to hurry. Orion’s already out there, I think."

The girl waved and hurried off without waiting for a reply.

Emi hesitated, but she couldn’t think of a reason to refuse. It wasn’t unusual for the teachers to rope them into helping with school events. And Orion, being... well, Orion, probably just went ahead without asking questions.

Still, a small knot twisted in her gut as she made her way outside.

The air was crisp, the field mostly empty except for a few stray students packing up their soccer gear, ready to head home. The old shed stood at the far edge of the field, weathered and a little crooked.

As she approached, she spotted him: Orion, standing by the shed door, his white hair bright against the dull wood. As well as his crimson scarf, still sharp as ever.

He wasn't moving, just standing there, one hand resting casually against the doorframe.

Emi quickened her pace, thinking maybe he didn’t know how to open the rusty old lock.

"Hang on, let me see," she said, stepping forward.

Before she could touch the door, he made a move.

In a sudden, fluid motion, Orion placed one hand flat against the wall beside her, boxing her in. His other hand rose to her chin, his fingers tilting her face up toward his.

Her breath hitched. His touch was light, almost tender – and the smile he wore was soft, almost affectionate. She had never seen anything like it before, the bright light emanating from his expression almost overwhelmed his crimson, dark-colored eyes. Soothing them into a gentle look of longing. Almost as if this was what he had been waiting for, what the both of them had been waiting for.

Key word being – almost.

Because there was something wrong. Something deeply, horribly wrong.

This wasn’t the Orion she knew. His real smile was rare and faint, but genuine, shining like a sunrise breaking through storming clouds. Like a wound trying to heal from the damages of the countless years and wars.

But this smile was something else entirely. It was beautiful, yes – but in the way a venomous flower might be beautiful. Seductive, predatory.

The smile of a devil.

Heat flooded her cheeks, a stupid, automatic reaction, but instinct screamed through her veins. She tried to step back, but his hand on the wall tightened, keeping her caged in.

“Orion…” she managed, voice shaking.

For the briefest second, his eyes flickered – not with warmth, but with something gleaming and inhuman.

Something that watched her, like a spider watching a fly.

"Stop!" Emi cried out, shoving against his chest with all her strength.

For a split second, his smile began to widen, dark amusement glittering in his sharp eyes. Still wearing that wolfish, unnatural smile, one far too smug to belong to the Orion she knew. His fingers still lingered at her chin, as if her resistance was a joke he had already seen the punchline to.

But then something shifted.

The air around them fractured with invisible pressure, and before either of them could move, a violent force struck the young man from the side like a hurricane made of pure will.

Choking on nothing while also clutching at his throat with wide, stunned eyes. He was being held aloft – not by a hand, but by a force far more terrible. A figure now stood just beyond the field, casting a long shadow across the grass.

It was Orion.

The real Orion.

His presence was unmistakable. Black smoke curled off his body like ash from an eternal fire, and his black eyes crackled with arcs of violent violet lightning that surged into the air with a low, grating hum.

The moment Emi saw him, she felt she could breathe again, letting herself feel easy now that she knew her gut feeling was correct. This imposter, whoever he was, came here to poison the air.

But the King of Soluna would not allow it.

“Not – one – more – step.” Orion commanded.