CHAPTER ONE: UNIVERSAL STRUCTURE

I know what you’re thinking. “Romov, why are you starting this book with an immediate glimpse into the infinite that composes our school?” Shut up. Shut up and listen. Stop thinking, absorb my words, and you will learn.

Kingsly is a soap bubble. It’s a sentient nexus of twisted dimensions, floating in the void. It anchors, it breathes. It might sound vague, but I spent all my time at Kingsly studying what the hell it was made of, and trust me, there’s no point in telling you the truth. Even if I was capable.

So it’s best to think of Kingsly as an organism. And like most organisms, Kingsly has an immune system. That brings us to rule number one:

Don’t fuck with Kingsly.

Anna sat with her friends in the cafeteria, trying to ignore the dull roar of tables skittering across the floor and walls. The table she sat at was more docile than most, but it was still difficult on the mount and dismount.

“Heard you got stuck with orientation today, Anna,” said Chase. He was still wearing the uniform, even as a senior. Whether he did it out of habit or for irony, or some ironic habit, was subject to great debate across his social circles.

“Wasn’t so bad, actually,” replied Anna. The table hinged and began crawling up the wall, legs feeling around for any scraps of food. It found something ancient lodged there on the wall, and pulled it into its mouth. The students remained firmly seated, parallel to the ground. “He’s interesting, at least. Apparently doesn’t remember anything from before he came here.”

“That’s kinda sad, isn’t it?” replied Chase. “What’s his name?”

“Mr. Baker. Subbed for Hendrick-- Oh, and by the way Andrew, Hendrick’s back.” The table collectively tuned in for this single sentence and moaned. Andrew buried his face in his hands.

“Ohh, I’m so dead,” he said.

“Why? What did you do?” asked Chase.

“I’m the kid who spilled a beaker full of volatile time experiment on him,” he replied mournfully. Chase stifled laughter.

“Wait, so the rumor was true?” he continued, trying to stop himself from giggling. The students seated at the table collectively engaged in the schadenfreude nectar, flocking to Andrew’s pain and laughing. Before long they’d sobered, though.

“I give Baker two days,” said Anna.

“Hey, he might even outlive Andrew,” added Chase. He looked towards Andrew, smiling, but dropped it quickly once he saw his desolate frown. “--I’m just kidding, Andrew.”

Andrew stood (due to the position of the table, he spilled over the side and crumpled to the floor), dusted himself off, and stormed away indignantly.

“Ughh, I’m an idiot,” whispered Chase to himself. Anna looked on earnestly, eyebrows slightly raised, and nodded slowly.

After Chase followed her nod with a pointed lack of response, Anna continued with a sigh as she stood and gracefully avoided crumpling to the floor. “Maybe you should follow him?”

Chase seemed to understand everything all at once. He jettisoned off the wall, scrambling after Andrew. “Wait, Andrew!”

Anna shook her head and started walking in the other direction. Orientation day wasn’t over. She still had a group of freshmen to chew through. Not that there was much point.

Orientation was a long standing tradition at the school. An honor roll senior was used to prevent the new ones from running off somewhere dangerous, and to explain the one unspoken rule at Kingsly: no exploring.

The school was, to comically understate, really big. It had a quantity of rooms one could describe as “vast”. From the outside, you could only really see one side at a time, and the other sides likely stretched further than even the massive stone facade facing you.

Students entered. They eventually graduated. At that point, they either vanish from the school building forever or become faculty, sort of Stockholmed into enjoying the frenetic pace and frenzy of daily life at a school that seemed to try to kill its students and teachers. Of course, the school wasn’t trying to kill them. It just attracted things that did, and didn’t do much about it.

Seniors were the odd exception. They’d survived long enough for certain privileges. Honor roll seniors were the most exceptionable exceptions. They hadn’t survived, they had thrived.

But Anna wasn’t on honor roll for academic or athletic achievement, nor for some grand dedication to the establishment. She had done a favor for administration that they hadn’t forgotten. And so, with her grades taken care of and her survival basically assured, she was essentially just waiting to graduate, and developing her reputation as a problem solver and good luck charm.

“Hey Anna,” grinned Max. “Saw you during--”

He was interrupted by Anna not caring enough to listen. She stepped by him carefully and continued to the exit of the cafeteria, so obviously intentional that Max had no choice but to take it as an insult. He scowled deeply.

“What’s up with her?” asked Max, catching a seat that skittered by him.

“My guess is that she just thinks she’s better than us,” answered Persephone, a girl already sitting at the table. The freckled redhead leaned her chin on her hand boredly, watching the cafeteria swirl with life. “She’s on honor roll and it made her pretentious as hell.” This statement was delivered with the most obvious toxic jealousy that only a doddering idealistic fool deluded by love could miss.

“Right? All she does now is stand around and follow orders,” the doddering idealistic fool deluded by love chortled. “Stupid pawn. Someone oughta take her down a peg.” Persephone eyed Max predatorily.

“I’ve got an idea for that, actually. You know Basement 1B?”

“The one that ate Basement 1A and vanished? Yeah, of course.”

“I found a book.”

“Nerd.”

“Max, shut up.” Max was so accustomed to these words at this point that they had little effect on him, but the urgency with which she spoke quieted him. “Listen, I found it in the library recently, published by L.V. Day.”

“You say that name like I should care about whoever it is.”

“It was student published. L.V. Day was one of Romov’s pseudonyms.”

Max ducked his head and peered around the lunch room upon hearing the name Romov.

“I thought they… You know,” he mimed flicking a lighter, making a windy sound with his mouth vaguely approximating a flame. Persephone shook her head.

“Just the guide. Turns out that guy published a hell of a lot more in that library. Most of it is boring and dry, but some--... well, just read it.” She gingerly reached into her backpack and pulled from it a ridiculously massive book, shielding the lunchroom from the cover with her body before quickly passing it to Max. BASEMENT 1B, by L.V. Day. It was a dusty brown leather.

“Imaginative title.” Max flipped it open, then immediately shut the book again, looking back up to Persephone. “What the hell?”

Persephone shrugged. “Don’t ask me. Kid was a genius.”

Max lifted the cover slightly again, peering in from the side. The pages terminated at the edge, and then sank into darkness, sloping down until the light faded, the texture of book pages along the sides. He completely opened the book, noticing a hasty note written in permanent marker on the inside cover.

IF GOING TO BASEMENT, BRING BOOK. DON’T TOUCH TAR. BRING AN OPEN FLAME. MENTAL RESILIENCE RECOMMENDED. LIKELIHOOD OF SURVIVAL: LOW.

The depths of the book whispered darkly, and the grating smell of tar drifted upwards.

“Hey, neat, what’s that?” asked another student at the table. Max slammed it shut. Muffled echoes emanated from the book.

“Mirrors,” stated Max, far too quickly for it to not be a lie. A short pause followed before Max attempted an additional: “And smoke. Smoke and mirrors. I’m a magician.” The other student watched him suspiciously, but dropped the topic. Max leaned in closer to Persephone. “How is this supposed to help us?”

“Think about it Max, nobody has seen the door to Basement 1B in years. If someone were to get stuck in there without this book, they’d be trapped.”

It dawned on Max like a semi-truck dawns on prospective roadkill. A devilish grin spread across his face, but tinged with mild doubt. After further contemplation, he shook his head.

“Okay, while I’ll admit it’s nice to think about, is it really smart for us to try to basically… murder an honor roll senior in cold blood?”

“Nobody will ever know it was us. And it’s not like it’s a death sentence. She’s administration’s little pet. They’ll find her sooner or later, guaranteed.” Persephone smiled. “It’ll be our little secret.” Max bit his lower lip, watching Persephone’s eyes.

“Alright, I’m in. How are we doing this?”

“Just follow my lead.”

Persephone stepped away from the table, followed by Max. They exited the cafeteria through the swinging double doors, entering the hallway. Max pointed down the hallway at a receding figure. Anna.

The pair began walking faster, book clutched tightly in Persephone’s arms. Anna turned a corner in the hallway. Max and Persephone paced forward as quickly as they could, hoping not to lose her -- nearly running, but still technically walking.

As far as cosmic coincidences go, the one that immediately follows this brief interjection was among the less likely. Baker had stumbled out of the classroom and found himself in an alien hallway filled with students. Merely by attempting to avoid collisions with said students, he found himself swept away in the current until the second bell rang. Now hopelessly lost with a voice in his head, he searched his surroundings for a map as the voice in his head told him to go somewhere that Baker was pretty sure wasn’t on his schedule at all. Stumbling in the hallway, he spotted a familiar bastion -- Anna. He walked towards her.

Then the great coincidence began. Baker, walking towards Anna, happened to look to his left.

If he had not looked left, he wouldn’t have seen Persephone and Max moving forward at an uncomfortable pace. If he hadn’t seen them, Romov wouldn’t have recognized his own book in the hands of Persephone. If Romov hadn’t recognized his book, he wouldn’t have commandeered Baker’s mouth and forcibly strummed Baker’s vocal cords into emitting a guttural “Ugh”. If Baker hadn’t emitted this “Ugh”, Anna wouldn’t have turned to see the two students rapidly approaching. By this point, Persephone and Max had gotten close enough to Anna to enact their plan, and Persephone issued the nonverbal command for Max to spring.

“We need that book,” urged Romov, attempting to compel Baker’s limbs forward. Baker, unsure, reluctantly shoved himself into a collision path with the two students rapidly approaching, and then regained control of his faculties just on time to not know what he would do once he had his limbs back. Max slammed into him, expecting to grab someone who was further away. In the confusion, the two tumbled over.

“Wait, Mr. Baker?” asked Max, staring down at his unexpected quarry and beginning the process of detangling himself from him.

“Mr. Baker?” repeated Anna, hypocritically including a question mark. She looked back up at Persephone. “And Persephone. Go figure. Got Max following you around like a little puppy now? What do you want?” She spit her words with some venom, then almost imperceptibly shifted her gaze to the book in Persephone’s hand.

Max rolled off Baker. Romov temporarily regained control of Baker’s body and hurled himself at the book, grabbing it, reaming it open, and diving into the dark.

The three remaining in the hallway stared at the open book.

“What the hell?” said Anna.

“Max, go!” urged Persephone. Max looked up at Persephone fearfully, then after a short hesitation scrambled forward and grabbed Anna. Anna struggled viciously and easily freed herself after some seconds, but it was a second too late. Persephone grabbed the book off the floor and shoved it over Anna and Max’s heads, then left the book face-down on the floor, gasping for breath.

She walked over to it carefully, flipped it over with her shoe, then peered down over the edge into the dark.

“Sorry Max,” she called. “I’ll figure out a way to get you out soon,” she blatantly lied. Self-satisfied, she flipped the cover back, then picked up the book. She would chain it closed later. Smugly, she continued down the hall to the library.

The odds of anyone ever finding that book again were about the same as the odds of whatever just happened.