Projection (Ch. 1)

Adrien’s Lens:

The underground classroom isn’t just a room to me; it’s a world teeming with details, nuances, and silent symphonies. The hum of the lights plays a gentle backdrop to the whispered conversations around. I often find solace in such details, and today is no exception.

Every shadow has its own tale; the crisscross patterns on the metal walls seem like coded messages waiting to be deciphered. The occasional tap of a foot or the rustle of paper becomes a part of the ambient orchestra I constantly tune into. And while I could easily get lost in this vastness of minutiae, a familiar face anchors me back.

Amaranth.

"It's been years, but I'm sure... I've seen you before," I mumble, momentarily drawing my attention from the world of details to the world of human connection.

She tilts her head, observing me with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "Intriguing. What makes you so certain?"

I struggle to articulate the precise nature of my feelings. "It’s like recalling a forgotten tune or tracing the remnants of a dream. It’s ephemeral but real."

Our conversation shifts, but in my hyper-aware state, I also register other stimuli—the whispered talk of classmates, the buzz of a flickering light, and the stern gaze of Dr. May.

When the subject of 'Astral Projection' surfaces, the energy of the room shifts. My heightened senses pick up on the tension, the anxious glances exchanged between students, the murmurs that swiftly die down. The very atmosphere becomes heavy, weighted with the unspoken.

As Amaranth opens up about her past, each word, each emotion, resonates deeply. Her story isn't just heard; it's felt, absorbed, and processed through layers of empathy that often feel both like a gift and a burden.

The bell’s ring might signal the end for others, but for me, it's another note in the grand symphony of life. As she hands over the note, the texture of the paper, the scent of the ink, and the deliberate curves of her handwriting all register distinctly.

The outside world awaits, but for now, this moment, with its profound connections and myriad details, lingers on, promising more layers to unravel.

As the last echoes of the bell dissipate, the room begins to stir. Students pack their bags and chatter about plans and assignments. Amidst this orchestrated chaos, I find myself standing still, clutching Amaranth's note.

The way she understands me is different. While others perceive my interactions as atypical or disconnected, Amaranth's reactions have always been tinted with an intuitive understanding. It's as if she sees beyond the immediate, tapping into the raw essence of who I am.

A sudden hush falls over the room, broken only by Amaranth's voice. "It's not just about seeing the magic in things, Adrien. It's about feeling it, living it."

Our eyes meet, and I'm anchored by her depth, her understanding. I want to respond, to tell her how much this means, but words elude me.

"Trust the journey," she whispers, almost inaudibly, before walking away. As she heads out, I catch a fleeting glimpse of an intricate stone pendant swinging from her neck—a gem with colors that remind me of the precious Angele Emerald. The same stone everyone in that peculiar town seems to possess.

Staring at the door long after it closes, I ponder her words. The mystery of the mundane, the magic of everyday life. It's a thread that ties us all together in the tapestry of Angele Emerald, and I'm eager to pull it, to uncover what's hidden beneath.

Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted as I feel a sharp prick on my hand. I look down to see blood oozing out from where I've inadvertently scratched myself with the edge of the note. And as the crimson droplet falls, the present rushes back—the classroom, the smell of chalk, the lingering magic of Amaranth's words.

Mr. May, my history teacher, stands at the front desk, observing me, and for a moment, I feel like an anomaly under a microscope.

"Lost in thoughts, Mr. Oleyl?" he comments, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

Nervously, I tuck the note into my pocket, "Just pondering the history of Angele Emerald."

He chuckles, "Ah, yes. Many secrets lie there, hidden in plain sight. Like the Angele Emerald itself." And with that cryptic statement, he turns away, leaving me intrigued, eager to dive deeper into the lore of the town, and of the captivating Amaranth.