FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 353: Chapter 353: Tears He Couldn’t Swallow

He continued walking down the crowded hallway, feeling entirely alienated. Like he didn’t belong here, no more like he hadn’t belonged here for a very, very long time.

The hallway stretched, warping like a funhouse mirror, and the next moment, he was sitting at a cramped wooden desk.

Up at the front of the room, the bald math teacher was droning on, in a monotone voice, his back turned as he quickly scribbled long, boring equations on a whiteboard. The squeak of the dry-erase marker tapped a rhythmic, annoying beat.

Sol looked around the class. He knew these people. He recognized the backs of their heads, the posters on the walls, the ticking clock above the door. These were his classmates. Yes, classmates.

But it all felt completely, terrifyingly hollow. Like he was watching a movie through a dirty window.

Thump. A heavy hand smacked him hard on the shoulder from behind.

Sol turned around in his seat.

Sitting at the desk behind him was a boy his age, maybe looking just a bit more mature. He was leaning back in his chair, rocking on the back two legs, flashing a massive, disgustingly bright smile.

“What happened to you?” the boy asked, chuckling, tossing a chewed-up pen onto his notebook. “Why are you so lost today, bro?”

Sol stared at him.

He didn’t know why. He had no idea what was happening to his brain. But the absolute second his eyes locked onto that bright smile, his vision instantly blurred. The lump in his throat shattered.

Hot, heavy tears welled up in his eyes and started spilling rapidly down his cheeks. He tried to blink them away. He tried to swallow the emotion down, to force it back into whatever dark box he usually kept it in, but he couldn’t. His chest hitched. A ragged, ugly sob tore its way out of his mouth.

He couldn’t control it. Sol scrambled out of his small desk, the chair loudly scraping against the linoleum floor, and threw his arms around the boy, hugging him with a desperate, crushing grip.

“Hey…” The boy’s smile faltered. He patted Sol’s back awkwardly. his chair wobbling. “Sol, what happened? Why are you acting so strange?”

Sol didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He just buried his face into the kid’s shoulder, crying like his heart was being ripped out through his ribs and held on tighter, terrified that if he let go, the boy would vanish.

Suddenly the classroom started to melt.

The edges of the room stretched and warped like wet paint. The buzzing fluorescent lights flickered violently, turning a sickly, dark purple.

“Sol! What are you doing in class?” the bald teacher’s voice echoed, sounding warped and metallic. “Hurry up and sit down and don’t disturb everyone.”

“Sol, bro, what are you doing?” the boy’s voice asked, starting to stretch and distort.

“Sol, why are you ignoring me?” the girl’s voice called from somewhere far away.

SOL!Sol!Sol! The voices piled on top of each other, distorting into a loud, static roar. The bright classroom ripped apart into blackness.

“Sol! Sol!”

The muffled voices weren’t coming from the school anymore. They sounded like… Kira. And someone else.

“Aaaghhhhhhhhhh!”

With a violent, full-body jerk, Sol shot straight up from the bed.

“No!! Don’t go!” Sol screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice completely wrecked and hoarse. He reached out blindly, grabbing empty air. “I’m sorry for not contacting you! It’s my fault!”

Tears were streaming down his face. He was hyperventilating, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

“SOL! What happened to you?”

Hands grabbed his shoulders, shaking him hard.

Sol sucked in a ragged breath, his eyes snapping wide open. He looked around wildly, his pupils blown wide.

He wasn’t in a classroom. He wasn’t hugging his friend.

He was in a dimly lit wooden room. The walls were made of polished petrified timber. The smell of crushed bitter-root, dried herbs, and burning sage hung thick in the air.

Kira was sitting right on the edge of the bed, her hands gripping his shoulders tight. Her eyes were wide with pure, unfiltered panic.

Standing right behind her was Zeyra, looking equally shocked and worried.

“Yeah, Sol, what happened to you?” Zeyra asked, her voice actually trembling a bit. “What are you shouting about? And… why are you crying?”

Sol just stared at them. His brain was lagging heavily, still halfway stuck in the asphalt streets of a dead world.

Crying? Who is crying? he thought blankly.

He raised a shaking hand and instinctively touched his face. His fingers came away completely wet.

“Huh,” Sol muttered, staring dumbly at his wet fingers. He actually was crying. He hadn’t cried since… he couldn’t even remember the last time his eyes had watered, let alone full-blown sobbing.

“Sol! Sol!” Kira shook him hard again, her nails digging into his skin. “What happened to you? Now you are scaring me!”

The sharp pain of her grip finally snapped the last thread of the dream. The cold, brutal reality of the Great Orrath crashed back over him. The smell of bitter herbs. The dull ache deep in his muscles. The stinging pain across his stomach.

Yeah. Right. He is Sol. He is a transmigrator. He is currently in the Veynar tribe.

He swallowed hard, wiping his face roughly with the back of his hand to smear the tears away, trying to pull his usual cold mask back into place.

“I’m alright,” Sol said. His voice was hoarse and weak. “Just… had a nightmare. That’s all.”

Kira didn’t look convinced at all. She kept her grip on his shoulders, her eyes scanning his pale face, looking for any physical injuries the healers might have missed.

“I just maybe need a bit of time alone,” Sol added, looking down at his lap. “Can you two go?”

“Are you sure?” Kira asked, her voice dropping into a soft, worried whisper. Her face a canvas of pure worry and care.