《Thesis Defense: A Reversekai》 Soul-o Grind Chapter One The temple trembled with each arcane blast, its ancient pillars - etched with runes older than the mountains - crumbling into clouds of dust. Ferris, the Iron Thesis, stood firm amidst the chaos, his tattered robes whipping in the gusts of unleashed magic. Blood dripped from a cut above his eye, staining his weathered face, but his fists remained steady, forged by decades of discipline. Across the shattered hall, atop a grotesque dais of twisted bones, the Necro-Wizard leered, his eyes aglow with a sickly green light. "Ferrisssss," the wizard rasped, his voice grinding like stones in a mill, "you¡¯ve hounded me long enough. Your crusade ends here." Ferris didn¡¯t waste breath on words; a cocky laugh was all he''d grant. Evil like this didn¡¯t deserve words - it demanded action. He drew a deep breath, feeling the familiar surge of energy ripple through his muscles, and charged forward with the speed of a striking hawk. The Necro-Wizard thrust his staff upward, unleashing a torrent of necrotic energy that tore through the air like a swarm of locusts. Ferris twisted to the side, the corrupt magic grazing his arm, his boots skidding over shattered bones, leaving a chill that sank into his bones. Undeterred, he closed the gap in three strides and drove his fist into the wizard¡¯s jaw. A thunderous CRACK echoed through the temple as the blow landed, sending the Necro-Wizard stumbling back. For a fleeting second, surprise flickered in those glowing eyes. "You dare-" the wizard spat, but Ferris pressed the attack, unleashing a flurry of precise strikes. Each punch targeted a vital point - ribs, shoulder, throat - honed by years of training in the Iron Monastery. He¡¯d studied the dark arts not to wield them, but to destroy them, and he knew this foe¡¯s weaknesses. The Necro-Wizard snarled, conjuring a shimmering barrier of shadow that deflected Ferris¡¯s next blow. The impact jolted through Ferris¡¯s arm, a dull ache spreading to his shoulder, but he held his ground. Pain was an old friend. "Foolish monk!" the wizard cackled, his voice unnaturally loud, bouncing off the ruined walls. "You think your mortal strength can undo me? I¡¯ve transcended death itself!" Ferris tuned out the taunts, steadying his breath. The wizard¡¯s power flowed from his tether to the underworld - a tether that could be broken. He feinted left, then spun right, his heel arcing toward the rotten staff. The kick landed true, and the gnarled wood skittered across the stone floor. Victory flashed within reach. But then the Necro-Wizard¡¯s grin stretched wider, an unnatural glee splitting his pallid face. He reached into his cloak and drew forth an obsidian wand, its surface pulsing with a faint, nauseating light. Ferris¡¯s heart slammed twice against his ribs, each beat drowning his vision in darkness. In the first pulse, his vision went dark in a heartbeat, a glowing rectangle flickered before him, etched with shifting runes he couldn¡¯t decipher - in the window was the wizard and the back of a monk, using the 14th iron circle stance. Ferris could see himself from behind! His vision returned to his world, to the accursed being before him. What¡­ was that? What is happening? He''d never seen such potent illusion magic that it made him feel like he''d left his body. His pulse rushed again, filling his world with darkness. The window again, skinny hand pointing toward it, but a black iron cup rose shakily, a straw brushing his lips with a trembling touch. Then the temple snapped back into focus, the visions gone, leaving his pulse racing and his mind grasping at shadows. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Where were these visions coming from? The evil aura of that corrupted wand? The Necro-Wizard¡¯s voice cut through his confusion, dripping with malice. "You saw it, didn¡¯t you? The window to your very sssoul... Forged in the abyss, blessed by the dark gods. A tool beyond your comprehension." Ferris braced himself, muscles coiling like a spring. He¡¯d faced countless relics of darkness, but the air around this wand carried an edge of finality that set his nerves alight. His body was his weapon and that thing threatened to pull his body away from him. What was he without it? NO. The visions clung to his mind like cobwebs, but he shoved them aside. Focus was his weapon. "With this," the Necro-Wizard declared, "Ferris... the Iron Thesisssss... I¡¯ll rip your soul from its flesh shell!" Before Ferris could lunge, the wizard jabbed the wand forward, barking a jagged incantation. A beam of black energy erupted, faster than even the Iron Grandmaster could move slamming into Ferris¡¯s chest like a battering ram. Agony seared through him - not the sharp sting of a blade, but a deep, wrenching torment that clawed at his essence. His limbs locked, breath stolen, as if his very being were unraveling. He willed himself to move, to strike, but his body betrayed him, rooted in place by the spell¡¯s grip. Then came the pull - a sickening yank, like a rope looped around his core, dragging him free. The temple blurred, its broken stones and flickering torches dissolving into a void of endless black. He was falling. Weightless, un-tethered... Ferris tumbled through the darkness. The pain faded, replaced by a disorienting emptiness. Where am I? What did he do? His eyes were open he couldn¡¯t close them - but his vision frayed, slipping into a haze. In the dimming light, he saw them: small white pills, raining like hail from above like a sudden storm. They struck a carpet below, bouncing and scattering like raindrops rippling in a puddle, moving far slower than they should. Deep wicked laughter, too deep and too slow to be real, resonated behind him. A glimpse as his vision entered a dark tunnel - someone¡¯s hand, there in the darkness, pouring medicine on the floor before him, a dishonest laugh of deceit. Ferris¡¯s mind reeled, the vision slipping away as the darkness swallowed him whole. New sensations crept in - a rhythmic tone, like an annoying flute, the sharp scent of medicine, a blinding and pulsating light stabbing through his closed eyes. Ferris jolted awake, gasping. He lay flat on a bed, surrounded by sterile white walls and strange machines humming softly. Tubes snaked from his arm, and a steady musical note pulsed from a box beside him. A hospital? He pushed himself up, or tried to - his body felt frail, sluggish, wrong. He tried to put his arms by his shoulders to kick his legs and launch himself upright, but his arms would not even rise; they buckled, thin and trembling - not at all the steel corded limbs he''d cultivated. Glancing down, he froze. The hands gripping the sheets were small, pale, long fingers stained with charcoal, with chipped nails - not the mighty calloused iron fists of a warrior monk. Panic clawed at his chest. This isn¡¯t me. A woman in a white coat stepped into the room, her face etched with weary indifference. "Oh, you¡¯re awake, your highness, Gabrielle" she said, barely glancing up from her clipboard. "About time." Ferris croaked, his throat raw, "Where¡­ am I?" She sighed, a sound heavy with routine. "Ya overdosed. Lucky we even bothered this time. Idiot." Harpist? Gabriel? Over tossed? A flood of unfamiliar memories crashed into him - snippets of a girl¡¯s life, her despair, her loneliness. Ferris clenched these stranger¡¯s fists, his mind reeling. The Necro-Wizard¡¯s spell hadn¡¯t killed him - it had flung him here, into this body, this world. The Gabrielle... Harper. The one who watched him through the soul window, who whispered secrets to him, who guided him as he cultivated his strength and defeated progressively stronger enemies over the years, from her abyssal realm, "Dormroom". The nurse turned to leave, but Ferris¡¯s gaze snagged on something atop the bedside table: a bottle of pills, its cylindrical shape, orange glassy translucence, a white seal plastered on it, identical to those he''d glimpsed raining when his soul passed through the abyss. A shiver raced down his spine. This was no wheel of reincarnation delivering him to his next life. Someone did this. He didn¡¯t understand the how or why, but one truth burned clear: his fight was far from finished. Chapter Two: A Warrior鈥檚 First Steps Ferris blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights, each pulse sending needles through his skull. Strange contraptions lined the stark white walls, humming and beeping like mechanical spirits keeping vigil. The sharp tang of antiseptic burned his nostrils, so unlike the incense and wood smoke of his monastery. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm despite the chaos in his mind. Focus. Assess the situation. He commanded his body to rise - no, not his body, Gabrielle''s body - but the unfamiliar limbs betrayed him, refusing his will. The curves and hollows of this form felt alien, wrong, as if his spirit had been poured into a vessel shaped for someone else entirely. His arms trembled when he pushed against the bed, thin and weak, nothing like the steel-corded limbs he¡¯d honed through decades of training. Panic flickered at the edges of his mind, but he shoved it aside. A warrior adapts. Always. The door creaked open, and a woman in a white coat stepped in, her face etched with weary indifference. She glanced at a flat board in her hand before looking at Ferris. ¡°You¡¯re awake, Miss Harper. How are we feeling?¡± Ferris opened his mouth to speak, but his throat felt raw, the words scraping out like gravel. ¡°Where¡­ am I?¡± The woman sighed, her tone flat. "St. Aldwyn Memorial. Third O.D. this week from your campus. You zoomers and your finals week drama." ¡®O.D.¡¯? ¡®Third Odie¡¯? Pills? Ferris¡¯s mind raced. He remembered the vision - the pills raining down like a storm, the deep, wicked laughter echoing in the background. Something wasn¡¯t right. He tried to sit up again, but the woman placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back with surprising ease. ¡°Don¡¯t try to move yet. You¡¯re still weak.¡± Ferris bristled at the casual touch. In his world, no one would dare lay a hand on him without permission. But here, in this frail body, he was powerless. ¡°I need to know what happened,¡± he said, his voice steadier now. The woman rolled her eyes. ¡°You took too many pills, that¡¯s what happened. Now rest. The doctor will be in later.¡± She turned to leave, but Ferris called out, ¡°Wait! The pills¡­ where did they come from?¡± She paused, and sighed, incredible disappointment and impatience radiating from her like repressed killing intent, but her expression neutral and bored. She was looking off into the small room near the door, grooming her hair and turning her head at different angles, as if to examine it. ¡°They were yours, Gabrielle. You know that.¡± Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. But Ferris didn¡¯t know that. He didn¡¯t know anything about this world, this body, or the life he¡¯d been thrust into. He needed answers. Before he could press further, the woman left, the door clicking shut behind her. Frustration boiled inside him. He needed to think. His gaze snagged on the bedside table: an orange bottle with a white label, identical to the ones from his vision. This was no accident. He strained to reach for it, but his arms refused to cooperate. Cursing under his breath, he focused on his breathing, centering himself as he would before a battle. That¡¯s when he heard voices outside the door - two people, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. ¡°Did you see the tox report? Her vitals were off. Doesn¡¯t look like a typical overdose.¡± ¡°Shh, keep your voice down. The doctor said not to talk about it.¡± "Something was in her system, but it doesn''t match her prescriptions. And those marks on her wrist..." "I said quiet! You want to end up like Dr. Mercer? Just chart it and forget it." Ferris¡¯s ears perked up. Not a typical overdose? What did that mean? He strained to hear more, but the voices faded as the speakers moved away. He clenched his fists - or tried to. This body was weak, but his mind was sharp. He would find out what was going on, one way or another. First, he needed to move. He focused all his energy on his legs, willing them to respond. Slowly, painfully, he swung them over the side of the bed, the thin papery gown crinkling against his skin. A metal pole stood beside him, holding a bag of clear liquid that dripped into a tube connected to his arm. Another machine displayed strange numbers and lines that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Everything about this place was foreign, unsettling. He sat there for a moment, catching his breath. Perhaps I underestimated this challenge. But Ferris, the Iron Thesis, was not one to surrender. He would adapt. He would learn. And he would uncover the truth. With a grunt that felt pathetically feeble in his new throat, he pushed himself to his feet. The cold tiles shocked his bare soles, and legs that had once carried him through battlefields now quivered like saplings in a storm. He gripped the metal bed rail, refusing to surrender to this body¡¯s frailty. In his monastery, they taught that only the dead know peace. Ferris had never sought peace - only victory. He cast his gaze toward the door, toward the mystery that waited beyond. First, he would master this broken vessel. Then, he would find who did this - to him - to Gabrielle - and they would learn why warriors never die easily. The polished metal surface near the door had caught the nurse''s attention¡ªa reflection, perhaps. Ferris narrowed his eyes, suddenly aware of a burning question: what face now housed his warrior''s spirit? He took one trembling step forward, then another. Even if this body was as weak as a newborn, it was never too early nor too late to begin the path of strengthening. After all, every weapon, even the finest steel, began as nothing more than a useless lump of ore. With proper discipline and tempering, anything could be forged into something deadly. Chapter Three: The Reflection Ferris took another trembling step toward the reflective surface on the wall. His borrowed body - Gabrielle''s body - protested with each movement, muscles weak and uncoordinated. The cold floor sent shocks through his bare feet, but he pressed forward with the same determination that had carried him through years of monastic training. When he finally reached the small metal cabinet near the door, he steadied himself against the wall and leaned forward, breath catching as he saw Gabrielle Harper''s face for the first time. Pale skin. Dark circles beneath wide, uncertain eyes. Tangled hair framing a face too thin, too fragile - a battle-weary face that had never known battle. The hands that reached up to touch this strange countenance trembled, the fingers delicate and stained with traces of charcoal or paint. "This..." he whispered, watching the unfamiliar lips move with his words. "This is what I have to work with?" A memory flashed unexpectedly - hands holding a brush, sweeping across canvas with confidence this body now lacked. Colors blending, flowing. A sense of peace amidst chaos. The fragment vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Ferris disoriented. Was that hers? A remnant of Gabrielle''s consciousness still lingering within? The door swung open, forcing him to step back. He nearly lost his balance, unused to this body''s poor equilibrium. "Miss Harper," a man in a white coat said, eyebrows rising. "You shouldn''t be up without assistance." Behind him stood a woman in more casual attire, a clipboard pressed against her chest and sharp eyes that missed nothing. "I''m Dr. Reeves," the man continued, guiding Ferris back toward the bed with a hand that felt invasively familiar. "And this is Dr. Chen from psychiatric services." Ferris bristled at being handled but allowed himself to be led back to the bed. A warrior chooses his battles. "How are you feeling today, Gabrielle?" Dr. Chen asked, her tone gentle but clinical. "Do you remember what happened?" "I did not try to end my life," Ferris stated firmly, the words feeling strange in this higher-pitched voice. The doctors exchanged glances. "Gabrielle," Dr. Chen said carefully, "the evidence suggests otherwise. The empty pill bottles, your history of depression and anxiety - " "I was poisoned," Ferris interrupted. "Someone did this to me." Dr. Chen made a note on her clipboard. "Paranoid ideation," she murmured, not quite under her breath. "It''s common for patients to experience denial after a suicide attempt," Dr. Reeves added. "Part of the healing process." Ferris sat straighter, channeling the authority he once commanded. "I require information. How long have I been here? When can I leave?" Another exchanged glance between the doctors. Dr. Chen leaned forward slightly. "Gabrielle, your speech patterns are... different. Are you feeling like yourself today?" Ferris realized his mistake too late. Of course this girl wouldn''t speak as he did. He needed to adapt, to blend in until he understood more. "I''m just... weary," he said, forcing a softer tone. "Everything feels foggy." "That''s the medication," Dr. Reeves nodded, seemingly satisfied with this explanation. "You''ve been here since Thursday night. It''s Saturday morning now." Dr. Chen blinked at Gabrielle¡¯s choice of words then tapped her pen against the clipboard. "Given the circumstances and your history, we''re recommending transfer to our psychiatric unit for observation. Just for the weekend." "I decline." Ferris said instantly. "I''m afraid it''s not optional, Gabrielle" Dr. Chen replied. "The university has been notified, and your emergency contact - " she checked her notes, "a ¡®Professor Marrow¡¯, has already provided consent as your faculty advisor." Marrow. The name struck Ferris like a blade. In his vision, the pills had rained down while someone laughed. He felt like the name was dying inside his mouth. Marrow. "We''ve already started the transfer paperwork," Dr. Reeves continued. "A few days of observation, then we can discuss outpatient treatment options." Ferris knew when retreat was the wisest strategy. "I understand," he said, though fury simmered beneath his calm exterior. No monastery training had prepared him for the indignity of being imprisoned in a fragile body, in a strange world, with no authority to command his own fate. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. -=-=-=-=- The psychiatric ward was eerily quiet compared to the rest of the hospital. Soft-soled shoes squeaked against polished floors as an attendant led Ferris through double doors that locked automatically behind them. "Clothes and personal items go in storage," the attendant explained, handing him a stack of plain garments. "Change, vapes, nail clippers, whatever, in there. No belts, no strings, no sharp objects." Ferris accepted the clothing without comment, entering the small changing room. Another indignity - removing the hospital gown and seeing Gabrielle''s body fully for the first time. Something stuck out: A series of bruises on her arm, running parallel. Ferris looked at their angle, his warrior¡¯s gaze recreating the fight scene in his head. He twisted his forearm back and forth, looking at the direction of the bruises as they wrapped around. Then, he visualized it: A left hand grabbed this left arm. He held Gabrielle¡¯s left arm in front and it didn¡¯t make sense no matter how he twisted. Then, he put the arm behind him for a moment, and could see it: A shadow of a person, taller than Gabrielle, long fingers, grabbing her forearm from behind. Twisting. He could still feel soreness in the left rotator cuff. Someone had put Gabrielle in some kind of armbar. Getting back to the present, and ignoring the experience of seeing someone else¡¯s naked body when he looked down, he focused instead on the mission: observe, survive, adapt, escape. The loose pants and shirt hung on Gabrielle''s thin frame. At the bottom of the pile were strange socks - yellow with rubber treads on the bottom. He pulled them on, noting their unusual design which would be great for assassins who climb stone castle walls, if not for the flower-like bright color. When he emerged, the attendant nodded approvingly. "Group session starts in thirty minutes. Common room''s down the hall. Dr. Chen will see you after lunch for your full assessment." The common room was sparsely populated. A few patients stared at screens on the wall, while others colored with blunt crayons at tables. None of this made sense to Ferris. Was this healing? It looked more like warehousing the broken. He selected a chair away from the others, attempting to meditate, to center himself in this chaos. As he closed his eyes, a memory surfaced - not Gabrielle''s, but his own. The Iron Valley Tournament. Six rounds of combat against the Crimson Phoenix, each more brutal than the last. His body broken, bleeding, driven to its limits. The crowd and even his own faction shouting for him to yield, to submit and save what remained of his strength. "The Iron Thesis knows when he is outmatched," his master had called from the sidelines. "There is wisdom in retreat." But Ferris had risen for the seventh round anyway. He''d seen what others had not - the Crimson Phoenix''s labored breathing, the slight favoring of his right leg. Exhaustion making his strikes predictable. The seventh round had begun with gasps from the crowd as Ferris stepped back into the ring. It ended with the Phoenix on his knees, defeated by the man everyone had counted out. Never yield when you still have breath. Never submit when your enemy bleeds too. The sound of someone dropping into the chair beside him broke his concentration. "Fresh meat, huh?" Ferris opened his eyes to see a person with short, asymmetrically cut hair and arms covered in intricate drawings. They wore the same standard-issue clothes, but their socks were mismatched - one cyan, one magenta. "I''m Alex," they said, extending no hand, making no move to actually touch him. "Welcome to the no-slippy-grippy-sock club." They wiggled their feet, the rubber treads on the socks catching the light. "Exclusive membership. Very posh." Ferris studied them carefully. Behind the sarcasm, he sensed a sharp mind. "What brought you to our fine establishment?" Alex asked, slouching deeper into the chair with practiced nonchalance. "Wait, let me guess... art student, dark circles under your eyes like you''re collecting them... finals week casualty?" "I did not attempt to take my own life," Ferris stated firmly. Alex''s eyebrows shot up. "Wow. Going formal right out the gate. Interesting choice." They leaned closer, lowering their voice. "Pro tip: saying stuff like that is exactly how you get a longer stay. They really hate denial." Ferris frowned. "What would you suggest?" "Play the game. Say what they want to hear. ''Yes, I was sad. No, I don''t feel that way anymore. Yes, I''ve learned my lesson.''" Alex''s smile didn''t reach their eyes. "Then you get to leave and do whatever you want. Which in my case is absolutely nothing, because outside is just more of the same bullshit with fewer snacks." "You know how to leave this place?" Ferris asked, suddenly alert. "Course I do. Been in and out six times." Alex shrugged. "But I''m considering making this my permanent address. The world''s going to hell anyway. Might as well watch it burn from someplace with pudding cups." Ferris studied them closer. There was something familiar in Alex''s demeanor - the carefully constructed apathy that hid deeper wounds. He''d seen it in novices who''d endured too much, who believed themselves beyond redemption. ¡°Six times, you say.¡± muttered Ferris. "The group therapy circle is forming," Ferris observed, noting patients dragging chairs into a ring. "Oh joy, sharing time," Alex muttered. "Where we pretend talking about our problems solves them." They made no move to stand. "You go ahead, new girl. I''ve heard enough sad stories to last a lifetime." Ferris remained seated. "In my... experience, those who claim not to care are often those who care too deeply." Alex''s expression hardened. "Don''t psychoanalyze me, roomie. You don''t know anything about me." "I know a warrior when I see one," Ferris replied simply. For a moment, something flickered behind Alex''s eyes - surprise, perhaps even recognition. Then the mask of cynicism returned. "Warrior? That''s a new one." They snorted. "This place is going to eat you alive, Gabrielle." Ferris met their gaze steadily. "My name is - " He caught himself. "I... prefer Gabby." "Whatever you say, Gabby-who-speaks-like-she-swallowed-a-fortune-cookie." Alex stood, stretching languidly. "Come on. If we don''t join the circle of sharing, they''ll note it in our charts. Can''t have that if you''re planning a prison break." As Ferris followed them to the group, he realized he''d found something unexpected in this strange place: not just a potential ally, but perhaps someone worth fighting for. Someone who, like him, didn''t belong here - a warrior who had forgotten their own strength. First, he would escape this place. Then, he would find out what happened to Gabrielle Harper. And somewhere along the way, he suspected, Alex would stop biding time and start fighting back. Chapter Four: Of the Thirty-Six Stratagems, Retreat is Best The group therapy circle reminded Ferris of punishment circles at the monastery - a ring of the wounded, bound together by shared suffering. Seven patients seated in uncomfortable old dining chairs, all wearing the same loose clothing and rubber-soled socks. Only the socks varied in color; the rest - the hollow gazes, slumped shoulders, and nervous fidgeting - was universal. A woman with short gray hair and kind, patient eyes sat at what seemed to be the head of the circle. "For those who don''t know me, I''m Dr. Winters," she said, her voice gentle but not condescending. "We have a new face today." She nodded toward Ferris. "Would you like to introduce yourself?" All eyes turned to Gabrielle''s body. Ferris felt a surge of unease. In his world, drawing attention meant displaying strength. Here, strength would only mark him as more alien. "Hmm? I''m... Gabby," he said, forcing softness into the voice that still felt wrong in his throat. "Welcome, Gabby," Dr. Winters said. "Group is a safe space. You don''t have to share until you''re ready." Alex, slouched in the chair beside him, snorted almost imperceptibly. Dr. Winters either didn''t notice or chose to ignore it. "We''re talking today about coping mechanisms. Healthy ways to deal with overwhelming emotions." A young man across the circle with a shock of dyed blue hair raised his hand. "I''ve been using that breathing exercise you taught us. Five seconds in, hold for five, out for five. It''s... it''s been helping with the panic attacks." Dr. Winters smiled encouragingly. "That''s excellent, James. Mindful breathing is a powerful tool." Ferris studied the faces in the circle, assessing them as he would potential allies or enemies on a battlefield. James seemed earnest, his eyes clear despite the dark circles beneath them. A young woman with braided hair twisted the hem of her shirt as if trying to strangle it. A middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard stared at the floor, disconnected from the proceedings. "Alex, would you like to share your coping strategies?" Dr. Winters asked, her tone suggesting this was a routine request that rarely received a satisfactory answer. Alex stretched, making a show of considering the question. "Well, Doc, I find that dissociating completely from reality and pretending none of this matters works wonders. Highly recommend." Several patients shifted uncomfortably. Dr. Winters sighed. "Avoidance may feel like protection, Alex, but it''s not healing." "Who says I want to heal?" Alex countered, a sharp edge beneath the casual tone. "Maybe I''m fine with the open wounds." Ferris watched this exchange with growing interest. In the monastery, such defiance would have earned punishment. Here, it seemed tolerated, or even expected. The strategy of the battle was different, but it was a battle nonetheless - one fought with words and willpower rather than fists. "Gabby, do you have any coping strategies you''d like to share?" Dr. Winters asked, shifting focus away from Alex. Ferris hesitated. What would Gabrielle say? What did he know of her methods for survival? Then he remembered the flash of peace he''d felt - her memory of painting, the calm flow of creating. "I find... solace in art," he said carefully. "When I paint, the chaos becomes ordered." Alex gave him a sidelong glance, surprised by the genuine response. Dr. Winters nodded. "Creative expression is excellent. It gives form to feelings that are difficult to articulate." The session continued, patients sharing techniques - some practical, others clearly ineffective. Ferris observed it all, gathering intelligence. These people were warriors too, he realized, though they didn''t know it. Fighting battles within themselves, day after day, with varying degrees of success. And this place¡­ was a monastery courtyard, visiting warriors showing off their techniques. When the circle disbanded, lunch was served - bland food on flimsy trays that bent under minimal pressure. Ferris followed Alex to a corner table, away from the others. "Not bad in there," Alex said, poking at what appeared to be mashed potatoes. "You gave them what they wanted without completely selling out. Smart." Ferris sampled the food, finding it tasteless but adequate. "Knowledge of the enemy''s expectations is the first step to victory. Show a weakness only to draw them into your rhythm, then unleash a flurry of attacks. Ha." Alex snorted. "You seriously always talk like that? Like some kind of... I don''t know, warrior-poet?" Ferris caught himself. "Hn. I have never paid attention to my words." "Right." Alex studied him with renewed interest. "So what''s really going on with you? Because something is definitely off." Ferris considered his options. Deception had never been his strength; direct combat was his preference. But here, directness could be dangerous. Still, he sensed that Alex might be one of the few who would understand - or at least not immediately dismiss him. "If I told you who I really am," Ferris said carefully, "you would think I require more intensive treatment than what is offered here." Alex''s lips quirked upward. "Try me. I''ve heard some wild shit in these places." Before Ferris could respond, a door opened, and Dr. Chen entered the dining area, clipboard in hand. "Gabrielle Harper? Time for your evaluation." Alex rolled their eyes. "The inquisition awaits. Remember what I said - cuz it¡¯s time do that thing you said about rhythm." Ferris nodded slightly, rising to follow Dr. Chen. As he did, Alex shrugged, muttering to themself. ¡°Gabby, huh? Eh... I''ve seen weirder." -=-=-=-=- Dr. Chen''s office was small but less institutional than the rest of the ward. Plants lined the windowsill - real ones, Ferris noted with surprise. Books filled shelves along one wall. A desk occupied one corner, but Dr. Chen led him to two chairs angled toward each other instead. "Please, sit," she said, settling into one chair and indicating the other. Ferris sat, back straight, eyes alert - a warrior''s posture that felt natural to him but probably seemed unusual for Gabrielle. "How are you feeling after your first few hours here?" Dr. Chen asked, pen poised over her clipboard. Do the thing with the rhythm. Alex''s advice echoed in his mind. "Better," Ferris said, softening his posture slightly. "More... grounded." Dr. Chen made a note. "Good. That''s good to hear." She glanced up. "I''d like to talk about what happened Thursday night, Gabrielle. What do you remember?" Ferris knew to tread carefully. He rubbed his chin. "Not much. Everything is... fragmented." "That''s not unusual with trauma," Dr. Chen assured him. "Let''s start with how you were feeling that day. Your roommate said you seemed upset after meeting with Professor Marrow." ¡°Marrow.. that name¡±, Ferris thought. "I don''t recall," he said aloud. "You don''t remember meeting with Professor Marrow about your art project?" Ferris kept his expression neutral despite the surge of interest. "As I said, everything from that day is unclear." Dr. Chen studied him. "Gabrielle, your artwork has always been exceptional, from what Professor Marrow tells me. But recently, she expressed concern about some of your pieces - particularly something called ''The Hollow Frame''?" Ferris''s heart quickened. Another connection. "What about it concerned her?" "I was hoping you might tell me." Dr. Chen''s gaze was penetrating. "Professor Marrow mentioned its ''disturbing imagery'' and ''possible references to self-harm.''" Lies, Ferris thought. Whatever Gabrielle had created in that artwork, it hadn''t been about harming herself. It had threatened Marrow somehow. "Art is¡­ something that depends on one¡¯s own eye," Ferris said carefully. "Sometimes the viewer sees what they fear, not what the artist intended." Dr. Chen''s eyebrows rose slightly. "That''s an interesting perspective." She made another note. "Your roommate also mentioned you''ve been acting differently lately. Using different speech patterns, seeming confused by everyday items." Ferris tensed. "Like, stress affects people differently¡­ or something." he offered, trying to sound less secure. "Indeed it does." Dr. Chen set down her clipboard. "Gabrielle, I want to be direct with you. Your toxicology report showed some concerning irregularities. The medication in your system doesn''t match your prescriptions in type or dosage. Can you explain that?" Someone poisoned me, Ferris wanted to say. But that would only reinforce their belief that Gabrielle was paranoid or delusional. "I can''t," he said instead. Dr. Chen leaned forward. "Did someone give you something? Something not prescribed to you?" For a moment, Ferris wondered if this woman might be an ally after all. But then he remembered the note she''d made earlier: "Paranoid ideation." "No," he said, rubbing the back of Gabrielle¡¯s head. "Perhaps I''m simply misremembering my medication." Dr. Chen sat back, disappointment visible in her expression. "Gabrielle, we can''t help you if you aren''t honest with us." "I understand," Ferris replied, the irony of her statement not lost on him. The rest of the evaluation consisted of standard questions - was he having thoughts of self-harm? (¡°No.¡±) Did he have a plan to hurt himself? (¡°Never.¡±) Did he feel safe returning to campus? (An interesting question, given that someone there had tried to kill Gabrielle.) If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. "I feel safe," Ferris lied smoothly. By the end of the session, Dr. Chen seemed satisfied, if not entirely convinced. "You''re showing good insight, Gabrielle. If this continues, I don''t see why you couldn''t be discharged tomorrow." Victory, Ferris thought. Not the glorious triumph of defeating an enemy in combat, but the quiet success of strategic retreat. "Thank you," he said, rising when she indicated the session was complete. "One more thing," Dr. Chen said as he reached the door. "Professor Marrow asked about visiting you. I told her it might be beneficial. Would you be comfortable with that?" Ferris''s mind raced. Seeing Marrow could provide valuable information, but it would also be dangerous. He wasn''t ready for that confrontation - not yet, not in this weakened state, not without knowing more. "Not today," he said. "Perhaps... tomorrow." Dr. Chen nodded. "I''ll let her know. Rest well, Gabrielle." As Ferris left the office, his mind churned with new information. The artwork, "The Hollow Frame." The toxicology report showing unknown substances. Marrow''s concern about Gabrielle''s "disturbing imagery." The pieces were beginning to align. He found Alex in the common room, watching some moving pictures on the wall-mounted screen with apparent disinterest. "How''d it go with the good doctor?" Alex asked without looking away from the screen. "Productive," Ferris replied, settling into the adjacent chair. "I may be released tomorrow." Now Alex turned to face him. "Impressive. You learn fast." They studied him with renewed curiosity. "So, you were about to tell me who you ''really'' are." Ferris glanced around the room. Other patients were scattered about, some dozing, others engaged in simple activities. None seemed to be paying attention, but he lowered his voice anyway. "My name is Ferris. I am The Iron Thesis," he said quietly. "I am - was - a warrior monk. My soul was torn from my body during battle with a necromancer and placed in this one." He waited for the expected reaction - disbelief, mockery, concern. Instead, Alex simply nodded. "Cool," they said, turning back to the screen. "That explains the weird speech and the confusion about basic stuff." Ferris blinked. "You... believe me?" Alex shrugged. "Does it matter? Either you''re telling the truth, which means reality is way more interesting than I thought, or you''re completely delusional, which means your company is way more interesting than the usual fare around here." They gestured toward the other patients. "Win-win for me." Ferris wasn''t sure whether to be relieved or concerned by this acceptance. "I need to discover what happened to Gabrielle," he said. "Someone tried to kill her. I saw it in a vision as my soul crossed over." "Vision, huh?" Alex muted the screen. "What''d you see?" "This Gabrielle, she¡­ we are connected somehow. She always had a window into my life. My soul. I saw the window, then I saw pills raining down onto a carpet. Someone was pouring them out. Like when the unorthodox sect would kill the northern alliance members but use the swords of the orthodox sect. A provoker tried to blame Gabby for her own¡­ ¡®overdose¡¯." Ferris hesitated, then added, "And I found these bruises on her arm. Someone restrained her, from behind, her frail and weak arms rendering her helpless, likely while administering whatever was in her system." Alex''s expression shifted slightly, interest sharpening. "So you''re saying someone drugged art-girl, then staged a suicide attempt to cover it up?" "Yes." "And you think it has something to do with her professor? The one who tried to visit?" Ferris nodded. "Her name was in my vision. The name Marrow." "Marrow," Alex repeated, testing the sound of it. "Sounds appropriately villain-like." They went quiet for a moment, then asked, "Why would anyone want to kill you? Err, Gabrielle?" "I don''t know yet," Ferris admitted. "But it may involve her artwork - something called ''The Hollow Frame.''" Alex''s eyes widened slightly. "Wait, Gabrielle Harper... Is she the one who did that painting that went viral? The one with all the faceless students trapped in gilded frames?" Now it was Ferris''s turn to be surprised. "You''ve seen it?" "Everyone''s seen it," Alex said. "It was all over social media last month. St. Aldwyn tried to take it down, claiming copyright infringement or some bullshit, but that just made people share it more." They let out a low whistle. "If that''s the girl whose body you''re in... damn. Her art struck a nerve." This was valuable intelligence. "What exactly did the painting show?" Alex''s brow furrowed in concentration. "It was like... a hallway of ornate frames, but inside each one was a student with no face - just blank skin. They were wearing St. Aldwyn''s colors, but the frames had, like, golden chains binding the students inside them. And there was this shadowy figure with a key ring, walking between the frames." "And this upset the faculty? Her mentors?" "Oh yeah. BIG time." Alex leaned closer. "There were rumors it was specifically targeting Professor Marrow''s ''mentorship'' program - this elite art track where she handpicks students for special attention. Everyone knows it''s just free labor for her gallery showings, but nobody can prove it." Ferris absorbed this information. "Gabrielle must have unsheathed a powerful weapon - something that threatened Marrow directly." "And got poisoned for her trouble," Alex concluded. "Hell of a critique." Ferris nodded grimly. "I will find this painting. And whatever else Gabrielle knew." "All of which requires getting out of here," Alex pointed out. "Lucky for you, I''m something of an expert in that department." Ferris studied his new ally. "Hm? Earlier, you said you were considering making this place your permanent address. That the world was going to hell anyway." Something dark flickered across Alex''s face. "Yeah, well. Maybe your little revenge quest sounds more interesting than watching the world burn from a psychiatric ward." They glanced away. "Besides, art-girl deserves justice if someone really did try to off her." Ferris recognized the deflection but didn''t press. "So you''ll aid me in escaping?" "Escape sounds dramatic. Let''s call it ''expedited discharge''." Alex''s grin held a hint of genuine amusement. "Step one: convince Dr. Chen you''re stable and remorseful. Which you''ve apparently already done. Step two: get cleared by the attending physician tomorrow morning. Step three: walk out the front door like a normal person." "Without throwing a punch?" "It¡¯s just that simple." Alex paused. "Though there''s one complication." "Which is?" "Your ride home. Usually they only release you to someone - family member, friend, whoever. Got anyone who can pick you up? Because if not, they might keep you until Monday when the university shuttle runs." Ferris frowned. "I know no one in this world except you." Alex stared at him for a long moment. "You''re really committed to this whole ''warrior from another dimension'' thing, aren''t you?" "It is the truth." "Whatever." Alex sighed dramatically. "Fine. I''ll help you. I''m eligible for a day pass tomorrow anyway. We can say we''re friends, get released together, figure out your art girl mystery." They fixed Ferris with a stern look. "But if we''re doing this, you need to work on sounding less like you wandered off the set of a fantasy movie. People will notice." Ferris nodded. "I will endeavor - " He stopped, corrected himself. "I shall¡­ no. I meant: I¡¯ll try to sound more... normal." "That''s marginally better," Alex said, but there was a hint of amusement in their voice. In fact: I have some, ahh, magic words to teach you. Ones which will cast an illusion to make you seem like a normie.¡± Ferris rubbed Gabrille¡¯s chin. ¡°Hmm¡­ Illusion magic¡­ I see.¡± Alex smirked. ¡°It¡¯s so easy - each is just a word or two. No cap.¡± Ferris¡¯ confusion showed on Gabrielle¡¯s face. ¡°...no cap? You mean - the helmet?¡± ¡°Oh wow. This is going to be harder than I thought.¡± said Alex, taking a deep breath then blowing it out with puffed cheeks. ¡°That ¡®no cap¡¯ is the first one you¡¯ll learn. Try saying it, but it¡¯s a way of, ahh¡­ well it means ¡®no lie¡¯. It means you¡¯re telling the truth. Know what I mean?¡± ¡°Why not just say ¡®I speak the truth¡¯.¡± Alex picked up a water bottle, sprinkling some cold spring water onto their hand and finger tips. ¡°Bad warrior-monk¡± admonished Alex, flicking their fingers at Ferris¡¯ face. Ferris just stood there, unblinking. ¡°Why did you bother attacking me with such a weak attack?¡± "Wowwww¡­. Listen, if you ever try to discount the power of my magic again, you''ll get sprinkled again. I''ll double the amount of sprinkles every time. Got it?" Alex poured a little more water into their palm, readying another attack. "Hm? Is this some kind of modern water-torture technique?" Ferris asked, deadpan. "Worse. It''s called ''being annoying until you cooperate.''" Alex wiggled their wet fingers menacingly. ¡°Hn. Very well. Proceed, Mage Alex.¡± Alex barely held in a laugh. ¡°Okay, try this one. ¡®Being in the hospital sucked, no cap¡¯. Say it.¡± ¡°Being in the hospital... it was sucked. No cap?¡± tried Ferris Alex looked upon Ferris with such pity. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s the weakest I¡¯ve ever heard you. Just talk like your normal self but add ¡°No cap¡±. Like for emphasis.¡± Jaw clenched, Ferris nodded a few times. ¡°Ah. This is confusing. Like, no cap.¡± Alex blinked, their head retracting a bit. ¡°Oh. Not bad. Try this one: I was low-key not expecting that.¡± Ferris parroted it back. ¡°I was low-key not expecting that.¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to get whiplash from the sudden change in how fast you learn, no cap.¡± ¡°What is this, ¡®low key¡¯? Warriors focus chi, or ki, in their dan tian through cultivation.¡± ¡°Gabby¡­¡± said Alex, whose fingers had dried too much to be a threat, dousing their hand then flicking it at Ferris, twice. ¡°You use ¡®low-key¡¯ to make it, like¡­ casual. More familiar. Less formal. A HUGE problem of yours. Use ¡®low-key¡¯ in a sentence. Say something. Go.¡± Ferris was nodding and furrowing his brow. ¡°Hm. Ah. Yes. You use a low-ki attack to pull your punches. Soften the blow. I low-key enjoy this phrase.¡± Alex just gawked at that logical leap. ¡°R¡­right.¡± Rubbing their head, Alex continued. ¡°Just one more. You know ¡®no cap¡¯ is to be more convincing. ¡®Low-key¡¯ is to seem less stiff. So there is one last magic phrase to use as a last resort. When all is lost. You¡¯ll say ¡®I can¡¯t even¡¯.¡± ¡°Hmm? I can¡¯t even what?¡± asked Ferris. ¡°No, that¡¯s it. Just say ¡®I can¡¯t even¡¯.¡± instructed Alex. ¡°Would it be more emphatic if I were to add-¡± ¡°OH MY GOD, I can¡¯t even with you!¡± shouted Alex, in mock exasperation. ¡°Like that. Or it can be a standalone. Ya know what-¡± thought Alex, out loud. ¡°Think of it as an implication. Pretend it¡¯s short for ¡®I can¡¯t even finish this sentence¡¯. Like if you were just that angry, or sad, or frustrated, you¡¯d say ¡®I can¡¯t even¡­¡¯ and trail off. Got it?¡± ¡°Very well. I low-key get it. I can¡¯t even not get it.¡± Ferris looked up for approval, Gabrielle¡¯s sad and tired eyes pleading. ¡°Eh, sure. Close enough. We¡¯ll workshop it later. So we¡¯ve got another problem: We should low-key figure out a cover story for how we know each other. Something believable." "Hm. You were in one of Gabrielle''s classes," Ferris suggested. "Good, but specific. Which one?" Ferris realized he had no idea what classes Gabrielle took. "I don''t know," he admitted. Alex rolled their eyes. "Art History 201. Professor Lewis. Wednesday afternoons. We sit in the back row and make fun of his bow ties." They tilted their head. "What''s your major again?" "I... do not know." "Jesus, you really don''t know anything about her, do you?¡± "I feel sometimes. She liked this phrase, this ''low key''. She used it when painting¡ªI can feel that memory. And she did not like the word ''Marrow''. It freezes her veins like too much yin energy. Even now, saying it makes her body tense." ¡°Hm. She''s probably an art major, so let''s go with that." Alex studied him. "You should probably figure out basic information about yourself before we get out of here. Otherwise, you''re going to raise a lot of red flags." Ferris nodded, acknowledging the wisdom in this advice. "Perhaps you could¡­ ¡®quiz¡¯ me more? Low-key help me prepare?" For a moment, Alex looked surprised by the request. Then, slowly, a genuine smile spread across their face - perhaps the first Ferris had seen. "You know what? Sure. Let''s play ''Who''s That Girl?'' It''s not like I have anything better to do in this place." They sat up straighter. "About your speech: nobody born after 1990 talks like they''re reciting Shakespeare. We¡¯ve been over the three spells you can use. Now you have to fix some of your normal words. More contractions, fewer fancy words." Ferris nodded, focusing intently. This was a new form of training - not for body, but for mind and speech. Infiltration rather than confrontation. "...I''m prepared!" he said, then corrected himself: "I''m¡­ like, ready to learn. More. No cap." Alex''s smile turned into something closer to a smirk. "We''ll see about that, warrior monk. We''ll see." As the afternoon stretched on, Ferris immersed himself in Alex''s crash course on modern speech, behavior, and knowledge. Learning to say "low-key" and "no cap" felt as challenging as mastering new sword forms had once been, but he persevered. Tomorrow, he would leave this place and begin his true mission: uncovering what had happened to Gabrielle Harper, finding "The Hollow Frame," and bringing Professor Marrow to justice. The battle was just beginning. And this time, he would not fight alone.