Thirstfall - Memory of a Returnee-Chapter 19: Chaos Theory

The hunger isn’t just in my stomach. It’s in the marrow.

​I step into the cafeteria, and the wall of noise hits me—hundreds of candidates eating their last meal before the slaughter. The air is heavy with the smell of boiled starch and stale protein wafting from the trash cans.

​It reminds me of the holding cells before a Deep Dive.

​I check the inventory.

[Scales: 55]

​I’m broke, starving, and ticking down.

​I slide a plastic tray along the rail. Behind the glass, a woman with arms like dock ropes and a face carved from granite is ladling gray slop into bowls. Matron Herta. She slams a bowl onto a tray, creating a splash of lukewarm gruel.

​"Next," she barks, not looking up.

​I step forward. I don’t just smile; I drop my shoulders, widening my eyes slightly. The "lost lamb" posture.

​"Morning, Ma’am," I say, keeping my voice soft, cutting through the din of the hall. "I know I’m late, but... is that the Salt-Crust Stew? The smell hit me from the hallway. Reminds me of home."

​Herta pauses. The ladle stops mid-air. She looks up, eyes narrowed, searching for the mockery.

​She finds none. Just a polite, hungry boy.

​"It’s protein mash," she grunts, but the scowl softens by a fraction. "Five Scales."

​"Worth every shard," I say, leaning in. "Look, I had a... rough registration. Tight budget. I’ll take the mash, but do you think I could snag those fish bones you’re clearing out? My grandma used to make broth with them. I just... miss the taste."

​She stares at me. Then at the pile of stripped spines in the waste bin.

​"You want trash, boy?"

​"One man’s trash is another man’s comfort food."

​She snorts, a sound like gravel in a mixer. But she grabs three large spines and tosses them onto my tray. Then, she fills a cup with boiling water from the tea tap and slides a salt packet across the metal counter. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

​"Don’t choke," she mutters. "Five Scales. Water is free."

​"You’re a lifesaver, Herta."

​[Scales: 55 -> 50]

​I pay and walk away before the charm wears off.

​I find a corner table, far from the shivering nervous wrecks discussing their spells.

​Time to cook. The classic OXI Drop.

​I pull out 23 Scales. They glitter on the dirty plastic table.

​I wrap them in a napkin and use the heavy, broken pommel of Eventide to crush them.

*Crunch. Crunch.*

The sound is satisfyingly violent.

​I dump the glowing blue dust into the hot, salty bone water.

​The reaction is immediate. The mixture hisses, bubbling up in a neon-green foam that smells of battery acid.

It looks toxic. It probably is. But in this world, poison is fuel.

​I down it in one gulp.

​It burns going down, a trail of liquid fire that hits my stomach and detonates.

​[OXI: 535 -> 1200 (MAX)]

​My vision sharpens. The lethargy vanishes, replaced by the familiar, electric hum of a full tank. I suppress a shudder.

God, I missed this high.

​I wipe my mouth and scan the room while digging into the protein mash.

​I need to focus. The Labyrinth of Echoes is next.

It’s the Academy’s infamous filter. Reports of students dying before the evaluation even starts aren’t rumors; they’re statistics.

But death leaves a mark.

If I use [Trace], I won’t just see the path. I’ll see where the failures died. And if I know where the ghosts are, I know where the traps are triggered.

​That’s when movement snaps my attention.

​Three tables away, Rhayne is eating.

No... "eating" implies biology. She is demolishing.

​Three trays are stacked in front of her. She tears into a loaf of bread with a ferocity that is entirely wrong for her small frame. She doesn’t chew enough. She swallows chunks whole, and yet, her stomach doesn’t distend.

​The air around her mouth shimmers, distorting the light.

​I watch closely. A piece of meat vanishes into her mouth, but I don’t see her throat move. It’s like dropping a coin into a well that has no bottom.

​A Void Vessel.

​The realization freezes the spoon halfway to my mouth.

​In my last life, the Void Monarch wasn’t born; it simply occurred. A hunger that ate Sector 9.

​I look at the skinny girl wiping grease from her chin.

​"Great," I mutter, stabbing my protein mash. "I just bought lunch for the apocalypse."

​*SCREEEEECH.*

​The loudspeakers scream, cutting through the chatter like a knife.

​"ATTENTION, CANDIDATES. ADMISSION PHASE ONE IS STARTING."

​"REPORT TO THE MAIN COURTYARD. MOVE OR FAIL."

​I stand up, the blue energy buzzing under my skin.

​Full OXI. A map of dead ghosts in my head. And a pet catastrophe waiting to happen.

​"Time to go to school."

​I leave the cafeteria and step into the Main Courtyard.

​It is a lie carved in marble.

​Unlike the gray industrial prison of the lower levels, this place is designed to project divine power.

White stone pillars stretch toward the oceanic ceiling miles above. Manicured hedges of blue-thorn roses line the path. In the center, a massive orator’s platform rises like an altar, draped in the heavy azure and gold banners of the Academy.

​It’s beautiful and I hate it.

​I walk calmly, blending into the back of the crowd. But as I stop near a pillar, the hair on my neck stands up.

​Something is wrong.

I look up at the platform.

​Three men stand there, looking down at us like gods inspecting cattle.

Two are instructors, wearing the formal white robes of the Faculty.

The third one...

​My stomach twists into a hard, cold knot.

​It’s the clerk. The sweating, nervous bureaucrat who took my Shards at the gate. But he isn’t sweating now. He’s standing arrogantly beside the Headmaster, whispering something into the ear of the tall man in the center.

​The Infamous Headmaster Kaelen.

​He doesn’t look like a teacher; he looks like a retired warlord forcing himself into civilization. He wears the pristine, high-collared white silk of the administration, but it sits awkwardly on broad, heavy shoulders that were built for plate armor.

​A jagged, purple scar—the unmistakable track of a Deep-Sea crawler—tears across his left cheek, pulling his mouth into a permanent, cynical sneer. His right eye is human and bored. His left eye is a spinning mana-gem replacement, glowing faint red, analyzing the crowd not as students, but as statistics.

​The clerk points a finger.

Not at the crowd. At me.

​Kaelen’s gem-eye whirs, locking onto my coordinates.

​Acid rises in my throat—a mix of the toxic OXI brew and pure, visceral rage.

I turn my head and spit a glob of bitter saliva onto the pristine white pavement to keep from vomiting.

​They are watching me.

​The Headmaster steps forward. His voice is magically amplified, booming across the courtyard without a microphone.

​"Candidates. I am Headmaster Kaelen. Welcome to Azure Academy."

​Silence falls over the crowd.

​"Usually," Kaelen continues, his voice bored...

"Phase One is the Labyrinth of Echoes. A test of endurance. A test of solitary will to evaluate your Class Placement."

​He pauses. A cruel smile touches his scarred lips.

​"However, this year’s crop is... irregular."

​He gestures to the front row, where Veric stands.

But he isn’t just standing; he is posing. His armor is polished to a mirror sheen, bearing the crest of a Sea Serpent coiled around a Trident.

​"We have the supreme honor of House Azurea gracing our halls a year ahead of schedule," Kaelen says, bowing his head slightly—a gesture of submission that sends a shockwave through the crowd.

​Veric nods, accepting the Headmaster’s submission as his birthright. The students around him step back, giving him a wide berth.

In Azure Prime, you don’t stand too close to the High Nobility unless you want to be burned.

​"And," the Headmaster continues, his tone hardening as his eyes scan the back of the crowd until they lock onto mine.

"We have independent candidates demonstrating... significant financial anomalies."

​The crowd turns. Hundreds of eyes follow his gaze. They land on me.

​I don’t move. I don’t breathe.

​"Such disparities make the Labyrinth obsolete," Kaelen declares. "A maze is too easy for those who rule... and for those who think they can buy their way in."

​My heart stops.

​"Therefore, to properly test this elite potential, the Board has authorized a curriculum shift."

​He raises a hand. The illusion of the beautiful courtyard flickers. The marble floor turns transparent, revealing a chaotic arena of jagged rocks, small forests and water below.

​"The Labyrinth is cancelled."

​A gasp runs through the students.

​"Phase One will be a Team Battle Royale."

​The words hit me like a physical blow.

​"Survival of the fittest is good," the Headmaster’s voice thunders. "But in the Deep, you die alone unless you learn to kill together. Form teams of four. Last five teams standing pass to Class S. You have 2 hours."

​I freeze.

​The noise of the panic around me fades into a dull buzz.

​My plan. The map of the dead I would make to help me. The Trace skill.

All of it.

Useless.

​Trace reveals the past. It reveals bodies that died in static traps. It is worthless in a chaotic brawl against living opponents who change tactics every second.

​I look at my hands. They are shaking. Not from fear, but from the realization of my own stupidity.

​I thought I was being clever.

I thought I was manipulating Veric, saving Rhayne, and playing the "Rich Young Master" to create a cover.

​But I forgot the most basic rule of Time.

​Chaos Theory.

​I didn’t just paint a target on my back. I changed the weight of the entire timeline.

My arrogance didn’t secure my entry. It destroyed the only advantage I had.

​I look up. Veric is looking at me. He is smiling. He has a full team of armored guards around him—House Azurea retainers trained from birth.

I look at Rhayne. She is alone, looking terrified, clutching her stomach.

​And I am standing in the open, with a "useless" broken sword handle, a surfboard tattoo, and zero combat spells.

​"Butterfly effect," I whisper, the taste of failure bitter on my tongue. "You son of a bitch."

​[System Notification: Event Updated.]

[New Objective: SURVIVE.]