Orazhan settled the humming, impossible cube behind his head, nestling into the shade of a particularly well-leafed Qallab tree. The relic, a supposed 'pillow' from Master Vahram, thrummed against his scalp, a low vibration that felt less like comfort and more like a poorly optimized haptic feedback device. “Definitely a placeholder texture,” he mumbled, his eyelids already drooping. “And the collision detection is all over the place. Still, a nap’s a nap.” He was drifting into the sweet oblivion of sleep when a high-pitched, warbling voice sliced through the air. “*Oh, shimmering dawn, through emerald gates, I call the essence, where creation waits!*” Orazhan’s eye twitched open. He lay in the central plaza of the Shimmering Minarets of Yashar, technically in session for Master Vahram’s Advanced Geometric Invocation. Most students were gathered, meticulously arranging themselves in complex sigils on the polished obsidian tiles. Master Vahram himself, ever-smiling, watched from a raised platform, occasionally offering a gentle, almost imperceptible nod. The source of the warbling was a young noble, Lord Kairn, all preening confidence and impeccably tailored robes of azure silk. He stood at the center of a swirling array of glowing lines, his face contorted in an expression of intense, almost painful concentration. Tiny motes of light, no bigger than fireflies, began to flicker around his outstretched hands. “*From the boundless void, a spark I draw, to forge the flame, by ancient, sacred law!*” Kairn’s voice rose, cracking slightly with effort. The fireflies coalesced, slowly, agonizingly, into a single, sputtering candle flame. It flickered weakly, threatening to extinguish itself with every breath of wind. “Observe, class,” Master Vahram murmured, his voice a soft counterpoint to Kairn’s strained theatrics. “Lord Kairn demonstrates the intricate discipline required for a Tier-One Fire Manifestation. The poetic resonance, the precise line alignment… proof of years of dedication.” Orazhan groaned. He’d seen better particle effects from a broken toaster. This was what these elite nobles spent *years* doing? Reciting rhyming couplets for an hour just to summon a glorified matchstick? His head throbbed, not from the relic’s hum, but from the sheer boredom. “This is a cutscene,” Orazhan muttered, his voice barely a whisper, yet loud enough to carry in the suddenly silent courtyard. He’d heard this exact kind of long-winded, unskippable exposition in countless JRPGs. “Who designed this questline? I just want to get to the boss fight.” He made a vague, dismissive hand gesture, as if swatting away an annoying fly, and mumbled, “*Skip cutscene macro, please.*” A ripple ran through the air, not of formal spells, but of pure, unadulterated reality bending. The sputtering candle flame in Kairn’s hand didn’t just grow; it *erupted*. A miniature sun, perfectly spherical and blindingly incandescent, materialized above the noble’s head. Its heat seared the air, charring the obsidian tiles beneath Kairn’s feet, and sending blasts of scorching wind across the plaza. Kairn’s oiled hair frizzled, then caught fire, turning into a crown of crackling embers. His azure robes, once pristine, disintegrated into smoldering ash, revealing a pair of rather un-noble, floral-patterned undergarments. “*Aiyee! My hair! My robes! My… dignity!*” Kairn shrieked, dancing on the burning tiles, a blazing, half-naked spectacle. The students gasped, a collective sound of shock and awe. Tazmeen, ever-vigilant, rested a leather-gloved grip on the pommel of her sword, watching Orazhan with steady reverence. Nidab, already weaving through the terrified crowd, was shouting, “Place your bets! Place your bets on the Flaming Noble! How long till he’s well-done? Odds are steep!” Even Xurash, lurking in a shadowy corner with Orazhan’s clean laundry, whimpered, “Unfathomable… the *macro*… so much power…” Master Vahram, however, remained serene. His smile widened, a hint of genuine amusement in his eyes. “Indeed, Orazhan. An… expedient method. Though perhaps a touch… overscaled for a simple Fire Manifestation.” He paused, allowing the chaos to simmer for a moment before clearing his throat. “However, I believe your… unique casting method is suffering from some rather unfortunate environmental interference. Do you feel that slight tremor, Orazhan? The subtle stutter in the light?” Orazhan, still half-asleep, merely yawned. “Yeah, framerate keeps dropping. It’s like the server’s lagging or something.” He scratched his ear, the humming relic still vibrating against his skull. “Probably some corrupted asset or a glitched collision box.” Vahram nodded sagely, as if Orazhan had just uttered a profound truth. “Precisely! I suspect the issue stems from that primeval foundational pillar in the center of the plaza.” He gestured with an elegant hand towards a colossal, ornate obelisk, intricately carved with runic scripts that shimmered faintly. It was an edifice as old as Qalhat itself, said to anchor the very fabric of reality within the academy. “These age-old monoliths, while powerful, can sometimes become… stagnant. A simple ‘reboot,’ if you will, often resolves such interferences. Perhaps a gentle nudge, just to realign its geometric pathways?” Orazhan blinked slowly, then pushed himself up. “A reboot, huh? Like turning it off and on again?” He stretched, his bones popping. “Alright. Better framerate means better napping. Lead the way.” He sauntered towards the monolith, his bare feet padding softly on the now-scorched obsidian. Tazmeen, her expression a mix of fierce devotion and barely contained awe, moved to flank him. Her hand settled firmly on her sword hilt. Her voice, usually sharp and commanding, softened to a reverent whisper. “Lord Orazhan, your profound meditation is a sight to behold. Fear not, I shall guard your holy trance. Let any fool who dares interrupt your communion with the cosmic energies face the wrath of my blade!” Her eyes, usually steel-grey, held a surprising warmth as they met his. “No one will disturb your sacred work.” Orazhan, completely oblivious to the depth of her devotion or the charged atmosphere, merely grunted. “Uh, thanks, I guess. Just trying to fix the ping.” He reached the base of the colossal shaft, its primeval runes thrumming with silent power. He eyed it critically. “Yep, definitely a glitched collision box. Looks like I can just kick it.” With the casual indifference of someone attempting to dislodge a stubborn pebble, Orazhan lifted his foot. He delivered a soft, almost absent-minded kick to the pillar’s base. It wasn't a powerful strike, more a gentle tap. The humming relic, still propped behind his head, gave a sharp, violent shudder. The world *screamed*. Not with sound, but with an impossible fracturing. The sky, a moment before a brilliant azure, didn’t just darken; it *shattered*. Great, jagged fissures, like veins of black lightning, exploded across the firmament. The light of the miniature sun above Kairn, and indeed the true sun beyond, vanished in a heartbeat. Everything went dark, not the darkness of night, but the absolute, terrifying void of an empty screen. The shards of the sky began to fall, not as physical objects, but as impossible slivers of nothingness, cutting through the air with a terrifying, silent *shink*.

Skipping the Cutscenes