Chapter 1: The Wrong Welcome Mat

The Gothic spires of Miskatonic University pierced the gray October sky like accusatory fingers, their shadows falling across the cobblestone courtyard where Kaelen Vance stood clutching his acceptance letter. The paper felt heavier than it should, weighted with the impossible opportunity it represented—a full scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in New England, offered to a kid from suburban mediocrity whose biggest achievement had been captain of the chess club.

Too good to be true, Kael thought, adjusting the straps of his worn backpack. The letter had arrived three days after he'd been rejected from his safety schools, appearing in his mailbox like some cosmic joke. No application, no interview, just an offer that seemed to materialize from thin air.

The other students moving across the courtyard looked like they belonged here. Designer luggage, confident strides, conversations peppered with casual references to family connections and European summers. Kael pulled his hoodie tighter and tried to blend into the crowd, his hazel eyes scanning the imposing architecture for any clue about where freshmen were supposed to go.

A clocktower chimed nine times, and panic fluttered in his chest. His first class—something called "Non-Euclidean Geometry"—started in ten minutes, and he still had no idea where Lecture Hall Ω was located. The building names on his map seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them, which was probably just stress playing tricks on his mind.

Breathe, he told himself, rubbing his temples where a familiar pressure was building. Just ask someone.

But everyone seemed to be avoiding eye contact, hurrying past with purpose that suggested they knew exactly where they belonged. Kael felt like an imposter wearing a costume that didn't quite fit, waiting for someone to point and shout that he didn't belong.

Finally, a passing student with multiple piercings and paint-stained fingers took pity on him. "Lecture Hall Ω? That's in the Armitage Building, basement level. You're gonna be late, freshman."

Kael mumbled his thanks and jogged toward what he hoped was the right direction, his sneakers squeaking against the wet stone. The Armitage Building loomed before him like something from a fever dream—all Gothic arches and gargoyles that seemed to track his movement with stone eyes.

The basement was worse. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting dancing shadows that made the walls appear to breathe. The air tasted metallic, like old pennies and electricity. Kael found Lecture Hall Ω at the end of a corridor that felt longer than it should be, the brass nameplate tarnished with age.

He slipped inside just as the clock struck nine-fifteen, hoping to blend in with the other late arrivals. But the room was nearly full, and every head turned to watch him stumble toward an empty seat in the back row. The other students looked... different. Not the preppy New England elite he'd expected, but an eclectic mix that somehow felt more unsettling. A girl with stark white hair and storm-gray eyes sat perfectly still, clutching a leather-bound book. A massive guy built like a linebacker hunched over his desk, his wide-set dark eyes reflecting the lights in an almost inhuman way.

"Ah, Mr. Vance," said the professor from the front of the room. "How punctual."

Kael's blood chilled. He hadn't introduced himself, hadn't even registered yet. How did this man know his name?

Professor Eldridge looked exactly like central casting's idea of an eccentric academic—wild gray hair, thick glasses, and a rumpled tweed jacket that had seen better decades. But his eyes... his eyes were far too young for his weathered face, sharp and calculating in a way that made Kael's skin crawl.

"Today we begin with the fundamental theorem that reality is not what it appears to be," Eldridge announced, turning to the blackboard. "Euclidean geometry assumes that parallel lines never meet. But what happens when we remove that assumption?"

He began drawing shapes that hurt to look at directly—angles that folded in on themselves, lines that curved through dimensions that shouldn't exist. The chalk scraped against the board with a sound like fingernails on glass, and Kael felt something twist in his mind.

This is just math, he tried to tell himself. Advanced mathematics. Nothing more.

But the shapes on the board seemed to pulse with their own malevolent life. The pressure in his head intensified, spreading down his neck like icy fingers. Around him, other students were scribbling notes as if nothing was wrong, but Kael couldn't focus on their words anymore. A high-pitched whine filled his ears, growing louder with each impossible diagram.

"The angles of a triangle need not sum to 180 degrees," Eldridge continued, his voice seeming to come from very far away. "In hyperbolic space, in spherical geometry, in the spaces between spaces where the Old Ones dwell—"

The words hit Kael like a physical blow. The classroom lurched sideways, and suddenly he could see things—flashes of images that couldn't be real. Vast cities of black stone beneath alien stars. Tentacled shapes moving in geometric patterns that made his sanity rebel. Whispers in languages that predated human speech, promising knowledge that would crack his mind like an eggshell.

He gripped the edges of his desk, knuckles white, as the visions intensified. The other students' faces warped and shifted in his peripheral vision, revealing glimpses of what might lurk beneath human skin. The girl with white hair turned to look at him with eyes that held depths of ancient sorrow. The linebacker's shoulders rippled with muscles that moved in ways human anatomy shouldn't allow.

"Mr. Vance?" Professor Eldridge's voice cut through the chaos. "Are you quite alright?"

Kael tried to speak, but only a strangled gasp emerged. The pressure in his skull reached a crescendo, and with a sound like breaking glass, something snapped. The visions stopped abruptly, leaving him gasping and drenched in cold sweat.

Every eye in the classroom was fixed on him now, but not with the judgment he expected. Instead, he saw recognition—and in some cases, sympathy.

Professor Eldridge approached his desk with measured steps, his expression unreadable. "Class dismissed," he announced without turning around. "Please review chapters seven through eleven. Mr. Vance, kindly remain behind."

The other students filed out quietly, but Kael caught the white-haired girl giving him a look of what might have been understanding before she disappeared through the door. The linebacker paused at the threshold, glancing back with something that looked almost like concern before moving on.

When they were alone, Professor Eldridge pulled up a chair and sat down beside Kael's desk. Up close, his too-young eyes held depths that suggested he'd seen things that would drive most people insane.

"Your first episode?" he asked gently.

"Episode of what?" Kael managed, his voice hoarse.

"Psychic awakening. Latent telepathy combined with precognitive flashes, if I'm not mistaken. Quite dramatic, but not uncommon here." Eldridge smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Tell me, Mr. Vance, what did you think Miskatonic University was when you applied?"

"I... I didn't apply. The acceptance letter just appeared in my mailbox."

"Of course it did. We have our ways of finding students with potential." Eldridge stood and walked to the blackboard, where his impossible geometries still writhed in chalk dust. "This isn't just any university, Kaelen. May I call you Kaelen? We're not here to prepare students for mundane careers in accounting or law."

As if to emphasize his point, Eldridge traced one of the geometric figures with his finger, and the air began to shimmer. The wall behind the blackboard wavered like heat mirages, revealing glimpses of something that definitely wasn't another classroom—twisted corridors stretching into darkness that seemed to have physical weight.

"We're here," the professor continued calmly, "to prepare young minds for the defense of reality itself. Welcome to Miskatonic University, Mr. Vance. I do hope you survive your education."

The portal in the wall pulsed once and vanished, leaving only ordinary plaster and paint. But Kael could still feel its presence, like a door that had been opened in his mind and could never quite be closed again.

He stared at the professor, then at the blackboard covered in geometries that his rational mind insisted were impossible, then back at the man who spoke of defending reality as casually as discussing the weather.

"This is insane," Kael whispered.

Professor Eldridge chuckled, a sound devoid of humor. "Sanity is a luxury here, Mr. Vance. I suggest you learn to ration it carefully."

As Kael stumbled from the lecture hall on unsteady legs, one thought echoed through his fractured mind: his quiet life of chess tournaments and academic achievement was over. Whatever Miskatonic University really was, whatever he'd unknowingly signed up for, there would be no going back to the comfortable illusion of a logical, comprehensible world.

The Gothic spires outside seemed to lean in closer now, as if the university itself was watching him with ancient, patient eyes.