Inside the painting

Chapter five: inside the painting

As caelum kept drawing, the quill was starting to feeling heavier in his grip now.

Caelum exhaled shakily, steadying his hand as he added the final strokes to the drawing. His fingers were starting to go numb from how long he had been holding the quill, but he refused to stop—

'not yet. Not when im this close, The classroom is almost complete.'

His mind swayed between clarity and exhaustion, the edges of his vision dimming as his willpower bled into the ink. It was an odd sensation, one he was used to after all this time, but caelum still couldn't fully understand it.

And it was even worse this time, the quill took almost everything out of him with just one painting.

He could feel it being drawn from him, slowly, methodically, in a way that left his body heavier with each passing second. His breath was shorter now, his fingers trembling slightly, but he gritted his teeth and kept going.

His gaze swept over the nearly completed drawing, taking in every carefully placed detail. The desks were worn but sturdy, some marked with faint carvings from restless students. The chalkboard stood at the front, a ghostly layer of dust lingering over it, remnants of past lessons. The windows stretched high along the wall, and beyond them, the warm hues of an evening sky bled into the room, casting elongated shadows over the wooden floor.

It looked real.

'Almost too real.' caelum could tell this was beyond the level a human could draw.

The way the light caught the edges of the desks, the way the wooden grain of the floor reflected the glow of the setting sun—it felt like a memory frozen in time. A perfect recreation. A moment that should have been lost, now captured forever in ink.

But it wasn't all perfect.

The seats were empty, No students and No presence.

And most notably for him—no her. His fingers twitched slightly.

He had stopped himself before. Even now, a part of him urged him to add that one missing piece—to place her in that seat by the window, where she had always sat, where she had always turned to him with quiet amusement whenever the teacher droned on for too long.

But he couldn't, maybe he shouldn't.

His mind felt sluggish, drowning in exhaustion, but somewhere deep inside, instinct told him that if he put her on that page, if he defined her with the quill, it wouldn't just be a drawing. And he wasn't ready to face that.

So, with a slow, controlled breath, he focused on the final details instead.

The last stroke of the sunlight spilling across the desks. The subtle scratches on the chalkboard. The faint, almost invisible dust floating in the air, catching the golden light.

His body felt like it was sinking, his limbs heavy, his consciousness slipping—but he wasn't done yet.

'come-on. Just a little more, One last line.'

And with the One last touch—A sharp wave of dizziness slammed into him.

His breath hitched.

The quill slipped from his fingers, rolling across the desk with a soft clatter.

Caelum barely registered the sound before the world tilted, his vision tunneling as exhaustion crashed over him like a breaking wave.

His head hit the desk And everything went dark.

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"Ughh."

"Wh-hat-." A intense pain greeted caelum as he came back to his senses.

The first thing he felt was stillness, Not the comfortable kind but kind that made one scared.

The kind that felt like his body had been pressed into the very fabric of the universe, drained of everything but awareness.

His eyelids were heavy, his limbs numb, his mind sluggish as if it had been dragged through an ocean of ink and left to sink.

He forced himself to breathe, the second thing he felt was cold.

Not the kind that came from the weather, but the kind that came from an empty room, untouched for hours.

Slowly, painfully, he cracked his eyes open. And a light Darkness greeted him.

His brain lagged for a moment, refusing to register what he was seeing—or rather, what he wasn't seeing. The room that had once been filled with the warm glow of his desk lamp was now swallowed in shadow, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city beyond his window.

His gaze drifted sluggishly toward the clock on the wall.

8:00 PM.

"Its already this late, Had i really been out that long?"

His body protested as he shifted, aching as if he had been wrung dry. His head throbbed, a dull, insistent pain sitting just behind his skull.

Slowly, memories began piecing themselves back together.

"Yes the drawing, the painting of the classroom."

Caelum could recall completing the painting before being hit with the willpower drain. The moment his body had finally given in.

He let out a slow breath, dragging a hand over his face.

"I feel like a dead man. Hah."

The fatigue was worse this time. He had always known that larger creations took more out of him, but this… this was different.

This was the most realistic thing he had ever drawn, And the toll had been unlike anything before.

He swallowed, glancing toward the desk.

The book still lay open. And the classroom was there, ink that seemed to contain all colours settled neatly into the page.

It was complete. And now, it was time to test it

With effort, he leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes close for just a moment longer.

"First, i need to get my ass onto the kitchen. Ugh im hungry" he could feel his stomach crying out loud.

With another look at the painting, caelum stood up. He needed to rest to recover and nothing is better than a good meal after hard work.

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The room flickered to life as Caelum switched on the lights.

A low hum filled the air as the old bulb overhead cast a pale, uneven glow across his desk, the ink-stained pages and scattered sketches now fully visible. The light was harsh at first, stabbing at his sleep-heavy eyes, but he didn't care. Anything was better than the suffocating darkness he had woken up to.

With a grunt, he went twords the door, his body still sluggish from the earlier blackout. The floor was cold against his feet as he trudged toward the bathroom, 'Water. I need water.'

flipping the switch as he entered the cold bathroom. Leaning over the sink, he turned the faucet, letting the stream run cold before splashing his face. The sudden chill jolted him awake, sending a sharp shiver down his spine. He inhaled deeply, gripping the sides of the sink, watching droplets trail down his reflection in the mirror.

His hair was a mess. His shirt was wrinkled. His face looked like he had been hit by a truck made of exhaustion.

"What a Stunning i have," he muttered to himself.

Dragging a towel across his face, he ran a hand through his hair, making a half-hearted attempt to tame it before giving up entirely. It wasn't like he had anywhere to be.

Now came the real question, Food.

His stomach grumbled, as if demanding that he finally treat it like a functioning organ instead of an afterthought.

'What to eat hum?'

"Instant noodles? No, i had already abused those enough for one lifetime. Egg toast? Too simple."

Then, his gaze landed on the fridge.

"Fried rice yes that would do."

---

He opened the fridge and started pulling out ingredients.

Eggs. Onion. Leftover rice from two nights ago. Some half-wilted vegetables that were probably still edible.

'Good enough.'

He placed everything on the counter, eyeing the ingredients like they had personally offended him. Cooking wasn't difficult, but it was an effort, and right now, effort was the last thing he wanted to put into anything.

Still, fried rice had a system.

Step one: Heat oil.

Step two: Scramble the eggs.

Step three: Throw everything into the pan and pray for the best.

He cracked an egg into a bowl with practiced ease, whisking it lazily with a fork. The onion followed, chopped in rough, uneven pieces that would have made any professional chef weep.

He turned on the stove, drizzling oil into the pan, and waited for the sizzle.

His mind wandered as he stirred the eggs, letting them cook before sliding them to the side of the pan. He tossed in the onions next, watching as they softened, their sharp scent filling the air.

And then, as expected, his thoughts drifted.

To the classroom frozen in time, captured in ink and memory.

He still felt the effects of it—the heavy weight pressing behind his eyes, the sluggish pull in his limbs. He had gone too far this time, pushed himself to the edge.

Yet, despite the exhaustion, despite the ache sitting in his bones, he couldn't deny it.

He was getting Stronger.

The willpower the quill drained from him was no longer completely overwhelming. It still took its toll, but now, instead of collapsing instantly, he could last just bit longer.

The quill was training him, whether he realized it or not.

He sighed, shaking his head. "Guess I should be grateful it isn't just straight-up killing me," he muttered.

The onions sizzled in response.

He dumped the rice into the pan, mixing it with the eggs and vegetables. The scent of soy sauce and spices filled the air as he stirred everything together, watching the rice darken to a rich, golden brown.

' yea, mostly done.'

He grabbed a plate, scraping the food onto it before setting it aside.

Then, as if guided by pure instinct, he opened the fridge again.His eyes landed on a single, glorious sight.

Beer.

He grabbed a can, popped it open with a satisfying hiss, and poured it into a glass. The golden liquid foamed at the top, bubbles rising to the surface.

---

Caelum carried his plate and beer to the table, sinking into his chair with a content sigh.

The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old wooden floor. The dim lighting cast soft shadows across the room, making everything feel oddly peaceful.

He lifted his fork, scooping a bite of fried rice into his mouth.

"It is… quite good."

Not great, but not terrible. The onions were not burnt, the eggs weren't overcooked, it was food. And right now food was all he needed.

He took a sip of beer, letting the cool bitterness wash over his tongue, 'ah Simple pleasures.'

Caelum pushed his chair back, the wooden legs scraping against the floor as he stood. He stretched his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders to shake off the stiffness. The lingering exhaustion still clung to him, a dull ache at the back of his skull, but at least the meal had settled in his stomach.

Without wasting time, he picked up his plate and glass, making his way to the sink. The cold water rushed over his fingers as he scrubbed away the remnants of fried rice, his mind already shifting back to what he had to do next.

He had rested and had eaten to full, 'time to get back to work. But first—paranoia check.'

He wiped his hands on a towel before heading to the front door. He twisted the knob, making sure it was locked.

Next, the window.

Pulling the curtain aside slightly, he peered out. The street below was mostly empty, lit by flickering streetlights. A few cars passed by in the distance, their headlights cutting through the quiet night. Everything was normal.

Satisfied, he let the curtain fall back into place and returned to his room. The moment he stepped inside, his gaze landed on the painting.

It sat on his desk, propped up at an angle, the dim light casting faint shadows along its edges.

'it looks unsettlingly real.'

He took slow steps toward it, letting his eyes wander over the details. The classroom was captured perfectly, bathed in the warm glow of an evening sunset. Every desk, every chair, every inch of that old, familiar space was rendered as if it had been frozen in time.

Unlike his previous creations, this one hadn't immediately manifested into existence. It hadn't sprung to life the moment he finished it.

Which, now that he thought about it, was probably a good thing.

"Hah." He let out a dry chuckle.

"If the entire classroom suddenly materialized inside my apartment, I'd be looking for a new place to live."

Still, he knew what he had to do next, Taking a deep breath, he reached out.

His fingertips brushed against the surface of the painting, and as soon as he made contact, he poured his willpower into it.

After being knocked out for so long, his energy had fully recovered. Now, it was time to get the fruit of his hardwork.

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As Caelum's fingers pressed against the painting's surface.

At first, it felt like nothing more than dried ink on paper—smooth, slightly grainy beneath his fingertips. But the moment he pushed his willpower into it, the texture changed, The ink rippled.

A pulse traveled through his hand, curling up his arm like cold water slipping beneath his skin. His breath hitched as the sensation deepened, spreading from his fingertips to his chest, his mind stretching in a way he couldn't explain.

Then a strong pull grabed at his consciousness. It felt like a force stronger than gravity yanked at him from all directions. His stomach lurched, his limbs turned weightless, and before he could react, the world around him dissolved.

A horrific Darkness swallowed him whole.

---

'where the hell is this-ugh.' caelum's thoughts felt like being shattered, as he struggled to process what he was seeing.

It was a tunnel—long, endless, stretching into the void. He was moving, but not with his body. His consciousness was being dragged forward, sucked into the abyss.

Flashes of white light flickered along the edges of the tunnel, appearing and vanishing like dying stars. They weren't steady; they pulsed, as if alive.

After what felt like minutes, a white door of light formed ahead of him, a spiraling vortex of white nothingness. The force behind it was overwhelming, dragging him forward with a grip that tightened the more and more.

He had no body here. Only the sheer, gut-wrenching sensation of being pulled apart and pieced back together.

It was as-if time lost meaning. Seconds? Minutes?

Then with a crack.

The void shattered like glass, fractures splintering through the darkness. Each break sent shards of existence scattering around him, revealing slivers of a world beyond.

And just as suddenly as it began It ended.

The pulling sensation stopped and Caelum's weight returned, He felt solid again.

A faint scent of aged wood and chalk dust Hit his nose, his skin felt the lingering warmth of afternoon sunlight.

His fingers twitched, his chest rose and fell.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes. And found himself standing in the middle of a fimilar classroom.

---

"Ha. Hahah, this is"

Caelum breath was slow, measured, as his gaze darted around, taking in the impossible reality before him.

'The desks. The chairs. The chalkboard!' caelum couldn't control his excitement, the things where same as he remembered standing at the front of the room, covered in the faint white streaks of long-erased lessons.

'The windows.' caelum's eyes turned to source of the warm sunlight.

Golden sunlight poured through them, stretching across the floorboards in elongated patterns. The warmth touched his skin, real, tangible, carrying with it the scent of late afternoons spent waiting for the final bell to ring.

It was all there Exactly as he had drawn it. as he had remembered it.

His hands clenched against the desk beneath him, feeling the wood press against his palms. His pulse quickened.

"This isn't just a painting, ha" his hands shaking as he touched the desk

He was inside it. His classroom, it was real.