The teacher walked ahead, paying no attention to the strange look on the girl’s face. She was proud she’d managed to show who was really in charge. The rest of the day passed quietly—the teacher ignored Alice sitting at the back of the classroom, Alice ignored the other kids, and the kids forgot about the strange girl at the far end of the room. Life had suddenly become simpler.

  She had been dreading the evening, but—as often happens—what we fear most arrives the fastest. Before she knew it, the sun had set, and Helena served a generous dinner with a cup of fragrant tea. Gregory sat with them, reminiscing about the old days, while Walery recounted some story from his youth. No one paid much attention to the quiet girl. She ate what was given to her, drank her tea, then washed her plate and cup before politely excusing herself, claiming exhaustion after school. No one asked questions. No one suspected that the stories she told about school were nothing like the reality of her life.

  Alice entered the room already in her pajamas. It was empty. Maybe he’d forgotten? Maybe he’d changed his mind? She lay down, wondering if she should wait, but the day’s stress finally caught up with her, and she fell asleep clutching her beloved teddy bear. Her dream took her back to her family home—but it was no gentle memory. She wandered through its rooms, tracing old mementos, drowning in the terrible emptiness. She studied every framed photo until there was nothing left. Then she put on her shoes and walked out. Everything vanished. The darkness that swallowed her was thick, familiar. And then she knew—she wasn’t alone. The Not-a-Doctor had been waiting.

  “Come,” he said, extending his hand.

  They stood in a small forest cave while a snowstorm raged outside. Wind howled, hurling white flurries in every direction. Shivering, the girl curled in on herself. The man smiled faintly and knelt before her.

  “I’ll teach you something now. And you must understand—it’s simple, yet few ever truly grasp it.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  She listened to his melodic voice, fighting the creeping chill.

  “Every world, every thing—everything around you, everything within you—is just particles. Tiny fragments of the universe, too small to see. They form mountains and air. Your body and mine. They weigh almost nothing, yet it takes countless trillions to shape reality. And they never bind permanently. This entire world, all its chaos? Just spinning, swirling particles. Think of them as grains of sand. That’s how you must see them—tiny, malleable, shifting. Learn to move them, and you can reshape everything.”

  “But mountains are heavy, and things don’t change shape so easily,” Alice said, her teeth chattering.

  “True. Mountains are heavy. Things feel solid.”

  The man took her hand, and warmth flooded her veins. Suddenly, sand streamed from their clasped palms. Alice gasped—how? Everything around them was ice and biting wind. The Not-a-Doctor smiled, as though her disbelief amused him, then withdrew his touch. The cold rushed back, gnawing at her skin.

  “Can you lift this?” He poured sand into her palm. “Carry it? Shape it? Why don’t you question this, when it’s just particles?”

  “Because… it’s different.”

  “Because you were taught it’s different.” His voice sharpened. “They told you ‘no,’ and you obeyed. Now I say ‘yes.’ Why do you not believe me?”

  He stood, flinging his arm toward the cave’s mouth. The wind writhed, snowflakes spiraling into lace-like patterns. Alice held her breath. It was magic—or the closest thing to it.

  “Everything’s possible if you will it. Your particles—those universe-grains—shape the world. Energy is just vibration. Control the pieces, and ‘impossible’ crumbles. You need only to want fiercely enough.”

  Alice absorbed his words like sunlight. Could it truly be that simple? Dreams she’d buried now gleamed within reach.

  “Visualize the particles,” he urged. “See them—blue, sluggish with cold. Now command them: vibrate. Redden. Burn.”

  Her mind obeyed. First, coarse sand, then finer, finer—until it was mist, swirling with her every exhale. The cold vanished.

  “It’s working!”

  “Of course.” He smiled. “And it’ll work awake—though harder. Dreams ignore rules. When you fail, find dust at night. Trap it in lamplight. Practice moving it, then move mountains.”

  Darkness swallowed his promise whole.