How could a group of rough-and-tumble fighters manage to take care of someone in such a delicate situation? It wasn't exactly a picture of tenderness. They didn't waste time with finesse. One of them grabbed Oliver by the jaw and pried his mouth open with brute force. Another uncorked the bottle, and before he could resist, they poured the thick potion down his throat. Oliver, who had barely survived the exhaustion of his magic, was now being subjected to a near drowning in medicine, coughing and choking as he struggled to breathe.
The group worked like a well-oiled machine, despite their brutish methods. One held his mouth open, four others restrained his flailing limbs, two brought the medicine over, and the last one made sure the liquid was poured straight into his body. They weren't exactly gentle, but they were efficient.
After what felt like an eternity, Oliver finally caught his breath. His chest heaved as he lay on the ground, coughing uncontrollably, the burning sensation in his throat slowly subsiding. He blinked hard, trying to focus, but everything around him felt like a blur.
The Principal approached him, his voice calm but sharp enough to cut through the haze. "That arrow you shot earlier," he said, his words loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, "wasn't just luck, was it?"
Though the Principal's tone was steady, there was a weight to his words that hung in the air. Lesley and Sandra, still visibly shaken, glanced up. They both needed reassurance, silently praying that Oliver had some explanation. Had they underestimated him, or had he really fired that shot recklessly just to win? The thought gnawed at them.
Oliver, still panting and weak, nodded in acknowledgment. His gesture, though small, was enough to ease the tension in the air. No one could truly prove whether he had been lucky or skillful, but it didn't matter. For now, it was enough. Lesley and Sandra exchanged a look of relief, their fears momentarily put to rest.
But why hadn't he said anything to anyone? The answer was simple: why would he reveal something that could be used against him? If anyone else learned his secret, he might lose his edge. And in this game, holding onto any advantage, no matter how small, was crucial. He had no intention of giving that up.
As they started walking again, a small figure suddenly darted out from the shadows. Rosa rushed forward, her eyes wide with concern. "Big brother, are you alright?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Oliver forced a smile, stopping to crouch down to her level. "I'm fine," he said softly, trying to mask his exhaustion. But even as he spoke, he knew he wasn't telling the whole truth. He was far from fine. His body felt like it had been put through a wringer, and every muscle screamed in protest.
What he failed to notice, however, was Rosa's grandfather standing nearby, watching the scene unfold with narrowed eyes. Oliver's body was giving out, and he had completely forgotten that the old man was still standing beside him. The moment he felt consciousness slipping away, he caught a glimpse of Lesley's face, etched with horror. Sandra, Rosa, the surrounding teachers, and even the vice-Principal, they all shared the same expression, one that had started as joy but quickly turned into panic. The vice-Principal, his face twisted with fury, clenched his fists and rushed toward him.
Everything after that was a blur.
---
In his dream, a figure stood on the surface of a still lake, not causing even the slightest ripple. Oliver felt as though his limbs had been stripped from him, though he knew they were still there. He just couldn't move. Not an inch. He couldn't even turn his head to see who was speaking to him.
"You'll see me soon," the voice echoed, faint but haunting. "But don't be too eager. It won't happen right away. It could be a few months, or maybe even a few years. It depends on what you choose."
The figure remained blurry, no matter how hard Oliver squinted. He couldn't make out the details, just a vague silhouette that left him feeling unsettled.
"Rest well," the voice whispered with a light, almost mocking laugh. The figure vanished, dissolving into a mist that floated across the water, leaving Oliver in complete darkness. Slowly, even his thoughts faded into the void.
---
He awoke with a start, rubbing his head, confused and disoriented. The dream felt like something foreign had been shoved into his mind, something he couldn't fully grasp or remember. It left him feeling hollow.
The world outside his window was bathed in the faint glow of starlight, with the moon casting a pale light across the landscape. He glanced down at his body, expecting to see wounds or scars, but there were none. Despite the absence of visible injuries, an overwhelming pain coursed through him, deeper and sharper than anything he had ever felt before, especially in his back.
With great effort, he forced himself to sit up. The physical pain still lingered, but at least the draining effect of his magic depletion was gone. His mind, however, was unusually clear, almost too clear. It felt sharp and awake, buzzing with thoughts he couldn't quiet, making sleep seem like an impossibility.
When someone runs low on magic power, they feel an overwhelming exhaustion, but oddly enough, when magic power is abundant, while the body may still be fatigued, the mind remains wide awake. In fact, for some, magic recovery potions are almost like drinking a cup of strong tea, they revitalize the spirit, but not always in the way you might want.
For someone like Oliver, with his naturally low reserves of magic, that earlier gulp of potion had been like a jolt of energy. His mind was now sharp and alert, even though it was the middle of the night. He wanted to sleep, but his body had other ideas.
"Ugh, I should take a walk," he muttered to himself. Maybe a little stroll would help him wind down. He carefully eased the door shut behind him, tiptoeing so as not to disturb anyone still asleep. His first stop was the notice board, where he squinted at the list of names. Thankfully, his wasn't on there. It seemed like he would get another day off tomorrow.
Wrapping his cloak tighter around himself to ward off the night's chill, Oliver scanned his surroundings, making sure no teachers were lurking. Satisfied that he was alone, he slipped into the shadows of the dark campus.
The lights that occasionally flickered on across the grounds were almost too bright against the quiet night. In the distance, he could hear a few students chatting, their voices a soft murmur in the still air. Not wanting to be seen, Oliver quickly veered off the path, avoiding them.
As he wandered, he spotted a figure in the distance. It looked like the Principal, though his face appeared bruised and swollen. Oliver had to suppress a chuckle at the absurdity of it. The campus was vast, with patches of shadow where even the brightest lights couldn't reach. The cool breeze rustled the treetops and kissed his face, clearing his head even further. Perhaps this midnight walk wasn't the wisest idea, but it felt oddly peaceful.
His thoughts began to drift, and soon he found himself reminiscing. Not about the grim city he had grown up in, but about his childhood, those rare, sweet moments when life was simpler. Back then, before anyone had discovered his magical abilities, he had been just another carefree kid, running through the streets, eating whatever he wanted, and laughing without a care.
He remembered warm summer nights under the moonlight, lounging on a bamboo chair while sipping on secret fruit juice. No one bothered him back then; he was free, just a child with nothing but time. Maybe he could sneak out one day and buy some more of that juice. It was expensive, but the taste was worth it.
Suddenly, he froze. His memories may have been pleasant, but years of experience had honed his instincts. Someone was following him.
Oliver's mind snapped into focus. Without looking back, he scratched his head lazily, pretending to yawn, and continued walking. The sound of footsteps mirrored his, confirming his suspicions. Someone was definitely there, trailing him at a careful distance.
He cursed silently under his breath. He hadn't brought his longbow with him, thinking this walk would be nothing more than a brief distraction.
Step by step, he led the unknown follower back toward the dormitories. The tension in the air was palpable, but he remained calm, his gait steady. Once inside the dormitory, he listened closely, and sure enough, the footsteps stopped. His follower had turned back.
Wasting no time, Oliver rushed to his room, pulled out his longbow, and cracked open the window just enough to survey the area outside. The branches swayed gently in the night breeze, illuminated by the distant glow of campus lights and the pale starlight above. There was no sign of anyone.
But he knew what he had felt. Someone had been there, and it wasn't just his imagination.
Still, he decided to let it go. There was no sense in overthinking it. Whoever it was, they had lost interest, for now.
As he closed the window, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, watching his room with quiet intensity. "It seems he's not as promising as we thought," the figure murmured, their voice low and filled with disappointment. "He's only here to be accepted, to fit in. Let's observe him a little longer."
Inside, Oliver tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The magic still coursing through his veins kept him wide awake, his mind too clear, too sharp. It would be a long night before sleep finally found him.