Chapter 9 to the hospital.
Robert hastily flew out of the teachers lodge. He streaked through the grounds, a loose cluster of fine sand whipping through the open air. Overhead, the sun shone warmly and without restraint, its brightness echoing the carefree rhythm of life thrumming through the school grounds far below.
Everywhere, students were absorbed in their own quiet activity — strolling across the wide lawns, chattering under the shades of trees, lounging around the canteen, buried in books, or stretched out in sleep. Novaday was typically a calm, unhurried weekend. With so many distractions, there was little reason for Robert to be concerned about anyone noticing the cloud of loose sand that he'd become. With the sun out, his form was so unobtrusive and inconspicuous that it was barely noticed by any of the students.
The cluster of fine sand slipped into the senior boys' dormitory through a window, keeping low and drifting along the walls and corners until it reached Oliver's side of the dorm, where the boy lay straight on his bed with his eyes closed. Robert lingered there, on the floor, swaying and twisting subtly.
What, exactly, was he planning to do? He couldn't decide.
Spy on the boy for a while, observe his usual activity for a bit, maybe learn something useful? Or startle him, just to see the reaction that smug composure might crack into? That, at least, would be worth witnessing.
There, on the floor beside Oliver's bed, the swirling sand settled, denser now.
Oliver seemed to have sensed Robert's presence, because his eyes snapped open a few seconds after the sand arrived there. He sat upright and looked down toward the floor on the left side of his bed, fixing his gaze on the small, quietly swirling patch of sand. It was unremarkable in size, easy to overlook—but Oliver knew better. He knew it was Robert.
"Manwell," Oliver said calmly, directly at the patch of sand itself, "You really should be more careful with how you use your ancestor-soul's abilities around here. Otherwise, things are gonna get very unpleasant for you when everyone finds out they're sharing the hostel with a sand monster."
His left foot slid off the bed.
Before Robert could react, he brought the foot down onto the swirling sand in a sharp, deliberate stomp.
The sand scattered outward in recoil, dispersing slightly before drawing back together. Then it slipped swiftly beneath under Oliver's bed where it surged together. A second later, Robert crawled out in his usual form.
"The heck was that for?!" He snapped.
"Just a lesson never to be reckless with your abilities," Oliver replied flatly without looking at him, already leaning back on the mattress. "Makes me wonder what Poison's been teaching you." He stretched out, hands behind his head. "Xolomon wants you here. Wouldn't want you getting expelled before he's finished with you." A faint grin curved his lips.
Robert didn't miss it. The sight only sharpened his irritation. He fixed the other guy with a burning glare, not even knowing what to say or do. He only turned away seconds later when the memory of what had just happened at Mr. Williams's lodge came to mind. Jaws tight, he moved towards his own bed.
"Poison, this is all starting to get a bit too insane for me," he said, flopping down onto his bed. "One minute I'm just a regular student at a boarding school, worrying about classes and routine, and the next I'm some sort of magical teen with a sand spirit inside me, being hunted by a crazy ice maniac and a teacher with a magic ball."
He dragged in a long breath and let it out slowly, his head tilting to the side. "I mean... yeah, I've always daydreamed about what it would be like to live through stuff like that, but this... this is too much."
"I'm sorry, kid," Poison's deep voice rumbled. "This truly isn't how I expected things to be at this point, but I'll say it's a very small price to for the greater good." There was a pause. "And yes, I've not been honest with you from the beginning. About who I am. What I have done. What I can do. And I'm not sorry for that — I have my reasons. However, that goes to show that this whole thing, it's way more serious than it looks now... just please, stop playing around with my... our powers, okay?"
Robert glanced down at his hand, where a few grains of sand had been circling his fingers. He willed them still and they fell away.
"I'll try," he said quietly. "But it's hard not to want to use them, you know?"
"I know," came Poison's gentle reply. "But I have to admit—Oliver is right. It's one thing for everyone to know you can use magic energy and another if they discover you're host to an ancestor-soul. If anyone else learns about me, things are gonna get much harder for us. And I don't mean just in school..."
The school bell erupted into sound at that moment, its deafening clang reverberating through the dorm, abruptly cutting Poison off. The peal sounded multiple times. The sharp and urgent rhythm was unmistakable; every student in Solar Springs recognized it. It called out every single one of the students to quit whatever they were doing and gather in front of the hostel buildings for an announcement from the principal, a member of staff, or a prefect.
With a disgruntled groan, Robert got out of bed and joined the slow-moving stream of students filling out of the dormitory and down the stairs. The stairwell quickly filled, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, everyone clad in their various dark-blue casual attires. The uniformity of colour gave the crowd going down the stairs a drab, almost impersonal appearance — like a single, restlessness living mass inching forward.
"Oh, how I hate the summon bell!" Robert thought bitterly. It was all just standing, waiting, and listening to the principal talk endlessly...
As he got to the final staircase, main door coming into view, something struck him as odd. The movement ahead was irritatingly slow, as though the stairwell itself were clogged—yet the students already at the entrance seemed to be exiting at a normal pace. Probably because the procession wasn't organized or something, Robert thought.
Anyway, with every student gathered in front of the white hostel building, the low hum of chatter gradually subsided as the principal stepped forward. Miriam Carve stood tall before the gathering, donning a stunning, white ceremonial robe that glowed in the sunlight. A few teachers stood behind her, their presence seeming to lend weight to whatever the principal was about to say.
"Students," Carve began, voice clear and utterly firm. Her large glasses caught the light as she swept her gaze across the assembled faces. "I must bring to your immediate attention a serious and alarming incident. Just minutes ago, one of our teachers was the victim of an attack in the staff quarters." She paused, letting the silence stretch. "At present, the identity—or even the nature—of the assailant remains unknown. Preliminary reports suggest… irregular circumstances, unusual in every sense."
A faint whisper passed through the students.
"Because of this incident," Carve continued. "I must once again stress the importance of security and safety within this institution. If something like this can occur within the school, imagine the dangers that exists beyond our walls." She clasped her hands behind her back. "Security measures would be reinforced from now on. Armed security personnels would patrol the school not only at night, but during the day as well."
Murmurs broke out instantly, spreading through the crowd rapidly. Conversations overlapped, speculations flared...
"SILENCE!"
The single word cracked through the air like a whip. The entire vicinity fell dead quiet at once.
The principal resumed. "Once again, I strongly urge all students to remain within school grounds at all times. Leaving the school without explicit authorization will be met with the strictest disciplinary measures. Axille is currently facing a mild crisis, and today's incident may be directly connected to it. Investigations are ongoing, but one fact remains unassailable: the safety of this school—and each of you—is paramount. No student is to... Hey, you!" Carve suddenly called, pointing.
Heads turned in unison, following the line of her arm until they landed squarely on Robert.
"Me?" He asked, glancing around in confusion.
"Yes, Manwell," Carve said crisply. "Remain behind after the announcement. I'll have a word with you."
"Uh... Okay," Robert's voice swept across the quiet crowd, carrying farther than he'd intended. He forced his expression to remain neutral, but his heart was already hammering violently against his ribs. Every eye was on him now—his worst nightmare.
His mind spiralled with the thought of Mr. Williams reporting him, The memory of the apartment, the orb, and everything that had happened there surged forward. If the teacher had told the principal even half the truth—about what happened, about what he could do, about Poison—then this was it. He was finished. Expelled at best. At worst… his life as he knew it was over.
As if to fuel his fears, Robert noticed the other students staring at him with curious expressions he mistook as accusatory. Maybe they could guess he was the one that attacked said teacher.
"As I was saying, safety must be our number one priority. Additionally, I trust you are all aware that the mid-term examinations are coming up next month, barely three weeks from today. These exams form a significant portion of your..." As Carve droned on about the importance of study and hardwork, Robert tuned her out and started a conversation with Poison.
"Poison, do you think Williams reported me?" He thought anxiously.
"I doubt he's that foolish," Poison responded, and hearing that calmed Robert greatly. "Doing so would only ruin whatever he's got going on and judging by what happened at his apartment, I think he's juggling quite a lot." There was a pause, then a teasing addition. "More likely, your principal wants to see you for some other reason. Perhaps to congratulate you on being the most friendless student in school."
Robert almost laughed. "Ugh, friends are overrated, Poison. I'd rather observe people's interactions than be a part of them," he thought back, shifting his weight slightly. "Oh, and Poison, I meant to ask. What the heck was that green ball Williams was holding...? And that vile sensation... wait a second. That's the orb you said used to be attached to your father walking stick!"
"Sceptre, Robert."
"It really is real! At least you didn't lie about that. But why did it stop affecting me all of a sudden?"
Poison replied.
"The Soul Vortex? Well, after I learnt the hard way what it could do, my father taught me a rather simple method to withstand it. He explained that when one is subjected to the pressure of the orb, which like I said, is called the Soul Vortex or 'Mipurob' in the old language — the part of the Soul Sceptre that does the extraction — there exists a way to disrupt its function: By letting go."
"You see, the orb works by locking onto its victim's magic energy. It links to the soul through that connection and tightens it's grip the moment one begins to resist. Then, it begins to draw the soul. Struggle gives the vortex an anchor, something to latch on to. However, if the target quits resisting and willingly channels a wisp—just a fragment—of their magic energy into the orb, something curious happens. The vortex becomes... confused. It interprets the offering as a successful extraction. Why this method works is because the vortex relies not just on the victims magic energy, but their resistance as well. It needs tension—a tether formed by opposition. But if you sever that tension by surrendering a controlled fragment of power, you deny it anything to latch onto. No struggle. No resistance. No anchor. That makes the object 'think' that it has completed its task, immediately triggering its containment sequence—its storage protocols— thereby disengaging from it's target."
He added, "Of course, it only affects beings with magic energy, such as magic beasts and wizards—at least it works properly on them. And it can extract only one soul at a time. After each attempt, it must 'recalibrate,' so to speak, or rather store its 'catch' before subsequently reverting back to 'extraction mode'. That should take several minutes at least."
"We... I managed to escape its effect by using that technique—letting go. I allowed a wisp of my magic energy to flow into it willingly, without resistance, effectively nullifying its hold on us. A remarkable design flaw, wouldn't you say?"
"Yup, pretty neat," Robert muttered. "But if you knew all that, why'd you wait so long to do it? That feeling was extremely horrible."
Poison chuckled. "My dear boy, recalling something learned over three millennia ago is not always immediate. Immortality does not guarantee flawless memory, you know."
Robert scratched behind his ear thoughtfully. "I guess. Well, magic objects sound like those kind of 'complex yet simple' things. And how exactly did you learn the orb's effects 'the hard way'?"
Poison sounded like he was grinning. "Don't worry about that... the details would bore you."
So absorbed was Robert in the silent current of their telepathic exchange that he failed to notice as the other students began dispersing back to the hostels and other parts of the grounds.
Then, faintly and distant at first, he heard his name.
"Manwell."
The sound jerked him out of his mental conversation. He blinked and looked up to see Mrs. Carve striding towards him, accompanied by three teachers: Mr. Williams who was a bit behind the group, Miss Greene, and Mr. Bouse, the physics teacher.
Obbi Bouse was a tall, broad, middle-aged man with a thick beard that framed his stern face and a round physique that always left Robert privately baffled whenever he caught sight of the teacher. How could someone be both tall and so stout at the same time. Bouse had earned a reputation as the strictest teacher in the the school. Discipline seemed to flow through his veins. He always meted punishments like he was born for it. And his voice—a sonorous and thunderous tenor, like that of a god— carried such authority that it could stiffen bodies and command model behavior from students even from across the school.
For the briefest moment, Robert's attention flicked to principal Carve. She carried herself with a composed elegance—tall and poised. Her dark hair caught hints of blue beneath the sunlight. For a woman well into middle age, she retained a striking appearance that blended firmness with an almost refined grace.
But Robert's attention did not linger on her.
As the small precession drew ever closer, his gaze drifted—inevitably—to Greene.
Ah, Miss Eira Greene.
To Robert, she was not merely beautiful; she was, without exaggeration, the most beautiful teacher—scratch that, the most beautiful female—in the entire school, if not the whole wide world. In his mind, there was no debate to be had.
Her short black hair rested just above her shoulders, and it framed her face perfectly. And her fair brown skin... Robert could think of no words to properly describe it. Her eyes held a quiet warmth, not the kind that merely looked at you but the kind that truly saw you. And her face... well, to Robert it was just right.
Her presence gave off some sort of soft, kind vibe that made one feel like they were watched after and that they were safe. And Robert couldn't miss her lips, oh, they had this delicate, natural blush that was mild in the most ideal way. The smile they formed, though usually modest and rarely extravagant, carried a softness that could melt even the devil's heart. She was donning a sleeved purple blouse paired with a simple black skirt.
Ever since the last weeks of Robert's ninth year—when Greene began teaching literature at Solar Springs—even though he had not even been assigned to her class at the time, Robert had always felt his heart skip a beat whenever she paid any form of attention to him, even a simple glance in his direction. It was enough to send his imagination wandering far beyond thresholds he rarely dared acknowledge even to himself.
Sometimes, he entertained even farther thoughts. If he were an adult, he would muse, perhaps he would gather enough courage to confess his admiration—or infatuation—outright and even propose to her on the spot. But alas, he was still a teenage high school student. Even so, he couldn't help but feel a flutter whenever he saw her.
Cough... Dora... Cough.
"Robert Manwell," Mrs. Carve's voice cut cleanly through his thoughts as they approached, "you are to be taken to Heiss General. Immediately."
Robert's expression shifted.
The rumble of the school's blue minibus approaching through the walkway caught his attention as he tried to process what he'd just heard Carve say. As the vehicle pulled up in front of the girls' hostel, before them, the principal walked briskly to it and swung open the door. She stepped aside and gestured for him to get in.
Robert himself looked like he just saw a flying elephant.
"Hospital? But I'm not sick!" he burst out angrily.
Miss Greene's brows creased slightly at Robert's sudden outburst. She knew most of her students well, and Robert had always stood out for his quiet, reserved demeanor. She knew he'd likely avoided attention and interactions wherever possible, never volunteered an answer in class, and barely raised his voice. Infact, now that she thought about it, she really did not know what Robert's voice sounded like until now.
Seeing him so openly agitated had to be disconcerting for her.
Miss Greene took a measured step forward, closing the distance between her and Robert, stopping just a pace away.
"It's okay, Robert. There's no need to be upset," she said, holding his gaze. Her face bore no expression, but there was something deeply reassuring about it. "We just need to make sure you're alright, that's all. Everything will be fine."
Robert stared at her, confusion still clouding his features. Yet as he gazed into her eyes, he felt a wave of calm wash over him. He drew a deep breath and collected his thoughts.
"Teacher..." he said, almost pleadingly, though restrained fury danced behind his eyes. "Why am I being taken to the hospital?"
Miss Greene hesitated slightly. "I don't really know the details," she admitted carefully. "But the principal did mention that your... hallucinations have become quite severe. For the past two weeks, Jackson has been reporting to her constantly about your condition, telling how worried he's been—how difficult it is for him to watch you, his friend, suffer and grow worse by the day. So today, the principal decided it would be best if you see the school's medical officer before your, um... condition gets out of hand."
"That imbecile!" Poison roared furiously.
"But... I'm not suffering," Robert protested. "I don't hallucinate. I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine."
Miss Greene's brow knit emphatically. "You will be."
"But..."
"The principal insists, Robert. Mr. Williams has strongly reinforced her concern. I truly don't think I can persuade her otherwise. It's for your own good, okay?" She offered an apologetic look before stepping away to confer quietly with the other teachers.
Robert's hand curled into a tight fist. He struggled to put it together. What the in the world was going on?!
His gaze was drawn up toward the blue hostel building and there, framed in one window was Oliver. The boy's eyes were solid ice and his lips were twisted into a cruel, satisfied smile. In another window Robert spotted Jackson alongside a few of his friends looking down smugly at him.
Distracting Robert momentarily, Tom and Zarie ambled past with papers stacked high in their arms. As they passed, they tossed the principal a cheerful, "Good afternoon, principal Carve!" while regarding Robert with a curious look as they continued on their way.
Robert paid them no mind.
His attention shifted instead to Mr. Williams, who was standing beside the principal and the other two—Greene and Bouse. He was wearing a cap that cast a shadow across his face, obscuring much of it, but not enough. Robert could see he was looking at him, and could also clearly discern the grin his lips were forming, a grin that made Robert's blood boil.
Then, without warning, a voice crackled inside his mind. Oliver's. "You'll be examined with x-ray. Williams took care of the whole thing. Good luck making it out of there in one piece."
Robert barely allowed himself to ponder the words. His countenance was already ablaze with rage. He clenched his fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He hurled a thought back to Oliver.
"I'll kill you!"
The promise reverberated with conviction. This was just a plot to snuff him out, and somehow Mr. Williams was in on it. Williams wanted him gone now too?
Robert seethed. He wanted to roar, to spring upward to Oliver's window and hurl him down from there, to seize Williams by the head and crush that grin from existence. But he forced calm upon himself. He had to. Loosing control now would only worsen everything.
He took slow, deliberate breaths. And only then did he begin to work out Oliver's words.
He looked ahead. Principal Carve and the other three were waiting and watching him expectantly, the blue minibus idling behind them.
Without another word, Robert walked forward and climbed aboard. The bus had two seats positioned by a window on either side of the central aisle in each four rows. The last row, however, offered a single, undivided seat, which Robert settled in. He almost sighed in relief when he saw that only Miss Greene entered after him. She was the teacher to accompany him.
Outside, behind Bouse and the principal, Williams lifted his hand in a subtle, mocking wave at Robert, as though observing a man already condemned to death. Through the closed side window, Robert met his gaze with a sharp, sandy glare, and then turned away, watching as Miss Greene settled in the seat next to the driver—Crouger, an elderly man with a hearing aid in one ear.
"Poison," he muttered firmly, his anger cooling into sharpened focus. "I don't suppose you know anything about x-rays?"
The engine rumbled to life.
"Kid," Poison said almost dryly, "you insult me. I've roamed Kreete long before you ever drew breath. I may not have taken particular interest in such things, but I've had enough time to observe enough to understand a measure of present-day technology."
"Is that a yes?"
Poison grunted.
"Good," Robert thought, muttering. "Now tell me everything you know about x-rays and how the heck it has anything to do with us."