Chapter 14 Oliver's Story
Robert walked through the doorway, which was always ajar — except after lights out. Beyond it, the external corridor stretched quiet and empty, a thin breeze threading through. Robert stepped forward, unhurried, and drifted toward the railing. He leaned over and glanced below. It took only a moment for him to spot Bouse already halfway across the grounds, cutting through the distance toward the blue hostel building with that same swift, rigid stride that Robert found intriguing. The teacher seemed to be coming from the classroom block.
"Wonder why he visits the boys first," Poison grumbled, a noticeable tinge of concern in his voice. "And quit leaning like that, what if he sees you up here?"
Robert stepped back from the railing and turned away, his footsteps soft as he made his way down the quiet corridor toward the stairwell.
"Relax, Poison. You worry too much," but as he spoke, something in his palm caught his attention.
It was a small piece of pink paper folded into a neat, tiny square.
Robert realized it was the object Vanessa had pressed into his hand while he was embracing Dora.
"I've got a little trick I just wanna test out," he murmured, more to himself than to Poison as he began unfolding the paper. "You know, I've often pictured pulling something like this on Bouse ever since he made me clean his office in seventh grade."
Poison didn't sound amused. "Robert—"
"After I'm done with him, we'll meet Oliver outside," Robert continued, ignoring the interruption as he carefully unfolded the paper. "I'm starving, and right now, nothing sounds better than a big, greasy skewer of Nekich wings. The kind that drips cassine oil all over your hand."
Robert flattened the paper fully against his palm. There was a short message scribbled on it, and reading it sparked a light chuckle from Robert.
"Kid," Poison's voice came again, firmer this time, "you need to be very careful. You can't just hurl yourself into trouble because you have abilities that can get you out easily. What you're about to do is reckless."
Robert snorted. "Not surprised. Only old people would define fun as hurling yourself into trouble."
"What you're about to do is objectively reckless."
Robert slipped the paper in his pocket. "Funny," he muttered, "you get to use your powers whenever you want, but I don't?"
"I don't misuse them. You're about to."
"I'm not the one who just destroyed a building in a fight."
"I trust you're not too stupid to understand that's an entirely different situation."
Robert's expression dimmed slightly, but he said nothing.
"Kid, listen, instead of entertaining your impulses, we need to focus on finding the seal as soon as possible. Only that matters right now."
"Oh yeah? And how focused are you on that?" Robert retorted.
Silence.
For a moment, the only sound was the faint echo of footsteps from below as Bouse moved farther across the compound.
"Robert listen..."
Robert cut Poison off with an exaggerated groan. "Enough with the lecture!" He whispered as the sound of shoes striking tile drifted up from below. "He's coming up."
The distant creak of the dining hall door echoed upward, followed by the commanding tenor of Bouse's voice as he addressed someone — obviously a student. Robert leaned over the stair rails and strained his ears just enough to catch fragments: a warning about broken plates, punishment being extended through the week.
Typical.
The door shut again.
Then came the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs.
Robert straightened. "Alright," he whispered almost gleefully. "Let's do this."
Robert stepped onto the staircase and began his descent, making sure his footsteps were loud enough to echo.
Below, at the sound of footsteps, Bouse's initial curiosity turned to irritation. Who dared to defy authority so brazenly? His mind immediately turned to Tom and Zarie, and he sneered at the thought of their usual paper-printing excuse. This time, he vowed, they wouldn't be so lucky. He clenched his jaw and quickened his pace.
Robert, meanwhile, continued descending until he arrived at the third landing which opened into the corridor of the lower senior boys' dorm, mostly occupied by tenth graders. The corridor was deserted as well and no noise emanated from behind the walls.
There, on the landing, Robert faded into invisibility.
With silent steps, he continued to descend the stairs carefully. Down ahead, Bouse was already climbing upward moving straight toward the invisible Robert, eyes fixed forward—completely unaware of the boy's presence.
Closer.
Closer.
Robert slowed just enough to time it perfectly.
As they crossed paths on the narrow landing, their shoulders passed within inches—so close that the fabric of their shirts brushed lightly against each other.
A surge of excitement rushed through Robert's head. It felt electric.
Too easy.
Behind him, Bouse continued upward, none the wiser.
"Piece of cake," Robert thought as the teacher continued up the next stairs.
A grin tugged at the corners of his unseen face.
"That was fun," he murmured, the thrill still coursing through him. "How about something a little more daring?" As he finished speaking, a sparse cluster of barely noticeable sand particles began swirling around his palm.
He remained invisible.
"Robert, no!" Poison snapped instantly. "We've talked about this! You can't use my power like it's a toy. Not here, not now, and definitely not on one of your teachers! Do you have any idea what could happen if we're exposed?!"
Robert's smirk deepened. "Oh come on, Poison," he said lightly. "Bouse can't see me. What could possibly go—"
The answer came almost immediately.
Bouse turned around sharply and stared straight at the landing where Robert stood.
Robert nearly choked on his breath.
"Who's there?" The teacher demanded, eyes wide and brows drawn tightly as though something had struck him without warning.
Robert froze. The faint swirl of sand around his palm collapsed away and dispersed.
And the next second, he realized it.
That last sentence hadn't been in his head. Bouse had heard him!
The teacher's eyes swept the landing, searching. He took a cautious step toward the railing, leaning slightly as he peered down the stairwell, then tilted his head to glance upward. Nothing. No movement. No sign of anyone.
Robert stood invisible, barely a few meters away on the lower landing. For one terrifying instant, the teacher seemed to look straight into his unseen eyes. A thin line of invisible sweat traced its way down the bridge of Robert's nose. He knew that he couldn't be seen… yet in that moment, he had never felt so utterly exposed.
After a long, tense moment, Bouse shook his head, as though dismissing a thought. He muttered something under his breath, then turned and resumed his climb up the stairs.
Only when the sound of his footsteps faded into the dormitory did Robert allow himself to breathe again.
With a thought, his form became visible again.
Robert staggered back against the wall as he exhaled another deep, shaky breath. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst through his ribs.
"That was close," he breathed.
Poison let out a scoff—some sort of irritated sound. "You know, I'm starting to reconsider having you be the one to carry out this whole descendant business." His voice was noticably deeper. "At this rate, I might as well transfer to Ereka. I'm certain she'd have some sense."
"Hey, don't talk about my sister. She's only six," Robert retorted, straightening.
"Yes… and yet, when faced with the choice between a teenager who behaves like a six-year-old and an actual six-year-old... even an imbecile would struggle not to favor the latter."
"Poison," Robert cut in sharply, "Oliver is probably already outside waiting for us. If you don't mind..."
He drew in a slow breath to steady himself.
Then his form flickered and vanished again.
Poison growled. "Or we could just elemental-morph..."
Invisible once more, Robert moved down the remaining stairs quickly and out of the building. He crossed the quiet compound, walking briskly toward the massive black gates and savouring the rare tranquility. Ah, Solar Springs had never been this peaceful. Not a single soul in sight. The quiet wrapped around him, stirring a sweet sense of freedom—like he was the only being in the whole wide planet.
As Robert reached the gates, he—literally—danced past Reece, the gatekeeper. The short man froze mid-motion, his cigarette dropping from his lips as he jerked his head around in alarm. His eyes darted wildly over the gravel, his body shrinking back as the sound of footsteps—footsteps with no visible source—scraped against the ground near him.
The gates creaked open just a fraction… then shut again.
Reece flinched. "What in the...?"
And just like that, Robert was outside.
Beyond the school grounds, the road opened toward the main street, quieter but alive in its own way. And there, standing in the middle of it, was Oliver. Waiting.
Unlike Robert, Oliver was no longer putting on the school's casual wear. He stood in a light grey T-shirt with irregular black speckles that hung loosely on his frame, paired with thick black shorts lined with bulging pockets which revealed his thin, pale legs.
"Now that's what I call casual wear," Robert remarked as he became visible again and approached Oliver. "You went all out, huh?"
Up close, he couldn't help himself. The fabric of his shorts looked thicker than normal. He reached out to touch it, but Oliver smacked his hand away in one clean motion.
"Don't touch me," it was just a flat, cold warning, but Oliver's voice made it clear he utterly, seriously meant every word.
"Okay," Robert backed away with a smile. "So, where are we headed?" He asked, rubbing his palm with a crooked grin.
Despite himself, there was a spark in his voice. Sneaking out of school was a novel experience for him. It felt unreal. Wrong, definitely. But also thrilling. Like he'd stepped out of the rules for a moment and into something unpredictable. His chest buzzed with a mix of excitement, nerves, and a strange sense of freedom he couldn't quite explain.
"Greenline market," Oliver replied.
"Alright," Robert said, turning his head to look down the short road. "Are we walking or elemental-mor..." But Oliver had already walked past him without a word.
"Okay, we're walking, then," Robert muttered, falling into step beside him.
They walked in silence for a stretch before turning left at an intersection. The street—in fact the entire town—was as quiet and empty as a ghost town. Robert was all too familiar with Axille's tranquil and desolate nature, having lived in the town all his life.
But for some reason, the silence felt heavier.
Maybe it was because of Oliver. The guy's own silence was a different story. It never failed to leave Robert with a nagging sense of unease; the way Oliver walked, spoke—barely reacted. It always felt like there was something going on beneath the surface. Like he was thinking ten steps ahead… or hiding something. For a moment, Robert even wondered if this was another one of Xolomon's attempts at hurting him. But it didn't seem so.
The silence suddenly felt unbearable.
Robert cleared his throat.
"So Oliver," he began. "I don't mean to pry or anything, but I'm curious... tell me about yourself... what's your story? You know — how you met Xolomon, where you came from... stuff like that."
Robert waited, watching him carefully. Part of him expected nothing. Part of him wondered if the question alone might irritate him.
Oliver glanced sideways at Robert—just briefly—and looked away again. "I suppose it wouldn't do me any harm to tell you," he replied slowly, his tone flat and indifferent, as usual. He kept his eyes fixed on the horizon.
"I've been an orphan for as long as I can remember," he began.
Robert gasped dramatically—for show, of course. He wasn't really surprised. He'd already guessed it. In his experience—well, in books and movies, anyway—it was always one of two things with people like Oliver. Either they were ridiculously rich and insufferably proud… or they were orphans with dark, tragic pasts that explained the whole quiet, brooding thing.
Yup, definitely the second one.
Oliver gave him another brief, measuring glance before looking ahead again.
"Before you ask," he continued, "I should tell you that I've never known who my real parents were. I grew up in an orphanage until I was five. After that, I was adopted by a man... and the woman he lived with." A faint, almost imperceptible hesitation slipped in before he continued. "At first, it felt… perfect. Or close enough to it."
A car drove by, livening up the street for a few seconds before it plunged into silence again as it sped away from sight.
"We lived in the suburbs of Wescon City," Oliver went on. "Nothing extravagant. Just a small house, a small life. They ran a store—fresh farm supplies. It did well. Enough for us to get by comfortably," His tone remained flat, but there was a subtle shift—like he was describing something he'd only ever observed from a distance. "I was... happy."
"Then it changed," Oliver continued, tone still as flat as ever. "Suddenly. Like something snapped."
Robert felt a quiet, almost amused grin tug at his thoughts. Of course it did. It always changed. Suddenly. Like something snapped.
"I was too young to remember all the details but I know my adoptive father, barely two years after I was adopted, decided to go to college, thought there was more to life. Not long after that, the arguments started. It was always loud." His jaw tightened slightly. "And then things… deteriorated."
They turned another corner. The town remained eerily still.
"He stopped coming home at night. And when he did, he was drunk. Always drunk." Oliver's voice hardened, just a fraction. "The man became… unstable. Angry."
Robert's expression shifted, the earlier humor gone.
"He'd hit me sometimes, when I messed up," Oliver said plainly. "Or her to end an argument."
A brief silence followed.
"The woman... well, she wasn't perfect," he added after a moment. "She could be harsh. But… she tried. More than he ever did. She kept the store running on her own. Held things together as best as she could. But he ruined it anyway. One way or another."
Robert frowned, hands slipping into his pockets as he walked.
"I stopped going to school after a while," Oliver continued. "She needed help at the store, so I stayed back. Did what I could." A small pause. "It wasn't much of a life. But it wasn't nothing."
Then Oliver's voice shifted. Subtly—but enough.
"But everything really changed on one Mythraday."
Robert glanced at him.
"It was evening," Oliver said. "My adoptive father had gone out drinking with his friends. He left me at home. Alone. I was starving. I hadn't eaten all day. I didn't dare tell him. And the woman… she'd left for the store before sunrise. She hadn't come back."
"I waited," Oliver continued. "For a long time. Eventually… I couldn't take it anymore."
They passed a row of silent, dilapidated houses.
"So I left. Just for a bit. Went next door—the neighbor's kids were playing with one of those small water slides at the back of their yard." His eyes narrowed slightly, as if replaying it. "I joined them. Played till it was nearly dusk."
For the first time, there was the faintest flicker of something in Oliver's voice.
"Just after the sun had set—the air quickly began to change. It started as a cool breeze, nothing unusual. It had been a hot day. But then... it kept getting colder and the winds became stronger. The slide... the water on it froze and the wind carried it and blew it away right before my eyes. I thought I'd never seen anything more amazing. The other kids ran inside."
Robert's lips curved faintly, already anticipating.
"Well," Oliver said, "that was when—"
"Xolomon," Robert cut in, smiling.
Oliver gave a slight nod. "Yes. That was when he found me, and possessed me."
They walked a few more steps before he continued.
"I went back home just after dusk," he said. "And the moment I stepped through the door—I was welcomed with a hard blow to the face. Sent me straight to the ground. I remember it knocked out two of my lower front teeth."
Robert took a moment to realize they weren't his adult teeth.
"I looked up, and there he was. My adoptive father. Drunk. Eyes bloodshot and furious. He asked me why I left the house without permission. He never cared if I was at home or not. Anyway, he raised his hand again. And then… something happened."
"I changed," Oliver said simply. "In an instant. My body… it wasn't mine anymore. Ice formed—around me, through me. I became something else entirely."
An ice elemental.
"And before I even understood what I was doing… I froze him."
Robert frowned. "You mean—"
"Half to death," Oliver finished calmly.
They walked in silence for a moment.
Then Robert asked, more quietly this time, "What about… her? Your foster mother?"
Oliver didn't answer immediately.
"When it was over," he said at last, "I turned back. I became normal again. But everything felt… unreal. Confusing. Like I was awake and dreaming at the same time. Then I heard something."
"What?" Robert asked.
"A sound," Oliver replied. "Faint. Weak." His voice softened just a fraction. "Like a cat… on the verge of dying."
Robert's chest tightened.
"I followed it," Oliver continued. "To the back. It was dark. Hard to see anything. And then I saw her."
His voice remained controlled—but slower now.
"She was on the floor. Barely moving. A broken bottle… lodged in her belly." He paused. "They'd argued again. And this time… he made sure she wouldn't speak again."
Robert's steps faltered slightly.
"I tried to help," Oliver said. "But I didn't know what to do. I was twelve. I was confused. Weak." His hands clenched faintly. "All I could do was hold her."
A long silence followed.
"She died there," he added. "In my arms."
"And the strange part?" Oliver continued, his voice returning to that same unsettling calm. "I didn't cry."
Robert looked at him.
"I thought I would," Oliver said plainly. "She was the closest thing I had to a mother. But… nothing came." He frowned slightly, as if the memory itself confused him. "It was like something inside me had already shut down. Like my heart had… frozen before the rest of me ever did."
The wind brushed past them faintly.
"So I left," he finished. "I took her purse… and I ran."
He lifted his gaze again, expression unreadable.
"I'm sure the neighbors found him. Thawed him out of the ice." A pause. Then, colder—sharper: "He's probably still alive." Oliver's eyes hardened. "And if I ever see him again, he'll pay for what he did to that woman. He will die."
Robert was silent. Truly, he had no idea what to say. Oliver had told the story so plainly, so simply… that it almost sounded ordinary, but it wasn't. Not one bit.
And yet, the silence itself began to press on him, urging him to say something.
"I'm really sorry you went through all of that," Robert said at last.
"Oh, it's nothing," Oliver barely spared him a glance. "At least he taught me how to play Magoras."
Robert nearly smiled.
"You ever considered... talking to someone?"
Oliver breathed a scoff, his eyes still fixed ahead. "Why? Trauma?" he said. "I'm not one of those soft types the human race seems to be mass-producing these days."
Robert opened his mouth, then closed it again. There really wasn't anything to say to that. And judging by the way Oliver carried himself it didn't seem like he wanted sympathy anyway.
It wasn't until then that Robert realized they had already arrived.
Greenline market.
He slowed slightly, glancing around with mild surprise. That was fast. Time really did have a way of slipping past when your attention was pulled deeply into something.
His gaze wandered across the market, but his thoughts lingered on Oliver's story. Even if Oliver brushed it off like it meant nothing, Robert couldn't shake the feeling that it did. Experiences like that didn't just disappear. Maybe that's why he's like this, Robert thought. Cold. Distant. Like nothing ever gets to him.
The market itself didn't help lighten that thought.
If anything, it deepened the mood. Greenline looked… abandoned.
Not completely empty—but close enough to feel odd. A few stalls stood open, their owners seated or moving about lazily, voices low and scarce. The air carried faint, scattered sounds—muted conversations, the scrape of wood, the distant scuttling of raccoons, rats, and the occasional flicker of movement from two-tailed Arcids weaving between shadows.
But it was nothing like before. Robert remembered this place. Years ago, his mother used to bring him here all the time. Back then, it had been alive—full of chatter, bargaining, laughter, noise. Now… now it felt like a memory that hadn't realized it was already gone.
Axille itself had changed the same way. Once a quiet but steady town within Heissis, it had gradually thinned out over the years. Not crowded, not empty—just balanced. But as Robert grew older, he watched that balance tip. People left. Shops closed. Streets emptied. And somehow, he'd gotten used to it. Even liked it.
The silence, the distance from the chaos of the city—the blaring horns, roaring engines, endless noise—it suited him. It made a place like Solar Springs High feel fitting. Tucked away from everything.
Another thing that suited Robert, like any normal person, was a hearty meal. And in that regard, Solar Springs fell short.
Meat dishes heavy with flavor, thick with spice, cooked properly, generously and unapologetically. That was what he craved.
Like every proper boarding school, Solar Springs stuck to strict, "healthy" meals. The kind that filled your stomach but never quite satisfied your cravings.
Roasted nekiche wings, smoked stroot thighs, or properly spiced cuts of dried, greased golp or beef ribs dripping with the best cooking oil in the whole wide universe; cassine. Those belonged to imagination within school walls. Little more than distant cravings.
Out here, though… that was a different story.
As they moved deeper into the market, the air began to change. The smell hit first. Sizzling meat. Warm bread. Oily vegetables. Spices. Ready-made dishes stacked and steaming. The kind of aroma that wrapped around you and refused to let go.
Robert's stomach reacted instantly. He swallowed, trying—and failing—to hide it. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Oliver do the same. That, more than anything, almost made him laugh.
Among the small number of open stalls, one particular structure stood out. Like an oasis in a desert of scattered, worn-down stalls, this small building seemed like it belonged to a completely different market. Pristine glass doors reflected the muted light, and its neat, structured design gave it the feel of a small supermarket rather than a roadside stall. The only thing marring its appearance was the signage. Just "MO" was left. The rest had clearly succumbed to the passing of time.
Robert and Oliver watched the stall for a moment before exchanging a glance. And just like that—a silent understanding passed between them.
They looked toward the stall again.
A faint smile flickered across Robert's face.