Chapter 7: Echoes of a Dream

The yellow school bus rumbled along the unwinding road, its tires crunching over loose gravel and the occasional bumps sent shivers down Orvyn's spine. The air inside was thick with chatter and bursts of laughter, but Orvyn barely cared for any of it. His hands clenched the straps of his blue backpack, hidden within was George, his orange cat, who nestled against his chest, small and warm. Every time a teacher walked past him; his heart pounded so hard he swore they could hear it. But no one noticed. No one ever noticed him.

They arrived in the woodlands, a small forest just by the countryside. The bus hissed as it came to a stop as its doors creaked open to release a stream of chattering students onto the forested campsite, their sneakers thudded against the dirt path. Students stretching their stiff limbs after the long ride. The teachers stood near the front, calling out instructions, but their voices barely cut through the excited murmurs and laughter. With their clipboards in hand, they counted heads, ushering the children toward the clearing where tents and supplies had already been prepared. 

Upon reaching the campsite, the crisp scent of pine and damp earth filled the air. The oak and spruce trees stretched high above. Their canopies swaying with the wind, serving as homes for the countless wild birds whose cheerful chirps blended with the students' humming, forming a harmonious symphony. Relief washed over Orvyn. He had made it. If George was discovered now, he could just say he had found him in the woods. A wild cat. Nothing more.

Orvyn was thrilled. Not only had he escaped the surveillance of the teachers, but he had also snuck in his very best friend. There is nothing that could go wrong in this trip anymore! The boy, keeping his distance, crouched beside his bag and unzipped it just enough for George to peek out. The cat's amber eyes flickered with curiosity before he suddenly leaped from the bag, dashing into the woods. the bag, dashing into the woods.

"George!" Orvyn whispered harshly, his stomach twisting into knots. He darted a glance toward the others... no one had noticed. Without hesitation, he slipped away, deeper into the forest below, his feet crunching over fallen leaves as he pursued his cat deeper into the forest. The towering trees darkened, their branches clawing at the sky. Shadows pooled between the trunks, stretching unnaturally as if they moved on their own. His breaths came faster, the crunching sound below his feet grew louder, a creeping unease gnawing at him—until he saw it.

Just ahead, George stood by a narrow stream, his small pink tongue flicking against the water's surface. His tail flicked lazily, utterly unbothered. Relief flooded Orvyn's chest. His muscles loosened as a quiet chuckle escaped him.

"There you are..." he exhaled, taking a step forward.

The ground trembled.

A vine shot up like a whip. Orvyn couldn't move. His limbs were locked in place; his breath caught in his throat as fear took hold. A sickening wet sound filled the air. George's body dangled from the creature's vine, lifeless. A crimson stain spread beneath him, his small form limp.

Orvyn's breath hitched. Blood dripped onto the ground—onto his shoes.

Something inside him cracked.

His vision blurred, his fingers curled into trembling fists. His chest burned, anger rising like a tidal wave. No. No, no, no. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

And then he saw it.

His right arm raised, glowing an eerie blue. Silver lines surged beneath his skin, pulsing, expanding, writhing like veins of lightning. The world around him dimmed, consumed by the rage. Silver lines conjured from thin air surrounding his arm like a thunderstorm that was yet to come. His grief, his guilt, his unbearable rage—

The storm screamed for release.

And then it did.

A surge of crystalline blue erupted from his arm. Shards of crystals streaked toward the monster, slicing through the air like falling stars. The cave trembled. The force of his fury cracked the ground beneath him. The silver lines on his skin flared, glowing brighter—

Then—

Orvyn jolted awake.

His breath came in ragged gasps. His heart slammed against his ribs, and his fingers still curled as if he had been holding onto something that was never there. He realized that he had been dreaming all this time.

The cavern was silent. Only the faint glow of the crystals illuminated the darkness around him. His gaze fell to his right arm—still tinged with blue, the silver lines still there, humming faintly. But now crystals had started to form on his arm like creeping frost that spread in delicate yet unyielding patterns across his skin. Orvyn sat in the dim glow of the cave, the air humid, his breath was still ragged from the dream. His right arm was still marked by the eerie blue shade. The weight of the dream pressed on him. It was not just the fear, not just the sorrow, but the undeniable truth it had revealed. He was weak. He had always been weak. And in this world, weakness meant loss.

He clenched his fists tight. He wouldn't let it happen.

For the first time ever since he came to this strange world, he has a clear goal. He does not want to just survive anymore, wandering from one uncertain moment to the next, waiting for a miracle to happen. He desired freedom. He needed to escape. However, to do that, he needs to deepen his knowledge of his surroundings. He had to be strong enough to make it happen. Strong enough to face whatever lay ahead. "It doesn't matter what the silver lines are." he thought with frustration on his face, "It only matters how to use it." He couldn't afford to hesitate anymore. His only way forward was through.

It was time to take control of his own fate.