The early morning hours of Terradays at Solar Springs High School were always shrouded in a hazy, dreamlike mist. Robert found these weekend mornings to be a welcome respite from the busy week, as the cool, fresh air and soft morning light created a sense of calm and tranquility. This was especially true during the summer months, when the sun's heat and brightness could be oppressive and overwhelming. But on these misty mornings, the world seemed to slow down and take a breath.
Robert had just finished his bath and now stood before the modest, cracked mirror hanging on the wall beside his bed. His reflection smiled back at him with a quiet, satisfied confidence. Smoothly, he tugged off the purple towel wrapped around his waist, revealing the snug black underwear he was wearing beneath, then brought the towel up to gently pat his face and damp hair dry. His grin widened slightly as he looked at himself — not out of vanity, but contentment. It was Terraday — first day of the two-day weekend, and by far Robert's favorite.
Around him, the dormitory buzzed with low activity. Some boys were just beginning to stir, groggy and stretching. Others were still in the bathroom, while a few, like Robert, had already bathed and were quietly going about their morning preparations. The usual morning chatter was absent; instead, the dorm was filled with the rustling of clothes, the dull thuds of trunks being opened or closed, and the soft thump of feet moving about the tiled floor.
Robert bent over his trunk and retrieved a small comb, dragging it carefully through his damp hair to set it neatly in place. Then he reached for the casual outfit he'd laid out on the bed — a dark blue sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. The school allowed students to wear casual attire on non-school hours during weekdays and on the two weekend days —Terraday and Novaday, provided it met two conditions: it had to be dark blue and modestly presentable. Robert's choice, just like the rest of the boys, was simple and comfortable and fit the bill perfectly. With practiced ease, he slipped into the outfit and checked himself in the mirror.
"Don't you just love Terradays, Poison?" He asked dreamily, swinging open his trunk again to grab a bowl and a box of cereal to eat. Robert's mind was so fantasy filled that he had totally gotten used the fact that he shared his body with an unusual spiritual entity. He had wholly accepted Poison as part of him, some sort of companion even.
"Nah, that's my worst day of the week, kid," Poison replied with a feigned angry tone. "During my time I had to plough my father's fields with the cows. That was the worst chore ever. Every Terraday morning, I'll just prepare myself for another round of work, and my father would walk into my room with his whip and order me to go to the fields. Damn, I hate Terradays!"
"Another made up story?"
"Possibly."
"You enjoy making up lies don't you?"
"Like I said. I'm charming like that."
Robert breathed a laugh. "Well, welcome to the Prime age where you don't have to plough your farm with a cow," he said.
Suddenly, a familiar voice spoke from the bed beside his. "Speaking to yourself again?"
Robert flinched, startled, and he turned sharply to look behind. His eyes met Dora's.
A sheepish smile crept across his face. "Dora! I didn't see you there. When did you...?"
"Don't try to avoid the question, Robert," she said, her tone accusatory. "I saw you, clear as day, talking to yourself just now."
She got up from the bed and walked around Robert's, coming to a halt right in front of him.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "What they say about you... I thought it was just Jackson trying to defame you because of the whole thing with Vanessa." She trailed off for a moment, studying Robert's expression more closely now. Her voice softened and her face took on a solemn and concerned look as she asked, "Be honest with me, Robert... is it true?"
"Okay, look," Robert began quickly. His mind had already worked out a cover story. "You know how I am. I'm reserved, I keep to myself a lot, and... well, I'll admit it, it gets lonely sometimes. So I sort of imagine I have a pet dog. I imagine conversations with it. It kinda helps me feel less isolated, you know. But yeah, to someone else, I probably just look like I'm mumbling to myself."
Dora's eyes narrowed with confusion. "What does a pet dog have to do with ploughing a farm with a cow? Who does that these days?"
Robert sighed and smacked his lips lightly. "You know what Dora," he said, shifting gears with a calm grin, "Let's forget about that. What are we going to be having for breakfast?" He released the warmest, most disarming smile he could manage—hoping to smooth things over.
Dora held his gaze for a few seconds longer. It was clear from the subtle narrowing of her eyes that she wasn't entirely buying his story. Still, she didn't press it further.
''Chilli and beans," she said simply, almost with a sigh. "Why did I even... you already knew that." Turning around, she added over her shoulder. "I'd better get going before the juniors start clearing out the whole thing. You and your 'dog' are gonna skip this one for sure." And with that, she began walking off at a steady pace.
Robert released a sheepish smirk. "Can't fault me, chilli makes me feel like my insides are under siege. I'm practically allergic," he called after her. "But you enjoy yourself!"
As if on cue, the deep, metallic clang of the school bell echoed through the building, its, heavy, rhythmic toll reverberating through the corridors and across the ground, signaling the start of breakfast. That signal that always stirred movement in every corner of the dorms as students began to stir, stretch, and shuffle down the stairs to the dining hall.
Robert shifted his attention from the students milling about in the dorm — some hurrying back from the bathroom, towels slung over their shoulders — to the window just above the bed next to his. He quietly spooned cereal into his mouth, his gaze following the steady stream of girls making their way from the white building toward the boys' block, their movements slow and unhurried. As he watched, his thoughts drifted.
His mind wandered to Dora. What was she thinking about him now? Did she really believe he was losing his mind? No—she knew him better than that. She was well aware of his overactive imagination, had always accepted it without judgment. The story about the imaginary dog? She would have believed that, no doubt. Dora trusted him, sometimes more than he thought he deserved. And yet… something about the way she looked at him before she walked out lingered in his mind.
That face—calm but edged with something unspoken. He'd seen it before. Dora wore that expression whenever he inadvertently contradicted himself during their occasional debates, and though she only teased him about it afterward, he knew it rubbed her the wrong way. And now, there it was again—except this time, it seemed deeper, heavier.
Wait... was she… disappointed? Had a part of her actually hoped he was truly talking to himself, that there was something more going on beneath the surface? Or worse, had she seen straight through his lie, recognized the dodge in his explanation—and felt hurt that he chose to shut her out instead of opening up? A quiet pang of guilt settled in his chest. Maybe she wasn't just suspicious. Maybe she was feeling left out. Maybe she was angry. Or maybe… she was both.
Robert jolted slightly as he snapped out of his thoughts, suddenly aware that the dorm had gone completely silent—everyone else had already left for the dining hall. As far as he could tell, he was the only one in the dorm. The quietness felt odd but relieving.
Letting out a quiet sigh, Robert spooned the last bit of cereal from his bowl, chewing absentmindedly. He reached under his bed, retrieved the plastic water bottle he always kept there, and gave the bowl a quick rinse before placing it carefully into his trunk.
From beside his pillow, he picked up a novel titled "Bounding Tales" and a literature textbook—both of which he had brought back with him after yesterday's school day, Paunday, the final day of the academic week. With a quiet resolve, he dusted bits of cereal off his shirt, intending to head out to his classroom for a bit of private study.
However, just as he turned to leave, something strange began to happen. Robert's heart nearly stopped as the temperature in the hostel dropped to a bone-chilling level all of a sudden. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as a blast of ice cold air struck him from behind. It was as cold as nothing he could imagine. He whirled around, and to his horror, a hulking humanoid creature made entirely of ice, stood before him, leering with a menacing grin.
The being stood at an intimidating nine feet tall, a few inches from the ceiling. Its massive frame was composed entirely of glistening, whitish, translucent ice. Each of its limbs was as thick as a tree trunk, sculpted with jagged edges and ridges that hinted at immense strength. Atop its shoulders sat a large, rounded mass of ice that formed its head, within which faint, angular shapes suggested the outline of a face—sharp and cold, yet hard to fully discern. The being's presence radiated menace as it hunched slightly forward, peering down at Robert. Its expression, if it could be called that, was hard to discern—somewhere between curiosity and veiled threat.
"Xolomon! It's him! After all this time—how did he find me?" Poison's voice rang out in Robert's mind, heavy with disbelief. "He was the Ghe—I mean, servant... yes, servant of my father, the one I mentioned before. But how? How the heck did he manage to find me?!"
Even though Robert stood frozen, stunned by the sight of the creature before him, he felt his body respond to Poison's urgency. As if compelled by some sort of force, he took two slow, shaky steps backward.
"I really need to fully understand this father-servant-son thing!" He thought back sharply to Poison. His eyes couldn't leave the ice monster's face. Every instinct in him scream to run, hide under the bed, to fall apart — but he didn't.
He was terrified—he truly was—but as he stood there, staring into that immense, frosty visage, a realization dawned on him.
He wasn't as frightened as he thought he should be.
Indeed, the thing was nightmarish, radiating a cold that seeped into his bones, yet here he was, not screaming. Not collapsing in panic.
He was standing. He was breathing. He was thinking.
As the entity loomed before Robert, its freezing presence pressing against him like a forcefield, another fleeting thought crossed his mind, sharp and clear: Poison's stories weren't false after all... at least not the one about this once-was-a-servant being standing before him now.
"Well, well, well," The ice monster began, taking a heavy step forward, one that sent a slight tremor through the dorm. It's voice was deep and otherworldly, almost like Poison's. "So you're the latest in the line of Gabor's descendants who unfortunately got possessed by his Ancestor soul. That's some bad luck you've got there, child. If you're aware of his responsibilities and past messes, you'll find it in your best interest to relinquish him without delay. Gabor you coward! I know you can hear me from within, you let your siblings search for the Ancestor seal while you hide in a child's body? And you, boy, it would be disappointing to see this room in a mess, don't you think?" It swept its thick, large, icy hand at the neatly aligned rows of beds that stretched across the dormitory. Each bed was evenly spaced from the next, and between them sat metal trunks — uniform in size and placement — serving both as a divider and a personal storage.
The elemental leaned in ever so slightly. Robert felt his muscles clench under the raw cold oozing from it. "We shall meet again at dusk," it said to Robert. "Let's see how powerful he has made you."
Then, the ice monster abrupt morphed into a powerful gust of whirling wind that blasted outwards with tremendous force. Robert was hurled through the air like a ragdoll, his body slamming hard against the opposite wall before bouncing off a nearby bed and crashing unceremoniously onto the floor. A thin trail of blood trickle from his forehead, staining his eyebrow. Dazed but undeterred, Robert pushed himself upright, eyes darting around the dorm in search of the creature—but it was gone, as though it had never been there.
With a slight wince, he raised a hand to his head, and as anticipated, the injury was healing rapidly. The torn flesh stitched itself back together, and in a matter of seconds, there was no trace of the wound at all.
"Siblings, Poison?!" Robert burst out, his voice echoing in the empty dorm. "You said you had only a brother! And what does this... this Xolomon creature want with you—and with me?" Robert's voice was heavy with exasperation. He cast a wary glance around the dorm, scanning every corner to be certain no one had been present to witness what had just occurred.
Poison's reply was casual. "Just a small misunderstanding after he died, nothing much."
"Nothing much?! Poison, enough games! Tell me everything you know about that Ancestor soul and this time, I want the truth!" Robert demanded sternly. He just saw a freaking ice monster!
"Remember what I said about being prepared for what's ahead?" Poison asked, "Yeah, that's part of what's ahead."
"Poison!"
"Alright, his name is Xolomon. He was... my father's personal servant's when he was alive. He's now an ancestor-soul, just like me, and he's specialized in Ice magic." Poison began. "Sorry I forgot to tell you that we all specialize in different types of elemental magic during those times, and before you ask, yes, I mean wizards." Robert felt sure he detected a hint of contempt in Poison's tone... as if I was supposed to know that?!
Poison continued. "My magic elemental affinity was and is Earth, and I'm so advanced that I've got perks like increased strength, regeneration and some other minor abilities. My brother was attuned to Fire magic and he too was very advanced. He's got lots of abilities, just like I do, the most fearsome one being the ability to instantaneously smelt his limbs into any weapon he desired, and even though they were crude weapons, they were extremely destructive. He had great power and could throw fireballs and all those stuff about magic your leaders try to hide from you all, but my father's personal servant, Xolomon, was proficient in Ice magic, and he has wide varieties of abilities. I'm guessing the current descendant who's housing his soul is that new kid," Poison paused.
"You mean Oliver?"
"Yes, that one. Remember when his eyes froze back at the classroom?"
"Yeah, yeah," Robert said with realization, "but that Xolomon creature... he said he'd meet me during the night and that scares the guts outta me. Shouldn't we find a way to avoid him?" He chuckled nervously. "I mean, I'm too young to die!"
"I wouldn't advise that. Even if you avoid him, he's still gonna come after you. Knowing Xolomon, we aren't just gonna walk away from this. I say we fight," as Poison spoke, Robert's felt his hands tingling, before suddenly transforming into a huge fist composed entirely of sand.
Robert's eyes widened in alarm. "What the hell is that?!"
"That, my boy, is your manifestation of me," Poison replied, "You see, Ancestor souls remain immaterial till they merge with the bodies of their descendants. If they merge with someone not their bloodline they wouldn't be able to manifest their true strength. If they do not merge at all, they'll exist as mere ghosts, immaterial and invisible. But if we merge with a descendant's body he or she would have the power to transform into a spectacular physical manifestation of the Ancestor soul called an elemental. Too bad you can't use magic else you would be able to access other lots of my abilities." He paused. "Boy, your classmates are returning. Prepare for battle tonight. There's an old score Xolomon and I need to settle."
Understanding dawned on Robert as he stood up and returned to his bed. So that was why his hands were always covered in bits of sand—he had Earth powers! Courtesy of Poison, of course.
"Earth powers?" Poison drawled with the same contemptuous tone. "Who even says that?!"
After breakfast, the boys made their way back to the dorm from the dining hall, while the girls walked towards theirs. Robert observed the boys returning as he wiped the bloodstain off his forehead, receiving menacing scowls from Gerald and Frank as they passed by.
The next second, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Vanessa through the window heading towards the main entrance of the girls hostel with an unmistakably sad and confused expression. At that moment, he knew not what came over him. Every thought of the Ice monster vanished from Robert's mind as he — clearly acting on impulse — tossed the blood-stained cloth he'd been holding into a yellow plastic basket with faded star patterns he kept under his bed—a basket tucked beneath his bed where he usually kept dirty laundry awaiting his two-times-a-week trip to the laundry room.
Without giving reconsideration a thought, he darted out of the dorm and down the stairs, pushing past a stream of the students in their dark-blue casuals, most of whom were returning from the dining hall, their chatter filling the stairwell. Robert weaved through the crowd and emerged from the blue building. Just before Vanessa stepped through the main entrance into the girl's building, Robert caught up to her. He reached out and gently but firmly took hold of her arm, causing her to stop mid-step and turn toward him.
"Hey, Ness, hi. Uh, is everything okay? You look like one of the cooks just scolded you," He remarked with a tone of concern. He was holding her hands, but that moment, as he spotted Dora in the precession of girls approaching from the boy's hostel block, he instinctively let go. Just as he had hoped, Dora walked past without noticing them, engrossed in conversation with the ever-chatty blonde, Hailey.
A strange wave of relief washed over him. Though he and Dora weren't practically dating, their closeness had always carried a quiet, deep, unspoken weight. The thought of her seeing him with Vanessa, especially like this, holding her hands, left him uneasy. Ever since that day Vanessa had compared Jackson to him in front of everyone, Robert had observed a marking change in Dora's gaze towards Vanessa. In fact, just two days ago, Vanessa had passed by while Dora and Robert were sitting together on his bed, chatting. She'd greeted them both, but only Robert had returned the gesture; Dora had stared straight at Robert, making no attempt to acknowledge her.
Now, watching Dora walk through the main entrance with Hailey, Robert felt a sudden clarity—he didn't want to give her another reason to dislike Vanessa, not out of any desire to protect Vanessa, but because he recognized something deeper. Letting that tension build would only lead to complications, and in some way or another, it would inevitably disturb the fragile sense of peace he valued. He knew Dora—knew how deeply she felt things even when she didn't speak of them. And if this resentment toward Vanessa grew unchecked, it wouldn't just be between the two girls. It would spill over, touch him, and strain the quiet bond he shared with Dora—the one that, while never spoken aloud, had always meant more to him than he could easily admit.
Vanessa's voice drew back his attention. "It's nothing, really. I just... I feel a little off. We had chilli and beans, and I don't know, something about it tasted different. Maybe the cooks experimented with a new spice today. Whatever it was, it didn't sit well with me. I've felt kind of strange after eating. Maybe I'm reacting to it somehow... who knows, could be the start of some weird food sensitivity or something," she said, her lovely features scrunched slightly in genuine confusion.
"I know the feeling," Robert said with a sympathetic nod. "Chilli used to mess me up too—used to leave me feeling all sorts of uncomfortable. I just avoid it altogether now."
Vanessa gave a soft laugh, a faint blush tinting her cheeks. "I know," she said. "Since ninth-grade I've never seen you in the dining hall whenever chilli's on the menu."
Robert returned her smile, a touch of warmth in his eyes. "Yeah, well... I've learned my lesson," he said lightly. Then, as if remembering something, he added, "But drinking a lot of water might help. And weirdly enough, chocolate sometimes helps me when I feel off." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bunch of keys. "Here, take mine. I've got some chocolate in my trunk—feel free to help yourself." He handed her the keys with a reassuring nod.
"Thank you, Robert. Very much," Vanessa let out a warm, grateful smile as she accepted the keys. Without hesitation, she leaned in and gave him a quick but surprisingly tight hug—brief, yet filled with a kind of sincerity that lingered. Then, with a playful bounce in her step, she turned and trotted off toward the boys' hostel.
Robert stood there for a moment, blinking, as if trying to process what had just taken place. Oh, now he was sure Vanessa did have feelings for him. That much was obvious. But what surprised him more was the realization creeping in beneath that thought: he had rushed out of his dorm without hesitation, genuinely concerned about her mood. And it wasn't just idle curiosity. He knew himself well enough to recognize that while he was naturally empathetic—always uncomfortable seeing anyone sad, overlooked, or weighed down—this felt different. Deeper. More personal.
Was he starting to care about Vanessa in a way that went beyond simple concern? Could this be the early flicker of something more—a subtle shift from compassion to affection? The question echoed repeatedly in his mind as he turned and headed back to his hostel.
Anyway, allow me to clarify something:
At Solar Springs High School, it wasn't out of the ordinary for students to visit hostels outside their own during the day. It was considered acceptable, even casual, provided everyone returned to their respective dormitories by the nineteenth hour, when evening prep officially began. Spending the night in another hostel wasn't against the rules either—as long as it didn't occur beyond the permitted time.
That Terraday drifted by in a whirl of lively activity—spirited rounds of springball among the juniors, while elsewhere on the broad, sun-warmed school field, clusters of students engaged in tag, line-breakers, and the occasional rowdy bout of catch. Dauvers, dodgers, Sapnik, and a host of other quirky, homegrown games — beloved pastimes unique to the world of Kreete — were played all around the school. The theater pulsed with rehearsals, while canticles floated from the chapel as the vocalites practiced. Students did their laundry, a few had a haircut at the modest booth beside the canteen block run by one of the female teachers, Tricia Spine. Meanwhile, the more studious spent their hours tucked away in classrooms, buried in private lessons and self-directed study.
By nightfall, after the bell marked the end of evening prep, Robert made his way back toward the hostel with trepidation, wary of the ice monster that he was sure might be lurking nearby, watching his every move. Choosing to avoid the well trodden routes and walkways, he took the quieter, barely-frequented path near the school pond—a narrow stretch of open ground often used as a shortcut by students heading to the canteen from the classroom block. Now, under the weight of night, it felt deserted and eerie. No electric light was mounted in this area, and the ones from the grounds beyond barely reached. The path was flanked by neatly-trimmed shrubs that swayed slightly in the soft night breeze.
Robert held his small torch pointed behind him, occasionally swinging it side to side, checking for movements as he walked with small cautious steps. As he passed the pond—its surface like a black mirror reflecting only the shadows of the moonless night—Robert came to an abrupt halt underneath a pink-leafed tree. Something had caught his eye. It was standing a few meters away, just beyond a scattering of wild flowers veiled by the faint shadow of another tree.
There was a figure.
It was faintly illuminated by the kaleidoscopic lights from the canteen block not far away, standing, motionless, like it had been waiting. A wave of cold rippled through Robert's body. His heart gave a heavy thump. A chill crept up his spine. He gripped his torch tighter, barely breathing, eyes locked on the shape ahead.
Must be the ice monster.
To confirm his fears, a gust of the familiar bone-freezing air hit him in the face, and he need not be told that the dreaded time had arrived. Robert braced himself for a sudden appearance and an impromptu attack, but the figure merely took two steps forward and Robert was surprised to see Oliver emerge into the faint light spilling from the grounds beyond, instead of the ice monster he was expecting.
He could end this before it even started!
"Oliver, look, we've got nothing against each other," Robert said immediately, trying to keep his voice steady. "Let's just talk this out."
But Oliver gave no response. He didn't move or flinch. Nothing. For a moment, Robert thought he was frozen, dead... Just an ice-cold standing corpse staring at him. It was extremely terrifying. The sound of the chatter of students in the distance returning to the hostels from the classroom block did little to alleviate the fear he felt.
Robert instinctively began to back away, but at that precise moment, Oliver's lips curled into a faint grin. He exhaled two words, the satisfaction clear in his tone.
"At last."
Then Oliver went rigid.
His body released a soft mist as it began to shift and change. Robert could see it all. Oliver's very flesh was crystalizing and transforming into glacial ice rapidly, and his frame was expanding, stretching taller and broader.
Robert's heart clenched. He stood in terrified bewilderment as he beheld the transformation, his stunned gaze never wavering until the hulking ice monster stood in Oliver's place. In the gloom, the elemental's body reflected the distant lights like jagged black crystal, imposing and menacing. Wisps of pale mist streamed endlessly from its frozen form, curling and drifting like breath from dry ice.
Slowly, deliberately, the ice elemental—Xolomon— began to advance. Each step was heavy and intimidating, sending faint tremors into the ground.
"Poison, this would be the perfect time to do something!" Robert whispered urgently, panic tightening his voice. His eyes remained locked on the approaching elemental, wide with contained panic and unable to look away.
Then without warning, a strange sensation swept through him.
It felt as though millions of microscopic drills were boring out of every cell in his body at once. His skin darkened into a deep, rich brown, then took on a rough, grainy texture. Then it began to morph into raw, dry sand. His body surged upward, muscles bulking and stretching, his frame growing larger. In mere seconds, Robert had become a hulking sand elemental, nine feet tall, every inch as imposing and terrifying as the ice monster before him.
The strangeness of it all left him reeling.
Robert knew he was there—in that hulking body composed entirely of loose, golden-brown sand, glaring at Xolomon, who had now halted his advance. And yet, despite the physical reality before him, Robert felt strangely distant, as though he were no longer fully present. He truly was there but he felt he was only just a consciousness, existing in the background of the mind of another.
Then the fear truly hit him.
He wasn't breathing.
Panic surged violently. He tried to move the massive sandy limbs, to make the body respond, but there was nothing—no connection, no control. The form stood immobile.
Then out of nowhere, Poison's voice resounded in his mind. "Relax kid, I've got the wheel now."
Robert's confusion shifted to sudden understanding. "You're... you're in control. So this is what it feels like for you—when I'm... normal?"
"Exactly. First transformation tends to feel a bit weird, though. You'll get used to it. We'll talk about it later. For now, sit back and watch me handle this."
The two elementals stood locked in place, glaring at one another for a long, charged forty seconds. The silence between them was heavy, oppressive, thick with unspoken violence. It was broken only by distant, mundane sounds—students laughing somewhere far away, the chirping of onacoes and the croaking of ermacks at the bank of the pond.
At last, Poison broke the silence.
"Xolomon," he began, his deep voice steady, calm—yet edged with something unmistakably threatening. "We meet again."
"Indeed we do, Gabor. Indeed we do," Xolomon replied, sounding quite satisfied, as though he had been awaiting this very moment.
"I know why you're here," Poison continued, "I know why you had your descendant enroll in this school. But don't you think this is the worst possible time to dredge up old grudges?"
"Old grudges?" Xolomon asked, his voice full of mock surprise. "I'm not here to settle scores, Gabor. I'm here to make sure you understand the weight of what you did." His voice was thick with restrained fury.
"There are greater matters at stake," Poison rumbled. "And you know it. Once the seal is been found and all this is over, we then can deal with the past."
"Oh, it's always the past," Xolomon shot back. "Everything unfolding now is rooted in it—the seal, the Oldfather, Gidlock, Syncorru… all of it. All of you."
Poison fell quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice had lowered, weighted with resolve. "Xolomon, your presence here would only make things harder than it already is for the both of us. You need to understand this." A brief pause followed. "It's either the feather or the talon."
Xolomon responded with a twisted, loathing grin. Then, slowly, he assumed a fierce posture, one which screamed his intention to throw everything he had at Poison.
Poison exhaled sharply, muttering to himself. "Why do they always choose talon."
The moment the words left his mouth, rocks materialized before him, hovering for a split second before rocketing forward at tremendous speed, straight towards the ice monster.
But Xolomon was no longer there, having transformed into a roaring current of wind, and the rocks zoomed past him. They slammed into a nearby tree with explosive force, splintering it and bringing it crashing heavily to the ground.
"Don't tell me that was your best!" Xolomon jeered as he rematerialized, then he lunged towards Poison. "You've gotten weak, Gabor. I thought I'd have to use spells!" His fist whistled through the air, but Poison managed to dodged it. But to his shock, another ice cold fist collided with his face, sending him flying backward. He (Poison) scrambled to his feet, then charged at his opponent. With a roar, he knocked Xolomon's hand out of the way and delivered a devastating blow to his chest, causing the ice monster to stumble into the pond.
"Argh, now that's something," Xolomon said, the water trickling from his body instantly freezing. In response, the sand monster bellowed a mighty roar. "But I'm not impressed." Xolomon growled, then vanished into the wind.
Poison faded into invisibility, but a second later, a loud thud cut through the air, and he reappeared abruptly, but with an icy hand clasped around his throat, hoisting him off the ground. Xolomon had him firmly in his grasp.
But Poison did not struggle. He made no attempt to fight back. He seemed to understand that continuing the fight would only lead to a full escalation, putting the whole school at risk. Poison was well aware that a full-blown brawl between him and Xolomon could level the school. Buildings could collapse. Students could get hurt... He couldn't let that happen.
"Xolomon, this is futile," Poison thought, the words resonating directly inside the ice monster's mind.
"Oh, I know," Xolomon growled, a frustrated grin carving itself across his frozen face. "And that's the worst part. I won't ever get that satisfaction of watching you die!" His grip tightened, frost creeping higher along Poison's neck. "I'll let you go this time, but I promise you the next time I come after you, I would do everything I can to destroy you... Argh! If only that were possible!"
Cursing with frustration, Xolomon condensed an icicle in his hand and he drove it straight into Poison's chest. A harsh cracking sound echoed as the icicle pierced through him.
"You really thought I was just going to forget what you did?" Xolomon snarled. "You used the seventh-forge fire, and you set it ablaze!"
He yanked the icicle free.
"I was trying to help her, and you as well!" Poison groaned, desperation seeping into his voice.
"Liar!" Xolomon roared angrily. A blast of ice dust shot out from his free hand, surging around Poison's legs and encasing them in thick, solid ice. With a brutal strike, Xolomon shattered them completely. Shards of frozen sand scattered downwards—yet within seconds, Poison's legs reformed, grains multiplying and surging until the large, thick legs had completely regrown.
Xolomon cursed under his breath. "Damned regeneration!" He bellowed. "That ability of yours sure gave your brother and I quite a bit of trouble in the past."
He yanked Poison closer, staring straight into his eyes with pure, seething hatred. "This will never be over."
And with a grunt of effort, Xolomon hurled him skyward, flinging Poison toward the white hostel building with all his strength.
In the next instant, Xolomon dissolved into a rushing gust of wind and vanished. Seconds later later, he rematerialized inside the dormitory, under Oliver's bed, now in Oliver's form. The room was sparsely occupied; many of the senior boys had yet to return. Some students were still at the chapel, praying for the night, their voices a faint murmur in the night air.
Meanwhile, high above the ground, nearly thirty feet in the air, realizing with sudden clarity that he was headed for a devastating crash into the girls' hostel, Poison dispersed his body into a cloud of fine sand, which drifted gently to the ground. There, the sand quickly drew together, reforming into Robert. He straightened quickly and looked around the dark empty stretch around him to get his bearings. He was standing near the center of the playing field, well clear of the hostel and, for the moment, safe. The field was dark, abandoned and silent.
"Well," Robert said tiredly as he started towards the sideline exit. "I'm not going to pretend that wasn't the most terrifying and awesome thing that's ever happened to me."
Poison answered with a low, unenthusiastic rumble, the bare minimum of acknowledgment.
Robert gave a small smile; Now's the time to be serious. "So," he added carefully. "I'm guessing we're not ridding ourselves of that ice monster any time soon, are we?"
"Don't worry about Xolomon," Poison's voice rumbled in his mind, edged with forced confidence. "I'll think of something. You should get some sleep—we'll talk it through in the morning." Even though he tried to sound sure of himself, his tone betrayed a hint of anxiety.
"Yeah, I'm worn out after all that," Robert muttered, stifling a yawn.
"You literally did nothing," Poison retorted calmly.
"Hey, carrying a magical spirit around inside your body is more exhausting than you'd think, especially when it takes over and gets its butt kicked!" Robert snapped as he stepped through the main entrance and began climbing the stairs.
"I let him beat me, kid. Xolomon is consumed by anger and hatred. Fighting him is outright pointless — it would only backfire. People could get hurt. You should understand that."
"Well, he's not gonna stop coming," Robert said as he walked into the senior boys' dorm and headed for his bed. "And I can't live with him hanging around my neck forever..."
His words trailed off as he glanced at Oliver's bed. The boy lay there in his pyjamas beneath a thin, plain brown blanket. He was perfectly still, eyes open and staring at the ceiling with that calm, indifferent, and detached expression he always wore.
Poison's voice drew Robert's attention back to his own bed. "Then we'd better learn to live with it." There was a pause, the unmistakable sense that Poison had more to add, but whatever it was, he chose not to say it.
Robert was already too drained to say anything else. He collapsed onto his bed, and sleep claimed him almost at once.
It might seem reckless—unnatural even—that Robert wasn't taking the threat of Xolomon more seriously. But that had always been his way: downplaying the severity of situations, pushing aside problem so he wouldn't have to dwell on them. It seemed crazy, after all, the ice monster was out to get him, and they were literally passing the night in the same room.
Still, as sleep settled in, one oddly comforting thought drifted through his mind:
Well… if Poison's inside me, I guess I can't technically die. Nothing worth losing sleep over.