Oswald lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to calm the storm in his chest. The words he had whispered to himself kept repeating like an echo: I'm not like everyone else.
His eyelids grew heavy. For the first time all night, exhaustion crept over him, pulling him down into darkness. But sleep wasn't restful.
It was a nightmare.
He found himself running down endless hallways—his school, but twisted. Shadows crawled along the walls, lockers groaning as if alive. And behind him… her voice.
"Omni!" Lyra's voice cracked like thunder. Her eyes glowed violet in the dark, and the runes of sealing magic burned bright in her hands.
He sprinted, breath sharp in his throat, but the floor stretched endlessly. No matter how fast he ran, her footsteps followed. No matter how many corners he turned, she was there—her face pale, her expression cold.
"You're dangerous," her voice echoed. "You don't belong here. I'll seal you!"
The glowing runes reached for him like chains. Oswald swung his fists, breaking them, but every time he shattered one, two more took its place. His body healed, his strength surged—but it didn't matter. She kept coming.
He finally turned to face her, chest heaving. "I don't know what I am!" he shouted. "I never asked for this!"
Lyra raised her hand, the final seal forming in her palm. "It doesn't matter. You'll destroy everything."
The runes shot forward, wrapping around him—
Oswald jolted awake, gasping for air. His room was dark, silent, familiar. No chains. No glowing runes. Just his reflection in the window, wide-eyed and pale.
He ran a hand through his hair, sweat dripping down his forehead. "It… was just a dream," he whispered. But the weight in his chest told him otherwise.
It hadn't felt like a dream. It had felt like a warning.
Oswald sat upright in his bed, still shaken from the nightmare of Lyra hunting him. His chest throbbed with a dull ache, almost like the phantom weight of the sealing runes still pressing against him.
He pressed a hand to his chest. "Why does it hurt if I heal from everything?" he muttered.
The ache pulsed—deep, sharp. Instinctively, he pressed harder, focusing on the strange rhythm inside himself. And then, something happened.
The pain dissolved beneath his palm, vanishing as if it had never existed. But more than that—he felt it.
A current. A pulse. Something flowing from within him, into his hand, then dispersing into the air like invisible smoke. It wasn't just healing. It was energy. Raw, alien, alive.
His eyes widened. "What… is this?"
The air in the room seemed heavier, charged, as if the world itself had felt that pulse. For a moment, he thought he saw the faintest shimmer of light flicker across his skin. Not magic like Lyra's—something older, deeper. Something he couldn't name.
The ache was gone, but the energy lingered, vibrating in his bones.
Oswald leaned back against the pillow, his breathing uneven. His hand still tingled with warmth. He wanted to stay awake, to understand, but his exhaustion pulled him down harder than ever before.
The last thing he remembered was the hum of that mysterious energy, thrumming softly inside him, like a secret heartbeat that wasn't entirely his own.
Then his eyes closed, and darkness claimed him.