Amidst the fire, lightning, howling winds and destruction, he felt a sense of tranquility. Suddenly, a burst of blue light appeared, and a voice echoed, "I will come again."
——————
Robert ran his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it out and make it look neat and presentable. He took a brief moment to glance down, inspecting his appearance with quiet intent. His face fell on his shoes—he adjusted his stance lightly to ensure they were clean and properly laced—then shifted to his school uniform. He gave a small tug at the hem of his dark-blue checkered shirt, smoothing out any creases and making sure it was neatly tucked in his plain, dark-blue trousers. As he did so, he tried to shake the nagging sense that he'd had a vivid dream the night before, a dream he couldn't remember any details of except a blinding flash of blue light. The dream felt important, like it had some kind of message for him, but he just couldn't put his finger on what it was. The more he tried to remember the dream, the more it slipped away. All he could do now was push it to the back of his mind.
He gave himself a once-over in the cracked mirror mounted on the wall above his bed. His own reflection met his gaze, and for a brief, tense moment, Robert feared his eyes might shift once again into that terrifying mass of swirling sand—just as it had done the day before. But nothing happened. They remained normal. With a quiet breath of relief and no other thought, he turned away and headed out of the dormitory, mentally bracing himself for the day ahead.
He descended the stairwell, passing the corridor that led to the junior boys' dorm, continuing downward to the final landing where the tall double doors of the dining hall's stood to the side like silent sentinels. Without slowing down, Robert pushed through the main entrance and emerged into the open school grounds.
The campus stretched before him in a vibrant display of freshness and colour. Robert's gaze, as usual, was instinctively drawn to the patches of neatly trimmed tormount grasses around the school's central fountain and dotted other parts of the grounds. Of all the common grasses thrived on Kreete, tormount stood out as his favorite. Its rich hue leaned more towards a deep, burnish red than orange, almost regal in appearance. But it wasn't just the color that captivated Robert, it was it was the texture. The grass had a smooth, tough, and almost rubbery feel underfoot. That was what he cherished most about it; it's resistance. One couldn't slide on tormount no matter how hard they tried. Walking across it made always gave Robert a subtle yet empowering sensation—as if the ground beneath him was extremely dense, unshakable, and dependable, and he, by extension, immovable. In the early morning hours, when sunlight first stretched across the school, the tormount grass would catch the light just so, reflecting a faint, metallic glimmer that made the whole lawn seem enchanted.
All around, the school was already abuzz with early activity. Students moved in scattered clusters, their voices rising in cheerful chatter and laughter they mingled with the crisp morning air. Nearly everyone seemed to be headed in the same direction as Robert—towards the classroom block. Backpacks hung lazily over shoulders and uniforms rustled softly in the cool morning breeze.
The beginning of another school day.
On the way, Robert's thoughts drifted to the springball match that had taken place the day before. The event was still on everyone's lips, and his performance was undoubtedly the center of attention. He could feel it in the lingering stares and hushed whispers as he passed, catching the admiration in some of glances, especially from the lower classes. It was the kind of attention he had never truly sought, but now found himself basking in. And he had to admit, it did feel kinda good.
Determined to regain a sense of normalcy, Robert had made a conscious decision to push all the strange events of the previous day—the voice, and everything bizarre that came after it—completely out of his thoughts. He clung to the hope that if he simply stopped acknowledging it, it might all fade away like a bad memory. Perhaps if he embraced the day with optimism, everything would gradually fall back into place.
So far, it seemed to be working. The mysterious voice had not returned, and following the unnerving incident with Jackson in the bathroom, nothing else had happened to unsettle him. That alone brought a quiet wave of relief over Robert, like the world was finally settling down.
A small, contented smile tugged at his lips as he reassured himself, "Today's gonna be completely normal." He took a deep breath, letting the crisp morning air fill his lungs as he continued on his steady pace towards the classroom block. His eyes wandered, casually sweeping across the other students ahead of him, his gaze inevitably lingering on the girls just a few paces ahead, their skirts swaying subtly with each step. He hadn't meant to stare—at least not consciously—but it was just one of those things that caught his attention more naturally than he cared to admit.
Everything felt light... almost normal again.
Nothing could possibly ruin this morning, unless...
Just as Robert's mind began to focus on more familiar thoughts—his home not too far away, his mother's soft voice and how deeply he missed it, and that homework on world government he hadn't quite finished—the voice returned, and to Robert, it was like a bomb detonating inside his head. It wasn't merely sound or thought; it was force, presence—undeniable and consuming. For the briefest moment, Robert didn't just hear it... he felt it. This wasn't just some strange echo in his mind, this was something—or someone—inside him.
It was as though the voice or presence—whatever it truly was—had been crouched in some shadowy corner of his mind, watching. Waiting. Observing everything through his own senses. And now, just when Robert had begun to forget everything, piecing together a fragile illusion of normalcy, it struck. The voice rumbled through his consciousness with unnerving authority, "Hey child... why aren't you listening to me?"
Robert, shuddered, though the subtle tremor was unnoticed by the students around him. He clenched his fists by his sides and forced himself to maintain a calm exterior, struggling against the sudden the sudden surge of fear and confusion that threatened to take over. His chest tightened, his heartbeat quickened, but outwardly, he held it together.
With a low, tensed voice, he muttered through gritted teeth, "What the heck are you and what are you doing in my head?!"
"I'm Poi..."
Robert jerked slightly as Vanessa suddenly grabbed his hand. "Hi," she greeted with a mix of warmth and urgency, looking keenly into his brown eyes. "Robert, tell me what they say about you isn't true."
Robert's initial intention upon recognizing Vanessa had been to ask why she had publicly compared him to Jackson two days prior, which, to anyone with the slightest bit of intuition, was basically screaming that she harbored strong feelings for Robert, and would rather spend life and death with him than half a semester with Jackson.
Robert and Vanessa were the kind of classmates who belonged entirely to different social circles but knew each other fairly well. They were barely friends, Robert thought. In his mind, she belonged more to the 'coincidental acquaintance' category than anything else—someone he knew not by choice or effort, but by the simple fact that they were classmates. These thoughts were about to pour out of Robert's mouth in a flurry of questions, but his brows drew together slightly and he asked instead, "What's being said about me?"
"Didn't you read The Tazers this morning?"
"I don't read that stuff anymore. No one should. Why does principal Carve still let Tom and Zarie to print those things anyway? Newspapers are ancient."
Vanessa shot him an exasperated glare. "You say that like we're allowed to have phones and computers in school, Robert. Their paper is pretty much the only real source of information we have around here." Then, teasingly, she added. "Plus, The Tazers is actually kind of entertaining."
Robert gave a dry chuckle and muttered, "Oh, absolutely."
"Anyway, according to this morning's paper..." her voice dropped to a whisper, "you supposedly hear voices and talk to yourself, you know... hallucination. It wasn't stated outright, as usual—wouldn't wanna get on Carve's bad side. And, I also heard that you were mumbling to yourself right before you yelped and collapsed on the field yesterday."
She paused, then added gently, "Jackson and his friends have been telling everyone that you're a retard and a drug addict, and that your amazing performance yesterday was because you were juiced up on steroids or something. But... that's not true, right?"
Robert's jaw tightened and his fists curled at his sides before he even realized it. A wave of frustration washed over him, heavy and hot. He had genuinely expected—no, hoped—that no one had picked up on the effects the voice had on his behavior yesterday.
He also certainly hasn't expect it to spiral into a rumors and spread to wide and fast that it had found it's way into the Tazers. And Jackson... that smug, self-absorbed idiot. How low could someone stoop?!
Robert took a moment to replay the glances he'd been drawing from the other students earlier. Had those glances been out of admiration—recognizing him as the standout springball player of the year? Or had it been something else? Curiosity, perhaps wondering how someone so mild-mannered would suddenly be rumoured 'doing drugs' and 'hallucinating'? Or maybe it was caution... unease. Did their looks have a trace of wariness.
The most frustrating thing was that he wasn't actually talking to himself, but to a god-damned, maddening voice in his head! But he couldn't tell Vanessa about it—not without sounding like a crazy person.
No, he had to stay quiet for now. He had to figure out what the voice was, what it wanted and how it tied to every strange thing that had been happening to him. Only then could he begin to make anyone understand.
Robert promptly noticed that Vanessa was awaiting a response, "Vanessa, I've got a lot going on right now..." he trailed off, suddenly sensing something unusual. At that moment, a silver-haired boy strode past them. He wore casual clothing and was pulling a suitcase behind him as he headed towards the hostel building. His mere presence evoked an uneasy feeling in Robert, fleeting as it was, as though the exuded some sort of danger.
Vanessa followed Robert's gaze, noticing his fascination with the silver-haired boy. "That's the new student," she commented, "still enrolling. The girls are already swooning over him."
Robert's eyes lingered on the boy for a moment before he forced himself to look away, muttering a distracted, "Oh..."
After asking if he was alright and inviting him to study with her in the laboratory during the evening prep the next day, Vanessa's gave a quick smile and hurried ahead towards the classroom block. Within moments, she disappeared into the crowd of students. Robert continued on slowly.
Now alone once more, his thoughts grew heavier. He couldn't even tell exactly what he was thinking of, only that his head felt crowded.
For reasons he couldn't fully explain—perhaps out of frustration, or to test if the strangeness plaguing him had hopefully ceased—Robert suddenly pressed his fingernails deep into the soft flesh of his wrist, hard enough to break the skin. The sharp sting made him flinch, but just as quickly as it had come, the pain ebbed away. The small wound he'd inflicted sealed itself almost instantly, the skin mending before his eyes like time had been reversed.
Robert's expression darkened even further.
This wasn't normal. None of it was!
"Sir Voice, what's happening to me? What are you doing to me?" Robert muttered under his breath, unsure whether the voice could hear him. Fear still pulsed deep within him, but he fought to stay composed. Panicking wouldn't help him now. He needed answers, direly.
For a brief moment, Robert's mind for silent. Then, the voice returned, calm, deep, and firm.
"I'm not doing anything to you, boy," it said. "I'm only here to help."
"Help," Robert repeated with a bitter laugh, "yeah sure."
"Meet me behind that tall grey building just to your left," the voice instructed.
"The laboratory?"
"Tomorrow, at the nineteenth hour."
Dread crept in. Robert's eyes darted nervously to the students nearby, scanning their faces as if afraid someone was watching him. He leaned his head down slightly and whispered through clenched teeth, "Night-time?"
"The nineteenth hour!" The voice thundered, loud enough to make him flinch.
The force of it had caused Robert's body to tense instinctively, but he quickly regained his poise with a deep, grounding breath. Oddly, what followed wasn't fear—at least not entirely. Instead, a flicker of hope stirred quietly within him, like the first hint of light breaking through a long, confusing fog. For the first time since yesterday morning, Robert felt something close to clarity, a sense of direction. He was going to get answers. Whatever was happening, it was no longer a random string of bizarre events; there was a path now, and he had taken the first step.
With that realization settling in, Robert straightened his back and picked up his pace, as a subtle but unmistakable lift came over his mood.
Not far off, Jackson had been trailing at a casual distance, his eyes locked intently on Robert for a full ten minutes—even before Vanessa had approached him. In that brief window of silent observation, Jackson had seen enough. He'd confirmed it—and to his twisted satisfaction, the rumors weren't exaggerated after all. That damn Manwell kid really did mutter to himself like a lunatic!
Jackson's lips curled up in a sneer, and his fists tightened in triumph.
_______
Robert had rushed into his classroom—the eleventh-grade Art class—only to find a teacher already in the middle of a lesson. The twelfth-grade hostel master, Lector Williams, who happened to be the math teacher, shot him a reproachful glare and, with a cold, dismissive gesture, ordered Robert to wait outside until the end of the class. It wasn't particularly embarrassing—students being sent out mid-lesson was practically routine—but as Robert slunk out of the classroom into the hallway, he couldn't help feeling a little twinge of that good old-fashioned embarrassment.
He sighed quietly and leaned back against the wall, doing his best to appear unfazed while students drifted by, engaged in their own conversations. His gaze dropped to the gold watch snug on his wrist, a slightly worn birthday gift from his mother two years ago. He reached down and began absent-mindedly fiddling with the clasp, his mind already beginning to drift, only half-aware of Mr. Williams' droning voice seeping through the wall—something about the Less/Over equation or Mather's Theory of Imperfect Circles, it didn't matter. At that moment, the world inside that room felt far removed from the thoughts swirling in his head.
As Robert lingered in the hallway, waiting for the class to end, his mind slowly slipped into recollection. One particular memory stood out: a not-so-distant past with Mr. Williams. The time, back in 9th grade, when he'd been passing the teacher's office and caught through the half-opened door a glimpse of something odd. Williams had been hunched over his desk, mumbling, his lips moving silently as he studied an old parchment, with unnerving focus. Robert remembered hearing words like "magic" and "ancient souls" whispered under the teacher's breath.
Back then, rumors had circulated among the students about the eccentric math teacher's curious ties with mysterious things—some hinted at a secret obsession with the supernatural. Tom and Zarie had cheekily dubbed him in one edition of the Tasers as "the maths teacher with a thing for the unknown and the unknowable." Oddly enough, Mr. Williams was also the only staff who regularly bought copies of their papers.
"Ridiculous," the voice grunted disdainfully, jarring Robert from his thoughts. "What's wrong with that man?"
"I don't know, that's just how he is." Robert muttered under his breath, glancing cautiously at the students walking by. "He hates when students are late. And I was late because of you and Vanessa—mostly you!"
"Not that," the voice cut in, almost impatiently. "I meant the memory."
Robert's brows furrowed slightly. "The memory? I don't..." But at that moment, the classroom door swung open and Mr. Williams stepped out—my, his presence was impossible to ignore.
He was tall, towering at nearly seven feet, with a not-so-neatly parted hair and the kind of small, precise square-framed glasses that gave him an air of precision and severity. The 51-year-old teacher came to a halt directly in front of Robert. Clad in a long-sleeved purple shirt tucked almost perfectly into well-pressed brown trousers, he cut a figure that was both dignified and intimidating. In his right hand, he held his surprising pristine, black briefcase — considering he'd been carrying it for years — and he regarded Robert with a stern but slightly apathetic look.
"Robert Manwell," he began, voice flat but authoritative. "This is the second time in a row that you've been late to my class. I am beginning to think it's becoming a habit, and if it happens again, I will be forced to take disciplinary actions."
He paused and leaned in ever so slightly. "By the way, I have a question for you," Mr. Williams fixed him with a penetrating stare. Robert stiffened, feeling as if the teacher was seeing through his soul and reading his very thought at that moment.
"Have you been feeling... different lately?" Williams asked slowly. From his demeanor, one could tell he knew something and was choosing his words carefully, as though tiptoeing around a thought he desperately hoped was true. "I read the piece in the Tazers, and a few students have mentioned some uncanny behavior—talking to yourself, acting distant. Hallucinations, maybe? I want to hear it from you. Are you experiencing anything unusual? Hearing things that aren't there?"
Robert's heart plummeted to his stomach, but somehow, he managed to keep his composure, masking his panic with feigned innocence and raising his brows in what was clearly mock confusion.
"No sir," he replied uneasily, before turning hastily and slipping into the classroom, his heart pounding in his chest.
Williams did not call him back. Instead, he stood there for a moment before pivoting smoothly and began walking to his office. There was no sign of irritating at being left mid-conversation—if anything, the corners of his mouth twitched into subtle smile, one so faint it might have gone unnoticed by the few students in the hallway that could have been paying attention to him.
As he walked, he slid a hand into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew a folded piece of old, yellowed parchment. Carefully, he unfolded it, and as his eyes scanned it, a wide, excited grin spread across his face. Still smiling to himself, Williams disappeared into his office, his eyes still fixed on the parchment.
Meanwhile, in the eleventh-grade Art class, Robert sank into his seat, taking in a long, deep breath to calm his mind.
"That was awkward," the voice rumbled.
"Yeah... and a little terrifying."
"That man doesn't know it doesn't take much to see he is more than he seems. Only a fool would need to be warned to be careful around him. You especially. I'll explain more when the time is right, but for now, be on your guard. Oh, and don't forget: behind the grey building. Tomorrow evening. You and I need to talk."
Robert gave a slight facial shrug, exhaling quietly as he brushed the lingering sand his palms. He turned to glance briefly at his locker—one of many blue metal compartments lined neatly along the back wall of the classroom, and as he did so, he mentally noted that literature was up next with Miss Greene. But just as he shifted his focus back to the front, a figure standing silently before his desk caught his attention.
His eyes moved from the long dark-blue skirt upward until they met the familiar face of a classmate, a fair-haired girl, her cheeks tinged with a soft, natural pink.
"Hey there, Hailey," he greeted her with a relaxed smile.
"Hi Robert," Hailey said, a touch of unease in her voice. "I heard about your... well, situation, and I thought this might help," she quickly handled him a book before darting away to her desk at the front row.
Robert's brow furrowed as he examined the title, his smile dissipating. "HOW TO COPE WITH HALLUCINATIONS," the book read.
He let out an exasperated sigh.
"Seriously?"