After the first week at the orphanage, he was settled in for the most part. He could seek solitude after all the scheduled meal times and shower times were done for the day. He was given his own personal room. All of the orphans that were over the age of thirteen, received their own rooms. Tyrion was currently fifteen, about to enter high school. This is how his summer progressed: scheduled days, bland meals, and an abysmal level of boredom. Finally, in the evening time of the seventh day, he drifted off to sleep and began to dream once again.
The first thing Tyrion felt was the frigid air and the shaft of a spear in his hand, cold as ice. His knuckles felt like stones beneath his skin. He could see his breath as he was crouched down in reeds next to a high wooden wall. He could see guards on the top of the walls and heard them speaking, but not in a language he understood.
"Olaf, they have the crossbows again, just like at the last fort," a bearded man behind him in the reeds told him. He spoke just above a whisper to avoid being overheard. To his surprise, he knew the man's name and responded, "Yes, Erik, it's just like the last one. We will have to be careful as we approach. It is probably best to raid them at night. We will let our Chieftain make that call."
The duo started to return to where their raiding party had made camp for the night. They backed out of the high reeds and returned to the edge of the marsh they were in, climbing up to a ditch beside the main road to the fort. Tyrion wasn't positive, but he thought he saw something in French written on a sign at the edge of the bridge. They moved deliberately and quietly, holding their weapons low and crouching. He knew that this was a movement that had been practiced a number of times throughout Olaf's life, and he was good at it. Now that Tyrion was living through Olaf, he too had the same experience. He could remember all the times as a young boy that Olaf had been taught by his father how to evade an enemy. How to be within earshot but without being seen. How to creep up on prey when they were hunting. All of these skills were transferred to him already through this experience as Olaf.
"Okay, this is definitely weird. I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to be able to learn through a dream. I'm positive that since most of the animals have gone extinct, I've never been hunting with my dad wearing… I don't know what these clothes were," Tyrion thought to himself.
As Olaf continued to silently make his way with Erik through the marshlands, they came to a road they needed to cross. On it there was a patrol of enemy soldiers, three in total. The patrol had heard their approach to the road but hadn't spotted them yet.
"Don't worry, Erik, I know how I can take care of them quickly." Olaf lifted his spear and reached to his belt, gripping his hand on a seax that, just now, he remembered having this entire time. He crouched at the edge of the foliage and slowly raised his spear above his head. He remembered practicing this thousands of times while on his farm in their village. He tensed every muscle in his legs, preparing to explode forward into a dash at his enemies. He inhaled slowly once, twice, then held his breath for a moment. He observed the men slowly coming towards them and waited until they were at the correct range for his planned attack.
In that instant, he could see the three enemy soldiers having an image in front of them telegraphing their future movements. Each one looked like it was made of mist. The spear left his hand with deadly accuracy. Olaf purposefully aimed it so the man out front would move to dodge it. The mist images showed him that the man's body blocked the view of the soldier behind him, resulting in the spear striking him directly in his throat. Then he threw the spear, and what was seen in the mist images played out in graphic detail. The enemy behind the front one, dropped instantly to never rise again.
Before the front man could even get his spear tip pointed at Olaf, he had closed the distance. He could see that the mist image had him attempt to kick Olaf back. As a result, he easily dodged the kick and, using his seax, slashed low, cutting his inner thigh deeply. A horrific scream was drawn from the front man as he dropped to the ground, with blood spurting out from the wound, coating Olaf. The final enemy thrust his spear at Olaf; the mist image showed him getting skewered in his chest, so Olaf rolled quickly underneath the thrust. Without even looking at the mist image, he stabbed instinctively upwards and caught him beneath the chin. The seax pierced all the way into his brain from beneath his mandible, killing him instantly.
Tyrion felt a calmness through Olaf that both mystified and terrified him.
"How was he okay with this? He murdered them! No, he slaughtered them. This isn't right. Tell me it isn't real. Why can I smell the coppery scent of blood? I don't like this. I don't want to be in this dream anymore!"
Olaf didn't speak to Erik; he simply started to clean his seax off on the nearest dead soldier's tunic. He went and retrieved his spear, which made a sickening sound Tyrion was likely to never forget.
"That was excellent work, Olaf," Erik was gleefully approaching. "I am sure the gods are watching, and you will be blessed." Erik started to loot their dead bodies and collected their spears. Olaf dragged the bodies off of the road and covered them with foliage before they continued towards the camp.
The next morning, Tyrion woke up covered in sweat. He stood up quickly and checked his surroundings to confirm he wasn't Olaf anymore. "What the hell was that nightmare?" he said aloud and headed to the restroom. After relieving himself, he looked in the mirror and thought about his night.
"I have had these for years. I can remember now that, for some reason, I couldn't remember them once I woke up. Why can I still remember all the training and experience that Olaf had? I can still recall most of his life like I'd lived it myself. I wonder whether I can do some of the things he did?"
Tyrion picked up his toothbrush and went back into his room. He mimed the movements that Olaf had done with his seax and found that he could perform them flawlessly.
"Okay, what's weird. I'm certain now these can't just be dreams. I got to tell Mark about this… or maybe I shouldn't. Will he just think I'm crazy? Wait, am I going crazy?"
A camera lens from a hidden camera in the corner of his room focused in.
"Subject 078 appears to have had one of the Wisp dreams. We could detect an increased gathering of the remnant particles that we've associated with the Wisp dream in laboratory testing. He immediately displayed advanced hand-to-hand combat abilities which he has never been exposed to before. Subject 078 will be introduced as a candidate for future testing."
An audio report was completed by a government scientist who was watching Tyrion on the other end of the camera feed in his room.
Tyrion continued his summer this way, having a number of dreams, all the while struggling with the idea of telling or not telling his best friend Mark. Finally, after a summer filled with boredom, monotony, and the horrifyingly realistic Wisp dreams, Tyrion finally got to go to his first day of high school.
When he arrived at the high school, he was astonished at the sheer size of it. Both his grade school and middle school were completely dwarfed by the size of the high school. City 118 was segmented into eight wards. Each ward was only rewarded with one high school for all the students of that ward. This resulted in the intimidatingly large building that Tyrion was now standing in front of.
"Hey Ty, what are you doing, man? Don't you know we got to go in the door to go to school?" Mark slung his arm around Tyrion and started walking him towards the entrance.
"Mark, I feel like it's been forever and a day, man. How did summer treat you?"
Mark winced at the question, and for a second, Tyrion caught a hurt look on Mark's face. As quickly as it appeared, Mark changed his expression back to the usual smiling, happy self that he always portrayed.
"Oh, you know, the same old, same old with me, man. You got to tell me what it's been like for you though. What the hell is an orphanage like to live at?"
They both walked into the main foyer of the high school that had a rather large vaulted ceiling. An information desk with a curved counter was in front, then behind that it branched off into three different hallways.
"Hey man, let's get settled in here first; we can catch up later." Tyrion skillfully sidestepped his question heading to the information desk.
Something had changed between the two friends over that summer. Mark was now only living with an abusive father. His mother and sister had left that summer. Tyrion was now collecting new skills and experiences regularly through his dreams. They usually would have always told each other everything. Now though, they began to keep secrets.