The teachers did nothing when I told them of the theft. Had this been a normal boarding school they would have gone room by room to check each student's things, but they did not do that for Brax with his pendant, and they would not do it for me.

  Speaking of Brax, he did not end up following Lady Brightstrike’s advice and continued to harass me even if it was less conspicuous. I too did not follow her advice and go to her for help, it would have been pathetic to do so.

  I wished I could say I shrugged off the torment, but I had always been the type of person to focus on something even to the detriment to my health.

  Why did he and his friends beat and ridicule me? Did they feel proud of it? Was this an example of the need for violence in humanity? Could I stop them? Was it wrong to hate them? Did I hate them?

  Despite not having grades or assignments in the typical sense, I feared that soon the accumulated time I wasted on Brax and his cronies would put me behind the other students. How could I focus on visualizing objects in my mind when it was numb from my desire to disconnect. How could I practice sculpting with clay when my hands and arms trembled with pain at every movement.

  I couldn't, so I needed to disrupt the pattern.

  I had already tried fighting back in the normal sense. But there were more of them, and Brax was stronger than I was.

  Telling the teachers would be pointless. Professor Pure had watched our fight in the woods and did nothing, and they did nothing when theft was apparently running rampant in the dorms.

  Asking Lady Brightstrike was off the table, even if I ignored the shame she could not be there protecting me at all hours. Or maybe she could with her Dreamer powers, but would she put in all that effort? And would it do anything more than delay the issue?

  Making enough friends to make me an undesirable target could possibly work. However if I had the capability to make friends easily then I would have them. Elina helped where she could, but all that did was make me more vulnerable when I was alone.

  The best option was to break Brax and his groupies' confidence. Their confidence in Brax, themselves, and in my apparent weakness. I needed to shame them publicly. But sudden unprompted violence would not work.

  Hypothetically if I just walked up to Brax, or perhaps Russel due to his more diminutive stature, and started beating him with a club. I would be seen as the aggressor, despite their previous attacks on me. It would make others more likely to intervene, after all everyone in Brax’s group was Solarian, and as an Empyrean I did not have the best standing with my classmates.

  They needed to be the ones to harass me, and publicly at that. I then needed to put a sense of danger in their hearts. That they were not safe because they all hid behind Brax or because they were in a public place.

  Killing or crippling were off the table. The professors may not interfere with small scale thievery or simple bullying, but maiming had to cross their undefined line. After all, my goal was not to defeat Brax or even to stop the bullying, but to become a Dreamer. It was just that stopping their harassment was essential to that.

  So I planned and waited, doing my best to ignore the scraped knees when I was tripped, and tune out the words when I was insulted.

  And my opportunity came not long after they stuffed me in a broom closet.

  I examined the card in my hand. The torch held between my teeth and the muted light from beneath the door my only sources of illumination. On the card stock was a… thing. A messy symmetrical black splotch with holes and gaps. I knew what it was, or its purpose at least. They were called projective tests. My grandmother would sometimes let me look at some of the ones she had to use during her monthly appointments.

  For her she was able to sit one on one with her psychologist. However, with only four teachers, and I had doubts that they were all registered psychologists, along with over one hundred students, it would have been far too inconvenient for them to do it all in person.

  After examining the splotch for a few moments I looked at the paper’s questions. What did I see when I looked at the image? Well it looked like a flayed cow that was split in half. Rolling my shoulders and ignoring the broomstick grinding into my spine I wrote down my answer.

  What did the image make me feel? I had the urge to write something contrary like hungry or tired. It must have been the chemical fumes from the cleaning supplies. Instead I wrote "intrigued."

  What are three attributes of this image?

  Messy, incomplete, symmetrical.

  I flipped to the next card and was immediately disappointed by the black droplet splashed onto the page. Any patience I had for doing this assignment while stuffed into a broom closet and huffing fumes vanished.

  What did I see when I looked at the image?

  An evil sun.

  What did this image make me feel?

  Light headed.

  What were three attributes of this image-

  The soft pitter patter of footsteps drew my attention and I held in my breath.

  “Monty?” Elina’s voice called from the other side of the door.

  “Yesh,” I replied through a mouthful of metal.

  Whatever had been blocking the door was thrown to the side, slamming onto the ground woodenly, and a moment later Elina opened the door.

  “Ah, Monty, turn off your light!” She exclaimed, shielding her eyes.

  “Sensitive to the light? That’s not very Solarian of you,” I said, screwing the metal cap back onto the torch to preserve the Sun Stone.

  Elina helped me out of the broom closet and dusted my clothes off with the intensity of a mother about to take her child to the theater.

  “Meanwhile being covered in filth is very Duster of you,” she mocked back. “I can’t believe the professors just let them do whatever they want.”

  My head whipped toward Elina.

  "You didn’t tell them, did you?”

  “What? No, but it's blatantly obvious what is happening, just look at you. Not to mention that you’ve been gone for hours, and Brickwell’s feathers have been proudly displayed all day.”

  “Feathers?” I asked while putting my journal away.

  Ever since Heidi had looked through it Elina had constantly pestered me to see what was inside, testing our burgeoning friendship.

  “Yeah, like a peacock,” Elina said, hands splayed out in a fan. “I don’t really see what he could be so proud of. Sticking a kid in a broom closet is quite elementary.”

  “You should give them some pointers then, but you should know it was Scutch’s idea not Brickwell’s.”

  The round faced girl had even commented on the stark stench of the cleaning fluids and how it might make me ill.

  “It seems the quiet ones always have the darkest desires,” Elina muttered.

  I ignored her indirect jab at myself, and instead checked my watch.

  “Lunch time. Was Professor Pure upset at my absence?” I asked, walking toward the cafeteria.

  Elina fell into step beside me.

  “Not really, he just gave Brax a scowl then ignored it. We should tell him though. Maybe he’s just waiting for you to complain before he does something.”

  “There is no need, I have a plan to take care of it,” I said reassuringly.

  Elina looked anything but reassured. Understandable, if I told her of my plan then she would likely try and talk, or even force, me out of it.

  There was no code of ethics, and the rules they gave us often felt more like suggestions. The teachers did not intervene in Brax’s bullying, they did not ask the thief who was stealing from people to come forward. Even our overseers didn’t constantly look over our shoulders, only making sure propriety was maintained from a distance.

  The chatter of students filled the area as we entered the cafeteria. I felt frustration bubble up inside me as I was reminded of another fact. A thief was in this room, and I did not have the time or energy to do anything about it.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The square two story building was filled with round tables, the wall opposite the door was dominated by a glass window, while the wall to the left of the door had several cooks and servers handing custom made meals to famished students.

  The second floor was U shaped, the large hole in the middle allowed the skylight of the ceiling to bask the lower floor in light. Next to the stairs up was a sign that read, “Second and Third years only.”

  There were less than twenty second-years at Daybreak Dreamer Academy, and I had yet to see a single gold-pinned third-year. Elina told me of a rumor that one arrived for a day last week, but nobody could confirm it.

  It made me wonder about why there even was a third-year class, and if something terrible happened to them. Just as there was a lack of rules, there was a lack of information.

  Elina and I got our food; roasted duck for myself and shepherd's pie for Elina, and sat down at one of the few empty tables.

  My eyes scanned the room, a foolish hope to see my stolen Sun Stone watch on someone's wrist.

  “Ooh, look Monty,” Elina said, gesturing to what could only be called a show in the making.

  Heidi Brightstrike strode purposefully toward a table with a lone occupant, a statuesque Solarian girl with long straight blonde hair and light orange eyes.

  Elina leaned in close, her whispered voice thrumming with intrigue.

  “That's Amber Richee from Professor Alyci’s class. Lady Brightstrike has been trying to get Richee to talk to her from day one, but Richee doesn’t even acknowledge her. I have heard that when Brightstrike was a child she would sneak out of her mansion and go to the slums, cause you know, Richee is the name of an orphanage in Zuva. Anyhow when Richee found out who Brightstrike really was they had a falling out. That or the Brightstrikes threatened the Orphanage when they found out where their daughter was going.”

  Then she looked around to make sure no one was listening so she could inform me about the truth of the Deep Ones and the secret to opening one's Dreamscape.

  “But I even heard that they were having an illicit relationship when Richee found out. Now Heidi is trying to win her back.”

  “... I see.”

  Rumors of secretive relationships and class disputes always seemed to be a popular topic.

  Even from where I sat I could see the awkward tension in Heidi’s posture as she sat next to Amber Richee. Richee on the other hand seemed to not even notice the other girl, sipping on her soup absently.

  Heidi said some things to her, but each word only made the other girl finish her food faster. In less than a minute, far too quickly to be proper, Richee finished her soup, stood, and walked out of the room, leaving Heidi alone, mouth still open mid-sentence.

  The short girl's shoulders slumped in defeat and she absently picked at her food for a few moments before standing and leaving after Richee.

  “Oh Alan, she has it bad,” Elina squealed excitedly.

  “... I see.”

  “Oh come on M, this is- ah bugger,” she said as Brax entered the cafeteria, and catching sight of us, he looked back to the door which Lady Brightstrike just left.

  “Do you care if we join you?” Brax asked in a polite, but attention grabbing voice.

  I watched how his eyes darted around the room, to Elina with amusement, to his cronies with superiority, to his audience with pride, and when he looked at me it was as a tool.

  I was the stick he broke to show others that he was strong. While Brax surveyed the interested crowd I slipped my steak knife into my hand, hiding it beneath the table.

  Elina was the only one who noticed, her eyes widening and she shook her head.

  “Do you have something to say Moda?” Brax teased Elina.

  Elina didn’t respond to Brax, instead she gripped my wrist underneath the table, giving me a hard stare. The grip was strong, no doubt from years of serving tables at her family’s restaurant.

  “I’ll take that as an invitation then,” Brax said.

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” Elina said. “Monty we should go-”

  “Don’t be so hasty,” Brax replied, sitting down with a thump next to me, his plate of pasta clattering on the table.

  Eyes fell upon the table like a volley of arrows, waiting for someone to hit the mark.

  “It's fine Elina,” I said, finally wrenching my hand away from her without accidently stabbing myself.

  Sweat from my palm soaked into the wooden handle, making it sticky and slick.

  Brax gave me a pleasant smile, picking up his fork and spoon before setting them down and humming thoughtfully.

  “I am glad to see we’re finally getting along, Gao. I didn’t expect a Duster to be so human,” he said, pinching the table cloth between his fingers and rolling it gently.

  Something was wrong. Why was I even here? It should have never come to this.

  “I have always been a human Brickwell, but I too am glad that you’ve begun to see that Dusters have some value.”

  Bend my back so I can break his... Was I really going to do this?

  “Oh I’ve always thought that you people had your purpose. Why your ability to survive through toxic sludge that more civilized kind might not, has always been your people's strongest aspect.”

  What were we doing? I should just- no, I need to wait.

  “Thank you for the compliment, it is much appreciated.”

  Brax smiled pleasantly, letting the conversation lapse and tension fill in the gaps. Gingerly he rolled up a bundle of pasta on his fork and spoon, then took a bite, humming thoughtfully. Finally he shook his head in disappointment.

  “Gao, could you tell me if this tastes alright? I never had much of a sense for high quality pasta.

  “No-”

  Brax slapped the plate onto my face, then used it to shove my head back, throwing my body off the back of my chair. My feet kicked out on my way down and flipped the table onto its side.

  Screams were quickly followed up by laughter as I yanked the plate off my face with my free hand.

  “Are you alright M?” Elina said, kneeling next to me.

  “‘M fine,” I replied, wiping the pasta from my face and putting my legs back under me rather than over my head.

  A crowd began to surround me, some still laughing with mirth while others looked on, ready for excitement and drama. Thankfully I didn’t lose my knife, or accidently stab myself with it.

  Brax stood in the center of the circle, tsking in disappointment at the knocked over table and shattered plates.

  “Really Gao, you need to be careful. That is high quality dinnerware that you’re breaking,” he said, kicking a few shards of plate away from himself.

  “Do you have to be horrible all the time?” Elina spat, getting to her feet and shoving her finger in Brax’s face.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” the large boy replied flippantly. “I just want to make sure the Duster doesn’t make more messes. Here, I’ll help him up.”

  Brax pushed past Elina and held his hand out to me. I let steel fill my veins and met Brax’s delight filled eyes. I took his hand. Was he going to do what he did at the train station and spit in my face? Punch me? Insult me? Or keep up this false charade that was meant to mock me rather than fool everyone else.

  It didn’t matter.

  I yanked myself toward him, and his eyes widened in surprise before quickly filling with fear as my knife flashed.

  It was an odd feeling, to stab someone. A brief, almost unnoticeable, moment of resistance before slipping easily through skin and muscle until the bolster of the short knife hit the flesh, stopping it suddenly.

  His scream was instant and piercing, and he fell back, the punctured leg giving out on him and bringing him down to my level.

  I just stared at the knife sticking out of his thigh, my brain reliving the sensation of blade stabbing into flesh.

  “Y-you stabbed me,” he stammered with gasping breaths.

  The other students watched in horror, backing away from Brax as though he’d been set aflame. Only Elina stayed in place, hands raised as though she were either going to catch someone or punch them.

  Brax’s eyes were wide and shaking as much as his hands as they cradled around the wound. I could feel my own hands shaking. I had actually done it. Fear at the repercussions gnawed at me, but inaction had not been an option, and it was not as though he was in danger of bleeding out.

  When I first thought of the plan it didn’t take me long to decide where to hit him. Anywhere in the chest, neck or head were off the table, too high of a chance of killing him. The hands and feet were too small, and I had a high chance of permanently crippling him. Meanwhile, the thigh had a large enough area that it was hard to miss, but I had to make sure to hit the outside of it because there was a chance of nicking the femoral artery or hitting the groin if I aimed for the inside.

  So as it was there was only a small amount of blood pooling around the still imbedded dagger, staining his pants and dripping down onto the ground.

  “You stabbed me!” he screamed again, the fear beginning to burn away into anger.

  “Yes,” I whispered, then stood so that for once I towered over him, and this time I spoke to the room. “Yes I did. What else were you expecting?”

  “You damned Duster, you-”

  I took a step toward him and he flinched back. It was slight, but not so slight to go unnoticed. Everyone saw, their subconscious thoughts registering and filing the reaction away, leaving a permanent ambiguous label on Brax Brickwell that was synonymous with fearful.

  Brax knew it too, rage, panic, dread, so many emotions at once, put together on the same canvas by ever so slight adjustments to his facial muscles.

  He was going to try and scrub away that label, but I wouldn’t let him.

  “What of it?”

  “You shouldn’t be allowed in this school!” he snarled. “Duster’s ruined our continent, enslaved our people, slaughtered our families, and now they’re letting people like you here when all you freaks ever do is burn everything around you to the ground.”

  I was the freak. He beat me, insulted me, locked me in a closet, and I was the freak. What was wrong with him? But it was not just him. It was those he led, and those that watched from the sidelines as well.

  My heart hammered in my chest in a barbaric rhythm, the pumping blood stretching my arteries so far I could feel them press on my muscles and skin.

  The plan was to continue my speech, something about his inability to affect me, however my mind was focused on his panicked, hate filled expression. I wanted to know how his eyes could convey so much of his emotions.

  The answer lied in his brain, it formed all his habits, his thoughts, his desires. I needed to take it apart to figure out how it worked. Peel him apart screw by screw, layer by layer.

  No.

  I rested my hand over the face of my watch, plunging my existence into its rapid ticks. I needed to steady myself, be normal. It didn’t work, all I could think about was cracking his head open and finding out why he acted the way he did.

  No, I needed to think of other things. My hand clenched the face of my watch and I looked around to the other students, but their eyes were equally filled with a variety of emotions. Excitement, fear, amusement, worry.

  Dial, hands, bezel, case, crown, ratchet, click spring, click, spinning barrel, barrel, balance staff, balance spring, pallet, escape wheel.

  I looked back into Brax’s eyes, filled with darkness and wrath. What was wrong with him? How could he look at me like that?

  Cornea, pupil, iris, lens, sclera, ciliary body, choroid, suspensory ligament of lens, retina, optic nerve, conjunctiva, superior oblique, superior rectus, medial rectus, lateral rectus, inferior oblique, inferior rectus, frontalis muscle, orbicularis oculi muscle, procerus muscle.

  Why? Why why why.

  Then like the satisfying click of a switch my mind expanded and an expanse of white, as clear as bleached bones opened up in front of me, and I was pulled into my Dreamscape.