That very same night, Oliver woke up in the middle of a dream, all sweat and breathing heavily on his bed. He ran to the mirror and looked at the scar on his neck. It was hurting, and in the middle of the dark, he could swear, something was looking at him.

He had dreamed about Schram, and that was the third time that week.

Since Park, Kiki, and he had defeated the creature, he had started Nightwalk again. Only this time, he knew it wasn't a game.

It happened a week before, Oliver had suddenly woken up thirsty, it was already four in the morning. He went barefoot to the kitchen and poured a glass of water from the sink, the heating was off, and everything felt sharp and cold. When he crossed the doorframe, he watched himself looking through the window, the blurred silhouette of the Academy in the distance. The scare pulled him out of his sleep state, and thinking everything would repeat itself he looked at the find, to find his body comfortable sleeping under his sheets. He was watching just a memory stored in the room. A relief breath came out of his ghostly lungs.

The next morning he had talked with Park about it, somehow he was the only one he thought would understand it. To his luck, it was that way and after a long talk describing Oliver's short experience on it, Park gave him only one piece of advice.

"Just don't get out of your body, keep sleeping and ignore it, we'll handle that later"

As plain as that, it was Park's solution to the Nightwalking problem. Oliver took it as a rule without arguing, after all, the last thing he wished was to end up in the same situation again.

But that night, while looking at himself in the mirror, Oliver realized he was in fact having another Nightwalking dream. The feeling of lightness, power, and beyond understanding gave him a vertigo sensation. He sat at his desk for a moment and watched his own body sleep peacefully.

Then, he had an idea, one of those ideas that lead you to crazy things, the same type of idea that saved his life more than one time in the past months, an idea made for opening doors. And getting close to himself, he touched his sleeping body with a doubtful hand.

There, he found himself in another place, another time, inside his own dream, the very same dream he had before waking up. Oliver was in the forest beyond the backyard of his house in Hollow Creek, the one that had belonged to his father and grandparents before him. And there was Schram, sitting in the middle of the crater he had created during the fight, the one that had opened the umbrella of trees during one of his growls. The moon was full, and the night lightened in blue.

— What took you so long? —

Said Schram, mimicking an Oliver's version of the past. They were both looking the same as if Oliver had never gotten him out of his body in the first place.

— You —

Oliver said stepping back, there was fear in his eyes, hatred in his heart.

— ... really here? —

— I never went out, nor then or now —

Smiled Schram from his place, letting out a lazy yawn.

— To be honest, it's a comfortable position, thou it lacks mobility privileges I would love to have —

Oliver stood blank for a second.

— You're... not a dream, aren't you? —

Schram rolled his eyes.

— You're a little bit slow today, Oli —

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Both stared at each other carefully for a while, then, Oliver asked.

— What do you want? —

He stepped front again, Schram moved his hand, and everything went dark.

Suddenly they were in another place, another time, it was the top of the Wanderlight Castle, the Headchief's office, the old Ardeen's Academy House. There, Krahen, Charles, and Park were having a talk.

— They call themselves the Counter Stream, the Last fort of Humanity, the Threshold of Light —

Said Park in aguish, while Krahen treated a wound in his forehead.

— A Threshold for Light, huh —

Charles said critic while scratching his beard, he looked thoughtful and angry at the same time.

— You should have told us before —

Added Krahen, looking at the boy with his always despiteful eyes.

— There's no one to trust, nor should you trust anyone —

Repeated the boy, Krahen was able to recall the boy's mother in his voice.

— No one should charge with another one's curse —

The boy looked at him with his only remaining eye.

— Nor then, nor now —

He said, then, Charles stood in the middle of the room.

When Oliver realized what was happening, he found himself sitting on his both around the corner of the room. Schram was doing something similar, above one of the bookshelves on the opposite side. Due to their sudden apparition and the lack of reaction in the room, Oliver soon realized that they were witnessing a conversation happening in another place or time.

— What you took from the other side of the Library, or whom to be precise... —

Added Charles in monotone.

— I don't think you, nor they, know what it really is —

Park looked at him with ease

— I know —

— No, you know what happened the last time someone tried to use it, but the real nature of that thing... —

Said the old man looking back, straight to Schram's eyes in the top of the shelves.

— It's better locked in a cage and far away from any hand —

There, Schram raised his hand again, and a darkness-like fog revolved around them.

When Oliver opened his eyes, they were in his room again, and Schram was sitting next to his sleeping body, while Oliver watched them from the windows frame. He felt his heart bumping inside his ghostly chest.

— I want revenge —

Said Schram quietly, while caressing his fingertip on the sleeping body's neck.

— And you will help me to have it —

Suddenly, the scar shone red, and Oliver felt a burn on his ghostly neck.

— Even If I have to become a curse in the process —

— What!? —

Oliver screamed, falling prey to the pain, into the floor.

— Even if I have to consume you or him, or anyone in the way —

Schram stood in front of both.

Oliver, reduced by pain in his room.

Park, struck again in the Headchief's office.

Schram looked with pity at both the children under his grip and said.

— I will have my revenge against those who dared to use me for their affairs —

When Oliver could stand up, he was alone again in his room. His body was still sleeping peacefully in his place, and the heating was still off. Everything felt sharp and cold under his bare feet.

The moon, full again in the sky lightened the silhouette of the Academy at the other side of the bay.

It was the night before the Opening Ceremony, and he would have to fight against the unknown that very same day.

So that night, when Oliver went inside his body, he couldn't sleep again. Instead, he rolled over his bed thinking about what America and Park had taught him the past few days.

He went out that night and standing in the parking lot nearby, he looked at the gift Park gave him with awe. It was a sheathed Katana, just like the one Kiki had wielded already so many times in front of him.

He thought about it for a second, it was cliché, but he loved it. There was something special about them, the edge, the cut, the power to wield them. The only idea of a sword was powerful enough to encourage him, to have one for himself, felt both something to wish for and something to earn.

He knew it, even if he had wielded it already a few times that same week, he hadn't just earned it yet. But he would do it, eventually.

So that night after looking at it for a while, he unseath it. Almost ritually, with care.

Unlike Kiki's sword which looked real from the tip to the toe, Oliver's sword wasn't a conventional one. The edge, finely craved in wood, came from a tree whose name he wasn't able to pronounce yet. And its grip, strung in read tread, mimicked a regular katana's look. The whole compound looked menacing and extremely well made, the type of thing you would hang on a wall... instead of wielding around against other things. Yet, that was the purpose of the very weapon.

When Oliver held it inside his hands, he imagined a stream of energy crossing the darkness, through his body, unto the edge. There, a light ran across its edge, and through the hexes engraved on it. There were six or seven, making a runic pattern, a sympathy-linked chain of them.

There, in the middle of the night, Oliver wielded his sword again, and again... and again.