Of all the attributes in the world - the myriad varieties that littered the world like candy - why did he have to be burdened by dream vener? Why did it have to be his primary? He'd been expecting darkness vener, but-

He'd have taken anything! Light, sharp, clay, bone, glass, decay, even a middling beast, he'd have accepted any of it! The only thing worse might have been colour vener, or death vener, and the last one had a habit of killing anyone who shoved it in their core!

But nope! Things couldn't be easy for him! Couldn't be plain difficult, either- the world just had to shove dream vener into him like he was a tattered plush just waiting to be stuffed.

Dream vener wasn't useless; it could do as much as it couldn't, limited by the breadth of one's imagination, but it wasn't corporeal. It had no true physical form, like fire or earth. You could use it to heal minds, augment scripts, peer into the future, support powerful illusions - but it was almost useless in terms of direct combat.

Even in the domain of illusions, its power was limited and at best made up half of a Path. It could be used to control minds, but few if any had shown the delicate skills - and the loose morals - to actually accomplish it. Even then, perhaps only a Lord could truly string people like puppets.

Dream vener was best known for mind-healing; he was certain the mind-healer back there had been a dream and light artist. And that could be deadly, yes- but it didn't exactly play to his strengths. Offensive dream vener was backroom court deals and whispers and a bit of memory weaving. You didn't use it to cleave apart mountains or fight otherworldly invaders.

And you used it least of all to cut through the void and traverse between worlds.

Fuck.

He drops his head into his hands, dismissing the fragment.

That... really messed up his plans, even half-formed as they were. He couldn't be a stellar fighter with dreams - and being a support wasn't his thing, either.

But dream vener as the base of his core severely limited his options, regardless of what his other attributes were. And even those weren't wholly offensive; even a smidge of fire would be helpful, but these were more peaceful forces; light and wind and water.

He knew what those attributes meant; an illusory mist path, which was the famed hallmark of the Rivelen sect- but that was on another continent, and he'd only once met a sect member, who he'd promptly had to kill. Mist path themselves were generally used by swamp-dwellers, and didn't particularly excel at anything except perhaps coverage.

A mist path with a heavy focus on dreams was... a labryinthe Path, perhaps? Useful for making training arrays and traps, and might serve him well if he ever had to hide. Right now, the best he could was to give his classmates dandy dreams and help them with their trauma like a nanny.

He could see it being far more useful to him when he hit Jewel, but that was a ways away. And he didn't want to reach that level with no firepower.

Certainly not while residing here.

He sighs- he'll have to leave it for now.

He takes a few minutes to find a few more fragments - there's are a couple scattered around his back, and one placed right beneath his eye that could be fun, and when he feels centered and calm and not at all worried about his own future advancement, he uncrosses his legs, opens his eyes, and jumps off the bed.

First, he has to deal with the class.

He washes his face, careful to get a few drops on his uniform. The more disheveled, the better.

He breathes in, then out, trying to plan what he's going to say even as he turns the handle, emerging into the brightly lit lounge.

Most of his class is still there- a few seem to be exploring their rooms, but the doors are wide open, so he doesn't worry they won't hear him. For that matter, he's pretty sure the Luceimeres will hear him, but he's never intended to keep everything a secret.

He couldn't, really- Donovan knows he'll mess up at some point, no matter what, and instead of having to deal with the intricacies of their suspicion, he'd prefer to lob them over the head with the truth. They'd see him as a possible threat, but just because a dagger's sheathed at your hip doesn't mean your enemies can use it to gut you. More likely, you gut them.

Being an alternative - far more trusted - source of knowledge to his classmates was more valuable than his secrets.

Making his way over to the tables laden with food, he stops as he sees someone from the corner of his eyes.

He doesn't resist as the boy's fist curls around the collar of his shirt and he's violently tugged forward, crashing into his chest.

"You gonna explain yourself, hotshot?" Duncan scowls down at him, amber eyes sharpened to a flinty glare, "What the hell was that back there?"

Donovan grimaces, trying to avoid the spittle flying from his mouth, "A... summoning?"

"Not that, you idiot!" He growls, his fists tightening, "What the hell were you spouting about us needing to rest? Next time you wanna go cry in a damn corner, don't rope the rest of us into it." He shoves him, disgust in his eyes.

Donovan can feel the rest of the class' eyes on them, but no one seems interested enough to interfere- save for Leo.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

He cuts in between them with a hasty smile, giving Donovan an apologetic smile and Duncan a glare. "We're all on the same side, guys," he says quickly, "Let's try and work together, yeah Duncan? Donovan just wanted to give us a second to rest, no harm there--"

Duncan eyes the rest of the class and snorts, turning away, "I don't need his help. Just teach him to keep his mouth shut and we're gold."

Donovan blinks, dusts off the front of his shirt, and nods politely at Leo before moving to the tables. He doesn't know Duncan very well, save for his temper- he'll have to keep an eye on that. Volatility and rage could aid one's cultivation of the Path, but it could just as easily lead to an early grave.

"Sorry, man," Leo's thick brogue cuts his thoughts as he steps into place at his side, "You okay?"

"Yeah, I just feel like I need a shower now," He says, wrinkling his nose.

Leo laughs, "Well, if he ever does bother you, tell me, yeah? Like I said, we're all on the same side now," he says, shooting a glare at Duncan, "If only some of us would realize that."

As they stop at the table, Donovan eyes the selection - Star is opposite them, tentatively poking at a vibrant purple fruit, shaped like an apple. A few other students were hesitantly eyeing the food, at this table or another, no one quite willing to take the first bite.

Fair to them; he knew they wouldn't be poisoned, and he knew that save for a few truly... exotic dishes - he skeptically eyes the foaming pot of cold kraken gruel; had they really served that to a bunch of otherworlders? That stuff could kill a man - everything here was perfectly palatable, at worst a little uniquely flavoured.

"I'm sure we'll all grow to realize that in time," Donovan says, reaching out to grab a silver bowl off the table, "This world is dangerous, and we're all each other can count on." He smiles at Leo, trying to be reassuring, but the boy just nods, his smile faltering for a second.

"I'm with Dunc," Lilah pipes in opposite them, twirling a loaf in her hands, "Aye, you can speak Donny, but you could've given us a 'mo. I felt like I'd be run over by a bullet train." She frowns, licking the fluffy white insides. Star takes a step away from her, grimacing. "And I dun' really like that feelin'. Rather be stabbed. Or burnt." She pops the chunk into her mouth.

Her features morph from irritation to satisfaction, and she shoots the rest of the class a thumbs up as she bites into the loaf like a chocolate bar. The rest pick at the food with more enthusiasm, and begin to voice their opinions of what he'd done; even from here, he can see Duncan's eyes twitch.

Shrugging in response to them, he takes a seat opposite Violet on the couches. Placing the bowl on his lap, he raises a brow, his eyes meeting hers- she'd been watching him like a hawk. "Well?"

"You owe us an explanation."

He nods his head, taking a velanut from the bowl and popping it into his mouth. He doesn't have his essence sense, so he can't catch the vener on it, but he's sure they're helpful regardless.

"This is gonna be confusing" he begins, projecting his voice across the room, "but there's a lot I have to say, so could I have your guys' attention, please?"

Slowly, curiously, nineteen heads turn to look at him, from chairs, from the floor, half-hidden behind doors as their eye flit from the insides of their room to him.

He has their attention; an easy thing to obtain, in this situation, where he's already made himself visible by bucking against their hosts. Their trust, he knew, would be harder.

He clears his throat, glancing at Frey - who was sitting besides him now - to Violet, to Star, to each and every one of his classmates.

"It's..." he sighs, trying to form the words in his head like a puzzle, but the pieces kept turning to ash. "It's odd," he pushes out, "being here."

Frey looks at him, askance.

His lips twist, "Odder for you, I imagine."

"What do you mean?" Star asks, tilting her head, a frown etched on her lips.

"I mean..." he breathes in, working up the nerve; it feels like dragging up weights from the bottom of the ocean, trying to force out words and memories he'd tried to bury beneath the waves. He'd had to, to live his life without jumping at every sound at night, to not jolt awake draped in sweat, reaching for weapons that weren't there.

"I've been here before."

His soft voice ripples out, like a stone tossed into a pool. All eyes lock on him. He thinks he can almost feel the weight of the Luceimeres themselves hone in.

"The world we're in is called Aureole," he continues, straightening his shoulders and spine--

"Woah woah woah-" Frey cuts in, waving his hands in front of Donovan's face. "You cannot just jump into exposition after dropping a bomb like that! Are you serious?"

Quickly, like a balloon bursting, their voices fill the room, shooting him incredulous looks.

He lets their words hammer at him for a couple seconds, eating more nuts, taking in their expressions- most of them seemed disbelieving, but a good couple just seemed shocked, and two of them - who were part of the Occult or Literature Club, he wryly noted - seemed like they did believe him, their eyes wide in wonder.

It's a while before they notice his silence and quiet down, waiting.

He eats another nut.

"One at a time, please." He says.

"That sounds loony," Lilah buries everyone else's words, her loud voice piercing, "You sound loony. What'du mean you've been here? Your elementary take you to other worlds instead a' the zoo?" She scoffs, sitting besides Violet "Sounds baloney, Donny."

The others mumble agreement, and Frey claps a hand onto his shoulder, "Van, you really aren't- serious, are you?" He asks quietly, brows furrowed, "Just lightening the mood?"

Donovan shakes his head, putting his bowl aside.

"No, I'm serious. I can prove it."

"How?"

"Go on."

"Let's see it, hotshot."

Donovan hesitates for a second- the easiest way to do this would be to manifest etra, but he didn't really want to risk trying it in an almost entirely untrained body. Nothing should go wrong, but playing with his mind to prove something just seemed a little too extra.

So instead, he's forced to be a little less dramatic.

"Admittedly, there's not much I can do to prove it right off the bat," he says, cracking his knuckles, "but I'll have you all convinced by the week's end. For now..." he breathes in, closing his eyes.

The shadows shift, the air cements, the entire room stills.

Condense your will. Focus it to a narrow point.

He fills his lungs with air, his classmates choking, their feet scrambling against the floor as they step back.

Shade it with an emotion. Sharpen it. Grasp it like a blade.

He breathes out.

His eyes open slow, steady, like palace gates.

Wield. Release.

Like a serpent, his will darts out of his body, slithers through the air, and coils around his classmates. Held by his glacial stare, they freeze. Their eyes pooling with naked fear, he meets their horrified expressions with cold indifference.

The serpent tightens, and they choke.

And then he breathes, the breath finished, and his will disappears.

They drop, clutching their throats and gasping as they dry heave against the carpeted flooring, coughing and spitting and tears leaking from the corners of their eyes.

They glare at him from the floor, doubled over. Frey, who'd been sitting right beside him, looks at him horrified from the other end of the sofa, his face a crimson red. Star's hand, clutching the top of the sofa, disappears behind it.

He smiles at them all, grabs his bowl back, and tosses a nut into his mouth.

"You can't do that back home," he says cheerily, crunching the shell to bits in his mouth, "That proof enough?"