A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

He unclicked the door, accomplishing his mission. With great effort, he swung it open, revealing the dark hallway beyond, and its flickering torches. Here again, he was forced to recover. He needed a plan. Somewhere else to go. What was the quickest route outside?

There was a door and a set of stairs somewhere a little ways down the corridor, something of a lesser-known exit, not one that students often used. That would do, yes.

With his hand trailing along the side of the wall, he began to walk, each step taken as though he was sure it would be his last. He'd used up his last shred of energy back in his room, and now he ran on fuel that wasn't there.

The corridors were empty at this time of night, thankfully. It was strange that, even after dying, when nothing else should have been more important, Oliver still didn't want anyone to see him in his weakened state. The sureness of that assertion was almost as strong as the pain itself.

One step, then two, his boots dragging along the floor, barely able to move. Power, but at what cost? Life, when death would be so much easier. And even if it was life, how much longer would it hold for? There didn't seem to be any hope of respite. Neither Claudia nor Ingolsol spoke up to offer him hope in that regard.

Had they even managed to clear up the wounds that had been afflicted to his insides? At the very least, he'd managed to resurrect Claudia. She was stronger than she was before, they all were... and somehow that was the problem. A strength that they had not yet fully earned.

He reached the door, smaller than most exists. This looked like the door to another room. Had Verdant not shown it to him, he likely would have taken much longer to discover it himself. A bar held the door secure in place, as though to protect them from outside attackers.

Oliver shifted up out of the way, leaning it against the floor without a second thought, his breath coming in raspy gasps, as he held one hand to his stomach, as though that feeble action could somehow placate his angry organs.

Another mission complete. He pushed the door open, and the outside air hit him all at once. Terribly cold, biting, angry… yet somehow brilliant. Somehow refreshing. Somehow a spot of beauty whilst his world had never been in more crippling pain.

He saw an owl take flight from a tree, and he stood watching it, even as the pain racked his body. He appreciated it. Again, somehow beautiful.

"Well done," a voice in the darkness. Claudia.

He murmured her name. "Indeed," her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. It could have been the wind. In Oliver's state of delirium, it could have been anything. "You've done well," she told him. He could have sworn he felt a gentle pat on his head, but as he craned his neck, there was nothing there.

"Hush, sweet boy," she told him. "Continue your walk, you're on the right path."

She spoke to him no more after that, no matter how long he waited. The right path where? His walk had merely meant to be outside. Or did she perhaps mean life in general? That he was going in the direction that he should be going in? It was hard to say.

It was hard to say whether the voice was even real.

He stood still for the next bout of pain. He could almost anticipate them now. They came in waves. This one yielded another cough, which yielded more black blood. He gazed at his hand sadly. What a shame it would be to die.

That was his honest reaction, as he reviewed it, looking to the white world around him that seemed so beautiful. That it would be a terrible shame to die so soon, there was much he wanted to do.

To lead armies. He imagined himself at the front of a battalion, on horseback. He couldn't even ride a horse yet. Perhaps that was a foolish dream. But more foolish things had happened to him.

Then another dream, more obscure than the rest. A high seat, a flash of gold and…

Another bout of pain. He re-established his mission. A body of water would be pleasant. There were several wide ponds – big enough to be called small lakes – scattered across the academy grounds, and with them were many fine trees. It was a beautiful place.

That anger that had fuelled him earlier started to slow down in favour of beauty. One by one, painfully, he made his way down the steps.

The pain hadn't gotten much worse. But it hadn't gotten better either. There was something brilliantly adaptive about Oliver Patrick that he could even function in that state, but more still that he could somehow, just barely, grow used to it.

The slightest little thought crept in. Dangerous thoughts. Thoughts of the future. They were of the Third Boundary now. If they survived this night, what then? How strong would they be?

But what if that wasn't enough… What if the Boundary that he'd broken required more from him for him to be judged worthy of it?

There was no point dwelling on it. He made it to the bottom of the steps. His feet naturally drifted towards the grass, where the snow had not been shovelled away from the path. Ah, sweet silence. He hadn't seen a single soul since leaving his room.

Now that he dared to think about it, he was quite sure he'd left the door of his room wide open. He'd neglected to lock it. Pain brought him away from such mundane thoughts. He wasn't allowed them. Not tonight. A cough.

More blood. He wiped his mouth.

He set off across the snowy grass at the best pace that he could manage. Luckily, the route that he had in mind – towards the closest lake – also put him off the paths, and the likelihood of finding anyone. Surviving the night and not having anyone see him in his weakest state? That was the sort of victory that was hard to dream about.

Surviving… There'd be so much to do. So many areas in which to increase his strength. That untapped potential that he'd felt earlier, beyond the wall of pain… If he could somehow return to the base level that he'd felt before his battle with Francis. Return to health, and also grasp more power, and move on to greater future things.

A stabbing pain in the stomach. He was forced to stop. The sickness that he'd been running from hit him all at once. Behind the back of a tree, Oliver collapsed to his knees, and vomited the contents of his meal, along with an unhealthy amount of blood.

Each retch from his stomach brought forth an unbelievable stab of pain. He was sure that he'd see parts of his stomach or some other organ amongst the sickness. Find your next read at empire

He didn't catch anything that solidly matched that description, though he did see big chunks of that fleshy gelatin substance that he'd noticed in his room, now covered in blood, and looking suspiciously like the liver that he felt like he was losing.