Orvyn turned to the slime, his voice firm and filled with curiosity. "How did you shoot the fire George... when the plant attacked? Was there a special incantation?" The slime wobbled slightly, its core pulsing faintly. It shared his emotions, the raw terror of the battle, the instinct to survive. It knew that if it hadn't thrown the fire, they might have died. It had felt the silver lines gathering, drawn to its core before being released in that final desperate attack.

Orvyn nodded, processing the slime’s response. He needed to do it again. He needed to master it, otherwise he might not have any hope in this world except for others. Closing his eyes, he recalled the emotions that had surged through him before in his dream—his guilt, his anger, the desperate need to protect. The air grew heavy around him. His fingers tingled, the silver lines beneath his skin pulsing in response. He focused on his hand. A chill spread across his palm, and then, slowly, crystals began to form. Small and jagged shards no larger than his ring finger. His breath grew faint, his head dizzy, and his arm felt unbearably heavy. He panted, struggling to maintain his focus, but then, his hand started to shake, and he released it. The crystals shot forward, small but fast, embedding themselves into the cavern wall with a dull thud.

Orvyn’s eyes widened in astonishment. He had done it. He finally had power.

A grin tugged at his lips. He was like a superhero—like those in the movies and TV shows. No longer just a boy lost in the darkness. He had something now, something real, something perhaps no other boy has. The crystals were not as bright as those naturally found in the cave, nor as large, but that didn’t matter. He would get better. He would grow stronger.

With his resolve renewed, Orvyn ventured deeper into the cave. The further he went, the more the cavern glistened with crystals, their light mirroring the faint blueish glow of his arm. The air thickened with that strange, sweet aroma once again, but this time, he wouldn't be fooled.

Pausing for a moment, he tore the bottom of his orange long-sleeved shirt, folding the fabric into a thick cloth. Using a small crystal, he carefully punctured holes in the cloth and interlaced vines through them, crafting a makeshift mask. Though it didn’t completely block the effect of the aroma, it made it bearable.

He pressed forward. The crystals along the walls grew larger, their glow intensifying, completely illuminating the cave with some now the size of his hands. The scent in the air became overpowering, pulling at his senses, urging him forward. His grip tightened on his makeshift spear. He wouldn’t let it control him.

Then, he saw them.

Vines. They emerged from the walls, dark green and thick, but different from the ones before. Sharp red spikes jutted from their surface, like jagged thorns. Unlike the others, these vines did not move. The silver line in the surroundings were drawn in. It was as if the vines were drinking them in, siphoning the energy from the air itself. The glow pulsed, growing dimmer as the lines vanished into the plant’s twisted form. The realization sent a shiver through him. These weren’t ordinary vines. 

Orvyn stepped closer, his breath steady, his heart pounding. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but he knew one thing for certain.

He would find a way out.