The Cross

The next day, when Blyreem woke up, he found his head feeling foggy, his arms and thighs sore, as if he had run a marathon before going to bed the night before.

He also felt as though he had had some nightmare, but he could not remember anything. With no other choice, after lazing in bed for a while, he got up groggily, dressed, and headed to the breakfast hall.

Along the way, Blyreem kept rubbing his forehead, wondering whether he had had some nightmare the night before.

When he arrived at the breakfast hall, he found his friends waiting for him—

Of course, mainly the friends who were just as lazy as he was and had not chosen any morning classes.

A few curious classmates asked why his eyes were red and swollen, as though he had just been crying.

"Don't tell me you lost at Wizarding Playing Cards last night and hid under the covers to cry?" Neville Baston teased slyly.

"Cut the crap. I obviously won last night, all right?" Blyreem shot back with a laugh.

Hearing that seemed to lift Blyreem's spirits somewhat, but he still could not figure out what was going on. He could only shake his head vigorously, hoping to forget that vague nightmare from the night before as soon as possible.

Blyreem's body recovered quickly. More precisely, after eating some breakfast and lying in bed for a few more hours, he no longer felt anything strange.

But he still could not let go of that mysterious boy and the strange dream—

Because this was not the first time he had dreamed of that strange boy.

Nor was it the first time he had woken up sore all over.

Blyreem had no choice but to dig out the gilded-looking brass cross he had