Chapter 5:First Steps

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue across the sprawling campus. Long shadows stretched across paved walkways and clipped lawns, softening the sharp edges of the buildings as the day leaned toward evening. The air carried the faint chill of approaching autumn, crisp enough to wake the senses, warm enough to invite lingering. Students drifted past in loose clusters, their laughter echoing between glass walls and stone facades, unaware of how monumental the moment felt to Oliver.

He stood at the edge of the design club’s workspace, fingers curled loosely at his sides, grounding himself in the familiar sight before him. Tables were crowded with colorful sketches, scraps of fabric, pinned notes, and models frozen halfway between idea and reality. A sleeve of sheer fabric spilled over the edge of one table like liquid light. Wire frames caught the sun and gleamed softly. It was chaotic, imperfect—and safe.

It had become his sanctuary amid the relentless noise of college life. Here, creativity thrived alongside quiet understanding. Here, ideas were shaped with care instead of ridicule. The gentle hum of laughter and overlapping chatter usually wrapped around him like a shield.

Yet today, the air felt different.

A tension lingered beneath the vibrancy, subtle but unmistakable, like pressure before a storm.

Gathered in a loose semicircle were Oliver, Max, and Sarah, their bodies angled inward as if forming a barrier against the rest of the world. The atmosphere crackled with a blend of courage and apprehension, hope threaded tightly with fear. As they sifted through a tangled spread of project ideas, Oliver felt his chest tighten and release in uneven rhythm. His pulse beat louder than the room.

He had been wrestling with the idea of speaking up for weeks now—about the whispers, the looks, the deliberate cruelty dressed up as jokes. The monumental weight of naming it pressed against him. The word bully rose unbidden in his mind, echoing through memories he’d tried to bury: locker room laughter, sharp voices, the way Caspian’s presence always seemed to tilt the world off balance.

“Okay, so what’s the plan for the design project?”

Sarah’s voice cut cleanly through Oliver’s spiraling thoughts. She sat at the center of the group, auburn hair catching the sunlight and glowing like embers. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes were focused, determined. There was something quietly commanding about her, a steadiness that made people listen. She wasn’t pushing—she was inviting.

Oliver straightened slightly, drawing strength from that.

“The initial idea was focusing on sustainability, right?” Max added easily. He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the wood in an absent rhythm. His expression was casual, almost playful, but Oliver had learned not to mistake that for shallowness. Max noticed everything. He had a way of cutting straight to the heart of things, no matter how uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Oliver began, inhaling deeply. His voice felt foreign in his own ears. “But maybe we could also include something more… human.” He hesitated, then pressed on before fear could pull him back. “Like the emotional impact of our designs. Not just how they affect the environment—but how they affect people. Communities. How we treat each other.”

His fingers curled into his palm.

“Like… bullying.”

The word slipped out before he could stop it.

Silence swallowed the room.

It wasn’t the awkward kind filled with judgment—but the heavy kind, the kind that demanded attention. The word hung between them, dense and undeniable. Oliver’s heart hammered painfully as his mind raced, already bracing for regret. He felt exposed, flayed open by his own honesty.

Max was the first to move.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his expression sharpening with sincerity. “That matters,” he said quietly. “More than people like to admit.” His gaze held Oliver’s, unwavering. “And it’s not just your experience. This stuff touches everyone. Whether they want to admit it or not.”

The tightness in Oliver’s chest eased just a fraction.

Sarah nodded slowly, her features softening. “I agree,” she said. “There’s so much pressure here—competition, image, hierarchy. People pretend bullying ends in high school, but it doesn’t. It just gets quieter.” Her voice firmed. “We should address it.”

Something fragile but luminous sparked inside Oliver.

“Maybe we could present it at the upcoming assembly,” Max said suddenly, energy surging back into his tone. “Turn the project into something bigger. A statement. Start a conversation. Maybe even a buddy system—something visible.”

The word assembly landed like a shockwave.

Oliver’s heart leapt, then plunged. A stage. A crowd. Caspian’s world. His mind flashed with images of eyes on him, whispers sharpening into laughter, power shifting dangerously. Fear clawed up his spine.

“What if it backfires?” he asked, voice trembling despite his effort to steady it. “What if it just… makes things worse?”

Sarah didn’t hesitate. “Then we deal with it together.” Her voice was calm but unyielding. “Fear doesn’t get to decide what matters. Not anymore.”

Max nodded. “You wouldn’t be alone up there, Oliver. Not for a second.”

Oliver searched their faces, really looked at them. There was no pity there. No hesitation. Just belief.

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay,” he said, breath shaking but real. “Let’s do it.”

Excitement burst through the group, laughter breaking the tension like sunlight through clouds. Ideas collided and fused as they leaned closer, sketching plans that blended sustainability with empathy, art with advocacy. For once, Oliver’s voice didn’t fade into the background. It carried.

Time blurred. When the meeting finally wound down, Oliver felt lighter than he had in years.

“Don’t worry,” Max said, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “We’ve got you.”

As they stepped outside, dusk settling in, warmth still clung to Oliver—until he felt it.

A presence.

Just beyond the spill of light from the building, a figure stood half-hidden in shadow. Tall. Still. Watching.

Caspian.

His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes locked onto Oliver. A slow smile curved his mouth—not friendly, not amused. Predatory.

Oliver’s breath hitched.

Caspian tilted his head slightly, as if acknowledging him. As if to say I see you.

The warmth drained from the night.

This wasn’t over.

It was only beginning.