“What have I been up to? I go to school now. That’s what you wanted for me. No, not for law or business though. For heroism. You’ve never liked that cape stuff. Maybe that’s why I ended up disliking it too, so we’d at least have something in common. Until it happened, and I started hating it for real.”

The autumn chill was picking up. Wilted leaves rustled against the ground, dragged along by the wind. Lyssa placed the flowers down by the twin headstones. The positioning of those plaques stood out to her. The shape of the stones, made as a pair for a pair. But each had unique demons to offer. From the father, abandonment. From the mother, neglect. Two sides of the same coin to those with typical upbringings, but Lyssa knew the niceties of how they differ, and they differed greatly.

“I’ve told nobody about it. Even now. A lot of people have lost someone to Rachminau. I’m no different. I don’t deserve extra attention for something mundane. But let’s be honest you two weren’t the most stellar parents, huh?”

There was nothing to tell. How would that conversation begin? Those gravestones, sitting there side by side, just like how they were when the apartment collapsed with them in it; her mother and another man. Her father had been somewhere else when the meteors fell. It was pure serendipity that both parents died at the same time.

Lyssa had not been alone when the apartment fell on her. Her mother and a stranger had kept her company, lying there side by side, as thin as a hotcake beneath tons of rubble. She had remembered the whole event; she simply had not been strong enough to take it. So she invented someone who could. She hid in her own head while Izanami used her metallokinesis to keep the apartment from collapsing further. Izanami had held the weight of the ruins for three days.

“That’s all I have for now I guess. See you next month. Maybe.”

She left the graveyard and returned back to the campus. There weren’t many other places she needed to go. Everything was there. Food, her bed, training facilities. She always felt bad taking up Lian’s time after classes. She suggested they ought to stop, but Lian refused. Lyssa was danger to herself and everyone around her. Lian did not say it like that; she had used softer, lengthier words.

Lian was not wrong. Ever since Lyssa built her mind palace her head had felt more orderly, yes, but also more intense. There were other selves inside of her. Sethlana, Izanami, the darkness she did not know the name of, and the self in a pink yukata sitting by some Japanese shrine. Lyssa did not recall ever going to one, nor being interested, so where did the imagery even come from? All her selves were supposed to be her.

“Hello?”

“Yes, I’m here,” Lyssa said.

“We can skip today’s session if you’re tired.”

“No, no. Let’s go.”

“Alright.”

They closed their eyes. Lyssa felt herself sink. The real world shrunk as she slid down a tunnel. For a brief moment her heart raced from the vertigo. Then her feet touched the floor. She opened her eyes. Black and white tiles. Sunroof. Marble stairs. She had arrived.

“After spending this much time in your head, I think I’m beginning to understand your gift,” Lian said.

“What is it?”

“Your selves—you call them—govern your different gifts. Rather than dropping the compute load of multiple gifts on one persona, you create new ones to handle the burden.”

“I think I knew that instinctively. But I don’t understand how I have so many gifts. It wasn’t always like this.” Images passed by on the glass dome of the sunroof, memories. A young girl laughed on swings. The same girl, older, ran through a meadow. Brief flashes of a distant past.

“I remember having quiet head once. When life was simple. The pediatrician said I had category 1 resilience, one of the most common, benign gifts to exist.”

Lyssa began to walk, exploring the hallways of the palace while Lian paced close behind. New corridors formed as they walked. The design of the place followed a Victorian inspiration; ornate woodwork and muted colored wallpaper. Yet another style Lyssa did not remember cultivating an interest in.

“Well how is it holding up?” Lian asked. “This metaphorical home for your selves, I mean.”

“It feels better. Less white noise, more lecture hall chatter.”

“Wait.” Lian frowned. “What do you mean by that? Shouldn’t it be quiet?”

“Sort of. It’s more orderly. There’s only two selves in here right now.”

“Well we’re missing your third. I think Izanami called her Bildungsroman. Do you know what that means?”

“No idea.”

Lian’s concern only grew.

“Well, how many more do you have?”

“I don’t know.” Lyssa stopped at the end of the hall, where a caged door barred an elevator. “There’s one down there. She has her own space. I can’t…” Lyssa closed her eyes. She shook her head. “I can’t reach it from here. I can’t influence it either.”

“But that’s it, right?”

“I hear echoes. Not from the selves in this house. Not from this Bill or whatever. They feel far away.”

Lian inhaled tiredly.

“We have a lot of work to do then.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I think of this as hero work. The more control you have over yourself, the more good you’ll do.” She smiled reassuringly. “I’m glad to be able to help you.”

The cage door rattled. Lights flickered off one at a time, each missing light was a step for the encroaching darkness. Air rushed towards them, cold, angry, resentful.

“Oh no,” Lian said. “I forgot I can’t say that.”

“What is going on?” Lyssa felt her panic rise. As it did, the house’s foundations shook. “What did you say?”

“I have to leave.” Lian closed her eyes and concentrated. She rose out of the house, out of Lyssa’s mind, and into the garden’s autumn flowers.

Lian took a moment to reorient herself, to steady her breaths and reacclimate to having physical organs again.

“Lyssa?” Lian reached out and touched Lyssa’s arm. “Are you awake?”

“I don’t know who you are…”

Lian felt her stomach drop. She shuffled back, quickly meeting a wall that shouldn’t be there. M.A.G.E’s gardens had no walls. The trees were barren, their leaves turned to dried blood. It was the afternoon when they had started. Now night had fallen. The sky was a dark so rich it made day seem like a faint memory.

“I do know I don’t need your help. None of you care. All of you pretend to.”

“No, no, that’s not true.” Lian said between breaths. She could hardly breathe. “We care.”

“Do you? I’m seeing nothing but fear. You can’t hide from me. Your telepathy is weak compared to mine.”

“…But I’m trained. Lyssa!”

The night peeled back like a premature shroud. The trees once again bore flowers, the sun was still bright in the sky. Lyssa gasped as though she had been held underwater.

“Sorry,” she said. “Sorry, sorry, sorry-”

“Relax,” Lian said. “You’re back right?”

“Yes. She’s gone for- for now. How did you do that?”

“I asserted a coin-flip metaphor before she could catch on.”

“What?”

“Psychic abilities are hard to explain to others. Doesn’t matter. All that matters is you’re back.”

“I don’t know if I can handle her. She’s so strong.” Lyssa was on the verge of tears.

“I don’t care. We’ll get you fixed.” Lian grabbed Lyssa’s hand. “Trust me.”

Lyssa could only nod.