To feel a sudden fall of immense inertia in the beating of the heart, the rush of breath, the discharge of every neuron, was an unsettling experience. To have all of it rush back was worse. The wave of slowing force, like a brief blizzard, washed over student and soldier alike. Bullets ground to halt, then returned to speed. People inhaled as though they had not breathed in minutes. Some of the soldiers had to lift their face masks to relieve the contents of their stomach. Ungifted tended to be weaker in constitution in general.

“What the hell was that?” Ironhog said groggily.

“A stasis generator,” Vortex answered. She lifted herself over to Lyssa. “Two gifts huh? Impressive. We could use you. Let’s get you to safety.”

“Leave me alone. I want to go home!” Lyssa snapped back, swatting away Vortex’s extended hand.

“What the…”

“Where am I? What is this place? Where’s grandpa?”

The soldiers were recovering. Vortex hissed with disapproval. She twisted the air in her palm, feeling the equilibrium churn and destabilize, fueling it with the core of turbulence sustained by an organ in her chest. She pushed and pushed until it spilled from her hand, recruiting the surrounding atmosphere as well. She fed it yet, gorged it, then unleashed the dust devil onto the world before it had had its fill.

Tufts of bush and dirt uprooted and took to the air. Wood splintered and branches shattered as though struck by lightning. Old trees lifted from its foundations, barely holding on. Lyssa crouched down, covering her ears. The tornado reached its climax, warping massive volumes of air to breakneck speeds. Vortex waved once. The living storm followed the direction, sweeping the soldiers several storeys into the air. They were deposited unceremoniously into the river. With her other hand, she released a new tornado, identical in power and size to the first, except it had been spun in the opposite direction. With a clap she directed both twins to meet. The winds embraced, ending each other in one final blast of air.

Ironhog pushed a tree back into place and wiped the dirt from his quilled hair.

“You could’ve done that the whole time?”

Vortex ignored him.

“What’s the matter with you?” She asked Lyssa.

“I want to go home!”

“You signed up for this. How old are you anyway?”

“I… I don’t know.” Lyssa glanced about herself, her eyes widening at the sight of her own limbs.

“Come on.” Vortex pulled Lyssa along. “We’ll get you ‘home’. We’re leaving!”

“Vortex!” A student called out. “There’s more of them!”

The soldiers had been poking them with two platoons, one from the water, and one on land. Now the whole forest seemed alive as camouflaged men rushed forward.

“We blew our load on their vanguard,” Ironhog said.

“Shit.” Vortex dragged Lyssa back to the group. Strength gifted built impromptu barricades against the coming red rain. Fire gifted deterred progress of the enemy with streams of flame.

They came with a few feet of the protection of the walls before the paint bullets began to fly. Vortex let go and ducked, dodging the shots. Lyssa cried out as a paintball struck her in the stomach.

“That hurts!” She said, her voice cracking. “Why are they doing this?!”

“God damn it.” Vortex dragged Lyssa to cover. “You’ve two health left in this game. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you have to focus.”

“I don’t know what’s happening! I hate being hurt! I hate being in pain!”

“Jesus Christ… How did you get into this school?” Vortex studied the student before her with a mixture of confusion and morbid curiosity.

“Never mind her,” a fire gifted named Ben, or Burnout, shouted. “I’m running out of juice, and they don’t seem to care about heat. What do we do?”

“There’s too many,” Ironhog said. “If they surround me they’ll definitely hit my suit.”

“I’m not failing the first game,” a winged student said. “I hope you guys make it.” They took off, dodging projectiles left and right. A few more with speed oriented gifts followed suit. The group thinned to about a few dozen. The soldiers did not pursue them. They were closing in on their barrel of fish.

“I don’t like doing this so early,” Vortex said. She cupped both hands together. “I may not be able to stop it once I release it.”

“Do it!”

A hand grabbed Vortex’s wrist before she began spinning up.

“No need,” Lyssa said sternly. She gazed at the incoming army with narrowed eyes. “I’m going to deal with all of them once they move close enough. Just pick me up if I collapse afterward."

Vortex raised an eyebrow.

“Are you bipolar or something?”

“Something.” Lyssa’s body became covered in shadow. Then she vanished.

Or rather, she moved. At this speed, the world scrolled by in still frames. Paintballs hung in the air like flakes in a giant snow globe. When her twitchwalk ended, time seemed to move normally again for an instant. She jumped many more times, a palm here, a fist there, destroying the weapons in the soldiers’ hands. Fiery armor protected her knuckles. If there were a few enemies huddled a little too close together, she reached towards them and closed her fist. The metal in their suits yanked them into a bundle. The forest was filled with the sounds of air popping and bodies slamming into tree trunks and ground. When Lyssa was finally finished, only groaning could be heard.

She ended her last twitchwalk back behind cover and fell on her knees, panting. Vortex rushed over to help her up.

“I thought I was holding back,” she said, laughing. “Great job. I don’t know what the hell that was, but wow.”

Her chest heaving, Lyssa looked behind her.

“I did that?”

“Let’s get moving,” Vortex called to the rest of the group. “Good thing we didn’t have to rely on the Blazicane.”

“The what?”

“Something we should all be glad I didn’t have to use.” Vortex’s expression deepened. “Because I would have.”

They were back on track, drawing closer to the mountainous part of the game. Lyssa glanced at the wake they once again left behind. In the brief moment of darkness when she blinked, she saw herself stand in the antechamber of her thoughts. Sethlana grumbled as she returned to her room. Izanami as well, though she made her reluctance as apparent as possible. Mercurial patted her on her metaphorical shoulder and returned to the shadows in the paintings. That left the little girl sitting under the apple tree.

Lyssa reached out with a hand. Her younger self was slow to accept, but eventually she did. Together they returned to the oils of their grandfather’s living room and watched.

The tea spilled.

His head slumped back.

The pale fire.

Then silence. The scene did not repeat. Hours would go by before her parents returned to pick her up. They held her in their embrace. Her father cried. People came. The body was collected. A funeral was had and the will processed. Reginald Unas had left little behind, save for a legacy only one person was privy to. Lyssa could not say for certain if it was a gift or a curse.