(Caleb)

The trees pass by me in a soft blur, but I barely take note of them. At the same time, I observe every single one of them. If I wasn't alert at all times, Teacher would take me down in an instant with one of the traps he set up throughout the woods.

The air is crisp and cool, the moon large and unmoving above us. Calmness fills everything in this peaceful realm. No war, no fighting, only minor arguments and occasional crime in the city, where I live.

But there are too many voices there. I want them out of my head, and Teacher provides an out. When everyone sleeps, we visit the ruins or these woods and he trains or tests me. I only wish the voices in my head derived from a psychic Ability. That would be far better than my murderous, primal power that shows no mercy to anyone.

Teacher wants to teach me how to use it, but I refuse to use it. The last time I did, a lot of people died. I was six then, and I'm twelve now. Many times, I have asked Teacher to bind my Ability, but he refuses. He tells me that one day, I will wish to use it, and will regret having bound it.

We argue about it a lot. I will never want to use this cursed power of mine, yet he persistently insists that I will change my mind. I do not want to fight, and I most certainly do not want to use a power that can devastate an entire city.

Snapping out of my thoughts, I disassemble the trap that nearly caught me, finishing at the last moment and passing between the pair of trees the barrier was placed upon, grateful to have done that after pausing for a moment.

The spell would have spawned a temporary homunculus that would have fought me. Teacher has taught me to fight, but only through the use of dummies and inanimate objects. Every now and then, he creates a homunculus in an attempt to help me get over my dislike and fear of combat.

The pause is only a moment, though, as I'm immediately moving through the woods, watching out for other spells. Teacher has been pushing me to fight for real, not against training dummies that can't fight back. He started that a year ago, and over the last few months, his attempts have grown more frequent, and it's annoying.

Grant's grown worried, too. I know that my other mentor has some sort of military background, but neither of them strike me as people who worry. They both try to hide it from me, but I'm twelve, not a child. I'm almost thirteen.

Teacher wouldn't be increasing his attempts to help me over my fear of fighting if he weren't worried, and Grant, today, was on edge, and constantly reached to his side, as if grabbing a sword or knife or something.

Shaking those thoughts from my head, I continue to travel, moving like a breeze through the woods through the utilization of my aura. As far as I can tell, only Teacher, Grant, and I can use aura in the town. Grant, I know can because he conceals it, hiding it within himself to avoid leaking it out. A basic technique all aura users are taught, if they learn to use it through a mentor. It slows aging and speeds healing, retaining the life energy that is our aura within us.

We replenish aura over time, so using it up does not put us at too much of a risk, unless we burn it out quickly or someone forcibly removes it from us.

I know Teacher can use aura because he taught me how to use it, though I have always had access to it. A prodigy, he calls me, in both aura and magic, and he claims that my Ability is the stuff of legends.

Sometimes, I want to smack him hard with all my might. The only thing that prevents me from doing that is the fact that he is older and more powerful than me, and a punch with the full power of my aura behind it would probably just glance off of him.

Before I realize it, the rendezvous point stands before me, a street of ruined buildings that nature chose to reclaim many years ago. I make my way to a piece of fallen concrete and sit on it, setting my back on the ground at my feet and pulling a bottle of water from within.

Aura is fun to play with. Unlike Abilities, the only variation within it, at least as far as I'm aware, is its level of power.

I take a few sips from my bottle, then screw the cap back on and set it on the ground, before I lean back and stare up at the moon, listening. Once upon a time, I could hear the moon speak. He sounded young, like a child. The last year or so, though, his voice has remained silent, and it worries me.

The moon is what kept me sane all those years. Ever since he went silent, I've struggled. I wish I knew what I did wrong, to make him stop talking to me.

Sighing, I wipe the sweat from my brow and drain the rest of my bottle, setting it back down and touching a finger to the top of it, forming a spell to turn it to dirt. The dirt contrasts with the soil around us, darker and rich with nutrients. Ever since the Calamity, two hundred and some years ago, the world has been in a continuous state of ruin. Sure, there are cities, and even farms, but unless actively fertilized, nutrients are sparse. Forests exist only because they feed themselves.

At the same time, though, forests are dangerous. Many have monsters hiding within them, and the only reason this one is safe for me to wander about is because of its lack of monsters. At least, monsters that would bother me. A quick flare of aura is enough to scare them off.

Most townsfolk would never enter the woods.

Looking up at the moon, I wait, cocking my right ear when I hear someone approach. Only one person would be out here at this hour, other than myself.

“You did well again, Caleb,” Teacher stops walking a few feet from me. “Though your reaction times slowed down toward the end.”

“I went for four hours straight,” I look down, nudging the new dirt around the ground with a worn sneaker. I'm surprised they've lasted this long, even with my magic. “I'm surprised that I managed to complete your game tonight without stopping, as we've never gone that long before. Three hours was our previous max, and that had a fifteen-minute break halfway through.”

Teacher does not respond, and after a few minutes, I look over at him. He's watching me with his deep, blue-grey eyes. He says that his eyes are ocean blue. My eyes are almost identical to his, though my hair is only sandy blond, while his looks made of actual gold. His golden skin defies logic, as it takes about a day to make it to sunlight. This part of the world is covered in eternal night, even if our home continues to rotate as it spins around the sun. The Calamity had some odd effects on the world, effects not even the Sage could affect.

My mentor, ever since he found me here after I was brought to this new orphanage, has not aged a day. His hair, his eyes, his sun-tanned skin, his near-six feet of height – all of it remains the same. I asked him once if he were my brother, and he said he was far too old for that, that his own parents were dead long before I was ever a thought.

That isn't hard to believe, but I still had to ask him, since we look so similar. In a rare moment, I jokingly asked him if he were my dad, when he told me he was too old. He thought I was serious at first, since I'm not one to joke.

Then, Teacher confessed to me that he has never been with a girl before. He only had one lover, and they died before I was born. Teacher looked sad when he said that, so I didn't press further.

Still, though – there must be some relation. Our slender builds are even the same. We both have muscle from training, but slender in form, like someone who does martial arts and other non-weight exercises would have. Someone used to speed over strength. I bet that if I had a picture of him at my age, the only differences would be his tan and golden hair.

“You're rather thoughtful tonight,” Teacher says, interrupting my thoughts. “What fills your mind tonight?”

What fills my thoughts? Plenty of things fill them tonight. Aura, the games he played, his worry, Grant's worry, my fears, thoughts of what happened when I was six, what Grant suggested earlier.

“Grant has suggested that I join the GSDF,” I finally decide on an answer.

Grant is the second of the three people I look up to and trust here. He's roughly fifty years old, tall, and well-built, salt and pepper hair, and dark brown eyes. I eat lunch at the tea shop with him every day, and he has helped me out of rough spots. He refuses to let me work there, even though I know how to do the job as well as any of his actual staff, and the regulars all know me.

Grant is the only other superhuman I know of in the town. I'm not sure of his actual rank, but he can enhance his own physical defense and resilience.

“The Global Supernatural Defense Federation?” Teacher looks amused. “That would be a fun thing for you, Cay.”

“Don't call me that,” I glare at him. He knows I hate that nickname. “I've never even heard of them before today.”

“GSDF,” Teacher sits next to me, looking up at the moon for several long moments before he looks back to me and continues. “Is one of many secret organizations that help contain the monster and supernatural threat levels. GSDF, in my opinion, is the superior force. Some wish to harness the power for their own ends, some wish to simply eradicate magicians, superhumans, and monsters alike, and others simply want balance.

“The GSDF,” he continues. “Fights to maintain that balance. They're very small, and they only accept superhumans. Their magical counterpart is the Global Magical Defense Federation, which takes in magicians, though of course, their power is nothing compared to before the Cataclysm. While I say they're small, they're also the most potent forces, united under the Council of Dreams.

“Back to the GSDF,” Teacher looks at his pupil. “They train young superhumans in the art of combat and defense, as well as train their own powers. For the most part, they fight against monsters causing problems, hunting down powerful monsters before they can cause a problem, and against magicians and superhumans that attempt to disturb the delicate balance of the world. They work with the GMDF from time to time, and their resources are pretty vast.”

I think about that for a long time, not a word said between us for nearly half an hour as I stare at the moon once more, my thoughts drifting back to his silence.

“I recommend,” Teacher interrupts my thoughts once more. “That you listen to Reynolds' advice. Yes, you'll have to face your fear of fighting and using your own ability, but at the same time, you'll be able to make a difference.”

“I can't,” I shake my head, shuddering as the memories of six years ago come to mind. “If I use my ability-”

“You don't need to use your ability,” Teacher hates interrupting me, but the few times he does it, it's always when I'm starting to relive what happened. I'm grateful he does this. “No, Caleb, you never need to use your ability. I was able to teach you to fight without you ever fighting. While you won't want to, they'll teach you how to wield those skills. Someday, you'll be forced into a combat situation. It's better to face your fears in training than in that situation.”

“No,” I shake my head. “I'll never be forced into combat, not here. The monsters don't dare come near our town.”

“Not yet,” Teacher says, looking up at the moon. “But with the Ability you possess, all manner of beings will seek after you, especially with the level of power you possess with that Ability. An ordinary superhuman would die of old age, if not killed sooner. You're not ordinary, though – you're a magician who knows magic beyond the norm, magic believed to have been forgotten. Should you continue your training in magic, you'll live hundreds of years. Should you live to be two hundred, and actively train your ability, our passive fields will likely match in size.”

“So you're two hundred?” I can't help but interrupt him, knowing there's a mischievous look in my eyes. “Or thereabouts?”

“Perhaps,” my mentor smiles at me, amusement in his eyes. “You never stop attempting to discern my age, do you?”

“It was worth a shot,” I grin at him.

Admittedly, my mentor's age was something often on my mind. Teacher speaks of times long ago, when the world was different. I believed him to only be around a hundred, but very knowledgeable of history, but he just accidentally slipped and let me know he was alive back then.

“If you were,” I cannot resist pushing again. “That means you might have been alive during the Calamity.”

“The Calamity?” Teacher laughs. “I'll give you this one: I was around during the Calamity. And before it. I am well over two hundred years old. What I was actually saying, Caleb, is that, should you live to be two hundred, then at that point in time, not comparing to my power now, your own passive field will match mine for size. That is, of course, providing you live that long, and train in your ability. Given your circumstances and training, you could even match my own field, at that point in time, sooner than two hundred.”

I digest that information. I never believed I could match my mentor in power, not once, but here Teacher is, saying that I will, one day, do just that. Another smile forms on my lips, and I look at Teacher once more.

“So,” I trail off, knowing that the few times I manage to do it and Teacher doesn't know what I'm going to say, it frustrates him.

“So?” Teacher raises his right eyebrow, a move that used to infuriate and frustrate me, but not anymore. I haven't revealed to him yet that I figured out how to do it, and so pretend to be annoyed by it. “Well, Caleb? What?”

“Are you saying that I'm stronger than you?”

“Not right now!” Teacher laughs again. “But your own potential means you could one day surpass my own. I was not born with anywhere near as much latent power and talent as you, Caleb, and hard work will only go so far against a natural, especially when said natural is a genius.”

I look back up at the moon, my smile fading as I return to my thoughts.

As I think, Teacher walks away, examining the street. Now that I notice it, there are scars gouged into the street and the buildings, and dried blood. Teacher dips a finger into some for a moment, then touches it to his tongue, tasting it. Ew.

I look back up to the moon, keeping my gaze fixed on there as Teacher continues to look around the streets. Some monsters probably went at it with each other here, though the fact that they could gouge the streets here is a little worrying, I know that it's nothing to worry about.

At least, not until Teacher returns to me and speaks with worry in his voice. He's not even bothering to hide it.

“Caleb.”

“Yes?” I look at him, noting the furrowed brows and pursed lips. “What's wrong?”

“I believe,” Teacher says. “I know why Grant suggested you go.”

“Why?” Caleb asks, curious.

“An entire unit of GSDF and GMDF soldiers were killed recently,” Teacher answers. “I believe Grant wants you out of the way.”

“Out of the way?” I pout. “I'm not in his way! We just talk every day at lunch, and he-”

“That's not what I meant,” Teacher hastily interrupts me. “He wants you out of the way, somewhere you'll be safe. There was a battle here yesterday, on this very street. One that killed twenty trained agents, all of them with A-Rank abilities or who were A-Rank magicians. At the training facility you would go to, the instructors are retired S-Rank superhumans. They might be retired, but S-Ranks are S-Ranks. Grant must know their target.”

“Their target?”

“The monsters,” Teacher thinks before explaining. “Were after you. It appears you've gained the attention of an ancient being, one I thought I left sealed. I need to investigate this. For now, your training with me will be on hold. Go to the training, Caleb. You'll be safe there. Learn to fight – not just alone, against targets – but actually fight. If that being is waking from his seal, then others will be as well. You'll be safe there. As soon as I'm able, I'll return to continue your training, and I will teach you magic that you could never handle before.”

Teacher cocks an ear, then scoffs. At the same time, a monster roars in pain, golden flames bursting into the sky from the next street over. Teacher looks back to me, and I turn my gaze from the flames to him.

“Again,” Teacher says. “Go to the training grounds, become a cadet. You will need the skills, and the resources, that they give you there. I must be going, but before I do,” Teacher places a hand on my head. “I've given you a charm that will protect you until you arrive at the training grounds, no monster will be able to trace you. The spell there will prevent any from getting to you, so long as you remain on the property. Farewell, Caleb, and until we meet again, may the power of the ancients be your guiding star.”

Teacher turns and walks down the street, a jacket materializing on him, a deep, rich navy in color, a thirteen-pointed gold star on the back of it. He turns the corner, and is gone.

I sigh, then look back at the moon.

The silent, yet powerful moon. I desire the day that the moon speaks to me again. As I drift back into thought, I think about my mentor's parting words. Everyone knows of the Sage; they all swear by the Sage and farewell by the Sage.

The Sage, a mythical figure who ended the Calamity. Or, as according to Teacher, a real being who halted the powerful fluctuations of magic that ravaged the world, changing its landscapes and environments, casting some places, such as my homeland, into eternal darkness, others into eternal daytime, one into eternal dusk, some into eternal frozen wastelands, and so on.

Teacher never swears by the Sage, he never parts by the Sage. His swears are by the ancients, and his farewells give their guiding power.

Sighing once more, I zip up my backpack and begin the trek to the orphanage I call home, a walk that takes me thirty minutes, but had I tried, I could have made it home in just a minute. I did not feel like using my aura to speed his advance, and when honest with myself, I was really just dragging my feet.

The orphanage stands at two stories, with clean, straight lines in its construction, a six-foot wall surrounding the property, a hinged gate that squeaks when opened. The gate is never greased so as to ensure the residents could not escape unnoticed.

Not that they do not scale the wall, or in the case of one young resident, use magic to ensure the gate moved silently. Today, I choose not to utilize my magic to simply cancel the sound of the gate, but instead, look around before using my aura to boost me when I jump.

Landing in a crouch on the other side of the gate, I look around to make sure no one inside noticed me. The coast seems to be clear, and I can only sense sleeping forms within.

As I enter the home, I listen. One small aspect of my gift that I actually enjoy is being able to know when others are around or awake. I do not hear their thoughts as anything but in sleep, and so make my way upstairs, to my room.

There, I drop my bag by my bed. A single twin bed, on the opposite wall of another, where my roommate, a boy three months my senior, snoozes.

If one looked at the room, they could see the imaginary line that divided the two halves. On my side, neatness reigns, with books organized neatly on shelves, clothes folded neatly in the dresser or hung properly on hangers, my desk clear and uncluttered, and not a toy on the ground to be stepped on in a nightly bathroom trip. My side, the side with the door.

The other side of the room, however, bears clothes and toys and trash all over the floor and bed, the desk cluttered with junk, the walls adorned with posters of fit girls and characters from games and cartoons.

As I unlace my shoes, I notice the shirt and pants that Brody, my roommate, wore earlier that day, both discarded beside the bed, a pair of underwear resting on top. Upon seeing that, I snort and roll my eyes.

My roommate recently discovered several different things, including that it feels better to sleep unclothed, and how to please oneself. He has yet to discover how to do the latter discreetly at night, and only contributes to my issues sleeping, part of the reason I enjoy the trips with Teacher.

I sense a stirring within the house, and gently use my magic to put the sixteen year-old back to sleep, knowing that, were she to wake, then her roommate would as well, and the two of them would claim both of the bathrooms on the second floor. Those are the good bathrooms, and I'm covered in sweat from Teacher's games. I'd rather take a shower now than wait for them to finish in six hundred days.

Grabbing a change of clothes, I exit my room, stopping by the hall closet to grab a towel and a washcloth, before entering the nearest bathroom. Remembering my shampoo and body wash, I quickly run to my room to retrieve those, before returning to the bathroom and closing the door, starting the shower just as someone knocks on the door. I only eased her back to sleep so that I could make it in first, not so that she would sleep through my shower.

I really should have forced her to stay asleep through the shower. Or at least, most of it. I hate confrontation.

“I need a shower!” Tracy pounds on the door when I ignore her. “Let me in!”

“Sorry,” I yell over the shower. “But the rules state that if someone makes it in first, they get it first. Try the other one.”

“Erica's in there!”

“You snooze, you lose!” That wasn't me.

“You're going to regret this!” Tracy yells at me through the door.

Probably not. In the past, I would have let her in once she started pounding. This time, however, I do not plan to be around to face her wrath, which will start once she finishes her shower, not before.

I strip off my clothes and step into the shower, washing myself thoroughly. Unlike the females of the house, I do not insist on using separate shampoo and conditioner, electing to purchase the bottle that contains both. Makes the showers quicker, and saves on money.

Today, though, I remain in the shower a long time, washing myself slowly as I think about the night. With my magic, the lack of sufficient hot water production is of no concern, and so I allow the hot water to be diverted to the other two showers, cold water coming to my own, warming to the perfect temperature just as it leaves the showerhead.

I do not want to fight, I do not want to learn how to fight for real. That happened once before, when I was six.

Four of my closest friends, other children that I considered brothers and sisters, were killed in a monster attack. I was powerless in the fight, and when I attempted to use my power, it acted differently than I wanted it to, and that caused the deaths of my friends.

Teacher tries to tell me that it is fine for me to use my power, that all I need is to learn how to control it and wield it, even going so far as to make sure I knew all of the laws of science and nature and magic, yet I refuse to ever use my power, allowing only the passive field it grants me to act, as that is one thing I cannot control. It's active whether I want it to be or not, but at least it does nothing on its own.

Though sometimes it's a curse, such as now, as Kyle is up, wearing boxers, and in the hall, flirting with Tracy, who is sixteen, and so a 'woman', in the younger boy's eyes.

I focus on the thoughts of the home's youngest resident, a boy of six years named Tommy, who sleeps, blissfully unaware of the commotion going on around him, dreaming of dinosaurs and magic, his dreams innocent and pure, combining the child's two favorite things.

I am envious of Tommy's ability to sleep through anything. The child is small, slight of build, and easily scared, but also innocent and naïve, and such a heavy sleeper that the other youth wonder if their landlady drugs him in his evening cup of milk, something the child cannot fall asleep without. Another detail that baffles them is how the young boy manages to never wet his bed, despite consuming liquids just before falling asleep.

Their landlady is just as baffled as they are, though I know the true reason behind it. The answer is that it is simply in the boy's genetic code. He comes from a long line of heavy sleepers, waking exactly once every night to use the bathroom, then passing back out within moments of returning to bed.

I finish my shower and dry off, the full-length mirror on the back of the door unfogging as I look at myself, at my slender, toned build devoid of any body hair that the other boys my age have already started to reveal.

Sighing, I pull on my clothes, feeling, as usual, inadequate. The mirror fogs once more, and I leave the bathroom, finding Tracy standing against the wall across from the bathroom.

“You probably stole all the hot water,” Tracy snaps at me. “I had to stand here and deal with Brody flirting, as always.”

“Should have woken sooner,” I hastily walk past her and into my room, scanning my things.

The training will give me a uniform, so I do not need much. Anything, actually. I make my way downstairs to Jennifer, the landlady who watches over us orphans. She is preparing pancakes in the kitchen. I already have my shoes and jacket on, prepared for my trip away, not planning on staying past telling her I'm leaving.

“Good morning, Caleb,” she greets me as I'm trying to figure out how to tell her that I'm leaving. How did she know I was standing here? I was silent as night, yet she seemed to know. And she's an ordinary woman, too. That power of hers has always baffled me. “Chocolate chips today?”

“No, thanks,” I shake my head, seizing the opportunity to tell her as an explanation. “I'm not staying for breakfast.”

“Really?” Jennifer asks. “You never leave before breakfast.”

“I've got an upset stomach,” I answer truthfully. “I probably wouldn't be able to keep food down.”

“Oh,” Jennifer walks over to me, pressing a hand to the back of my head, though I know she feels a normal body temperature as a result of my magic. “Well, you feel fine. Are you sure you should be going out, then? If you're not feeling good, then you should get some rest.”

“If I stay and rest,” I respond. “I'll never leave. I'm-I've decided to try security work. I'm leaving. The world's a dangerous place, and various firms and agencies are always recruiting. It'll probably be a couple of years before I actually go up against a real threat, they'll want to train me a bit first, but there's an agency I heard of that trains youth who wants to help make the world a better place, and I want to do that. I don't want to be stuck here, doing some pointless job, when the world has threats that need taking care of.”

“You're not a fighter,” Jennifer puts her hands on her hips. “In fact, you let the other kids pick on you and beat you up. I don't think you'd do very well.”

“I'm going to do my best,” I straighten up, trying to show more confidence than I'm feeling. “I'll try to get over my fear of fighting. I'm going to train hard and help take down the evil people of this world.”

“Then I give you my blessing,” Jennifer wraps me in a hug. “I hope it works out, and you can get past what happened back then. I know the others here don't know about it, but I knew, when you were brought to me, what happened to you. Should it not work out, your bed will still be here for you.”

“Thank you,” I dip my head.

I never knew she was aware of the incident, but thinking back on it, I realize that they must have told her. Why else would she have been so calm and patient when I first came here, quiet and scared and easily frightened? She must have known what happened to me back then, what it was that made me so wary of people and frightened of everything, falling into a meltdown every time something went wrong.

“When are you leaving?” Jennifer steps back, looking down at me.

“I'm going to talk to the person now,” I answer. “And find out when I need to leave, and how to get there.”

“How well do you know this person?”

“It's Grant Reynolds,” I answer. “I've known him for years. He's apparently a retired member of the agency.”

“Mr. Reynolds is a good man,” Jennifer nods, smiling.

I know that she has fantasized over him many times, but has never worked up the courage to ask him out. Her reasoning is that surely, a man as handsome as he is already taken – another factor in her decision to keep their relationship professional.

“That, he is,” I interrupt her memories of them meeting. “I'll be going, now. Goodbye, Jennifer.”

“Goodbye,” Jennifer gives me another hug. “And good luck.”

I fight the urge to turn around and return to the home as I make my way to the tea shop, arriving just after opening, the bell ringing as the door taps it upon my entrance, and a moment later, Grant Reynolds enters the room from an entryway behind the bar along the right side of the room.

“You're early today,” the older man says as I take in his appearance.

He stands at nearly six and a half feet tall, his fit body filling out the dark brown polo and black jeans my mentor chose to be the shop's uniform, his dark brown hair tinged with grey, his brown eyes looking at me with great concern.

I feel stupid for not realizing yesterday that he was worried about me. Now that Teacher has informed me that the monsters came for me, Grant's worry is obviously about me. His eyes linger too long on worry when he looks at me.

“I've decided to go,” I state. “I wanted to know how I'll get there, and where to go, and when to leave.”

“I only presented it to you yesterday,” Grant frowns at me. “I expected you to think a fair bit more on it before actually taking me up on it, if at all.”

“I did enough thinking,” I respond. “If I think about it more, I'll choose not to go. I want to do this. I don't want to delay. When do I need to be there?”

“I was going to have you on the session,” Grant informs me. “That starts in four months, but one starts in just a few days. If you catch the next bus out of town, you'll be there around lunch tomorrow, and the session begins the day after that. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No,” I shake my head. “But Teacher believes it's a good idea.”

Grant doesn't respond immediately, probably thinking about how we met and the mysterious being I call 'Teacher'. No one here has ever seen him. He tells me he's shy, and I think he is. When he first started mentoring me, he was always awkward. Being six, I didn't notice it, but at twelve, I have a different perspective on things. And I'm not suffering from events that just happened, but events that are in the distant past.

“Very well, then,” Grant takes a deep breath, then lets it out all at once. “Let me grab a piece of paper.”

Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting at the bus station, waiting for the bus to come as I look up at the moon, thinking. When the bus pulls up, not ten minutes after I sat down, I stand up and step onto the bus, plugging in the earbuds to the music player that Grant provided for the journey, knowing it will be a long one.

The trip is long and boring, with a few people boarding the bus, a few exiting, but not much else happens. That night, the bus stops at a service station to fuel up and let the passengers off and stretch. Most of them grab a bite to eat in the service station.

Once the other passengers have stepped off the bus, I step off, stretching for a moment before making my way inside the service station and heading to the restroom in the back, waiting in the line. Once I enter, I scan the grimy room with its sole, dim light bulb, which flickers every few moments.

Using my magic, I ensure that the restroom is safe for human use. I do not trust a bathroom that looks grimy. Grant and Teacher have both instilled a sense of cleanliness upon me, even if they made sure I understand that certain types of being dirty are fine, though I think the two of them have different definitions of that.

Business done, I simply magick my hands clean, not trusting the sink, soap, towels, or even the water itself, and not wanting to put the effort in to make them safe, as I can spend less energy to clean the hands directly.

I exit the restroom and browse the food the service station stocks. Some plastic-wrapped sandwiches, but beyond that, everything is candy, chips, or needs heating or cooking or mixing with other things. I locate a roller grill with hot dogs on it, and choose two of them, pulling out buns and squeezing ketchup onto the bottoms before adding the hot dogs. I bite into one as I make my way to the counter, chewing it the snack slowly.

The hot dog is tastier than I expected.

At the counter, I pay for the two hot dogs with money that Grant provided me for the journey, then return to browsing the candy. When I finish the hot dogs, I throw my trash away, then walk over to the magazine racks and pull one out, beginning to read the latest gossip.

Magicians and superhumans publish magazines sold all over the world, and they are sold widely, despite the majority of people being mundane, even if aware of the world around them. Everyone, magical and mundane alike, wants to know what is going on in the world, after all. Except for those who'd rather be ignorant, and both Teacher and Grant tell me those people are among the most dangerous.

I have been fascinated by the superhuman and magical gossip since I was seven years old and read my first magazine.

With the music in my ears, I cannot hear the thoughts going on in the heads of those around me. Well, I can, but not as strongly as normal. I regret not having looked into something like this before, I assumed it wouldn't work.

As I'm reading about a development in magical crystals, I feel a gun shoved into my back. I stumble for a moment, frozen up in fear, and the man spins me around, yanking the earbuds from my ears. My gaze fixes on the gun, my body frozen. I can't move, all I can do is think about the gun, about a bullet. About death and destruction, about-

“Empty your pockets,” the masked gunman orders, interrupting my thoughts. “Give me everything you have.”

I nod, afraid of what will happen if I don't, and reach into my pockets. As I do that, the door to the service station opens.

(Jared)

As I step off the bus, which lingers only a moment to let new passengers on, I look around. We stopped at a service station, where another bus has stopped. The bus will likely rest up here for a couple of hours, then take off again. It's a long-distance bus, which means that three drivers are on it, and they take shifts.

The Norvo Kingdom Transport logo, a falcon soaring above the moon, which sits on the side of the bus, tells me it's the one I'm looking for. It's the one that will take me to Alzir, where I will join other youth in basic training, to become a full agent of the GSDF.

Not that I need the training, I am already powerful enough on my own. However, the training is mandatory, and so, I make my way inside the service station for a snack. I'll show them my ticket when it's time to board.

They probably won't ask for it, if what I'm sensing is true, but I'll show it to them anyway. The mundies in there will be in awe at the power of the superhumans, if they've never seen one before, after I'm done.

Sure enough, when I step inside, I count ten armed gunmen, two frightened workers, and thirty terrified customers. One thing I notice is a gunman pointing a gun at another boy around my age. His hair is sandy blond, and he's got nice, ocean blue eyes. Kind of cute, and his build says he's got training. He's likely heading the same way I am, and despite the look of fear on his face, I get the sense he's powerful.

“Hands up!” A man shouts, aiming a gun at me, and the gunman holding up the other kid looks towards me.

“Why?” I ask him, and the boy, taking advantage of the distraction, disappears from sight. Another superhuman, then, with the power to weave light. That's an interesting ability. It might be illusions, though, which is automatically an S-Rank, being a form of perception power. I hope it is, as that kind of power would be useful on my team. A light-bender who can so easily disappear is powerful enough as it is, so I'm sure he'd be happy, regardless. I turn my gaze back to the one pointing a gun at me. “It's not as if you could do anything to me.”

He really can't. B-Rank superhumans like me are pretty rare, and I doubt any of them, if there even are superhumans among the gunmen, would be higher than D-Rank. My power alone makes me a formidable force among mundies, particularly ones with guns.

“Fine, then,” the gunman fires off a shot, causing everyone to jump.

Everyone save me, as the bullet stops a foot from my face. I smirk at him as I reach up and grab the bullet, examining it. The heat doesn't bother me, not when it comes from metal.

“Like I said,” I look back to the gunman. “It's not as if you could do anything to me.”

As the gunmen fire at me, I flex my Ability, the bullets all pulling to my hand, merging, heating up, glowing orange as they fuse together, forming small blades that then float in front of me, the process taking me less time than it takes them to fire.

It's really quite boring. Once I'm out of Basic Training and in full Training, I'll get to go on real missions, and threats like these would be absolutely laughable to my team.

I stand here, calm as the night, as the men realize that not one of their bullets touched me. I then sweep my arm out. As I complete the arc, the blades, of which there are ten, shoot out, piercing the chests of the men, and they drop to the ground, dead.

“As I said,” I snort. “You can't do anything to me.”

I scan the room before fixing my gaze on where the invisible boy is standing. He moved after turning invisible, probably to avoid being struck. With a power like that, he could really do damage to them. He must be scared of fighting. No matter. He'll get over it in training, and become a formidable force.

“That's an interesting ability,” I tell him. “Were it not for the change in your pocket, I wouldn't be able to tell you're there at all. Is it light manipulation?”

“Magic,” he reveals himself. “I can do a little bit. I created a minor field around myself to prevent people's gazes from fixing on me. You still saw me, you simply couldn't focus on me, even though you knew I was there. To your conscious mind, there was no one standing there.”

Magician? He's going the wrong way for training, then.

“So you're a magician, then,” I grin at him. “Where are you going? I'm heading to get trained to be an agent of the GSDF.”

“Same.”

“That's for superhumans,” I frown at him, hoping he understands what I mean. Maybe he's not as good as I thought, he doesn't seem too bright. “Not magicians.”

“I'm a superhuman.”

“That was magic.”

“Superhumans can know magic,” he retorts, finally meeting the my gaze. My brilliant, sparkling, green eyes. He quickly looks away, and I chuckle inwardly to myself. The staff couldn't resist my gaze, either. “I'm both.”

“Nice to meet you, Both!” I grin at him. “I'm Jared!”

“Caleb.”

“Look at the mundies,” I chuckle, scanning the room of frightened citizens. “They're so scared, and the gunmen aren't even alive anymore.”

“How can you just kill someone?” Caleb asks. “It's not right.”

“It's easy!” I grin at him again. “They're worthless and weak, and so it's easy to kill them. Besides, they had their guns pointed at me and were trying to kill me. It's not like I wasn't defending myself, or all these poor, helpless, defenseless citizens. As a soldier, you'll learn that killing is simply a fact of life. By the way, are you on the bus that's out front? I'm joining it – maybe we can sit next to each other?”

Caleb doesn't answer, and after the police have come and gone, everyone returns to the bus to sleep for the night as the drivers rotate and leave. I attempt to talk to Caleb, but he simply lets himself fall asleep.

I feel wide-awake, though, excited for the day to come. It takes me a long time to fall asleep.

In the morning, everyone feasts on donuts and coffee provided by the service station, the two of us youths drinking hot chocolate instead.

I talk to Caleb until Caleb dozes off again. Once he's asleep again, I pull my handheld out and start playing, immersing myself in the game. We pass out of the realm of night, and it takes everyone a moment to adjust their eyes to the morning light, though it doesn't take me long. I switch between night and day all the time, coming from a realm of actual day-night cycles.

When I wake Caleb up when we arrive at our destination, the same place the bus stops for lunch, Caleb squints, covering his eyes, and I realize something. His pale skin should have made that obvious to me when we met.

“Never seen daylight before?” I ask, and Caleb shakes his head. “I grew up going in and out of daylight, it's pretty cool. Out here, night falls regularly, with it being longer in the winter and shorter in the summer. It's pretty cool, I'm sure you'll like it. Perfect for tanning, too. Get yourself a nice tan, a shorter hairstyle, and you'll have all the ladies chasing after you.”

“Not interested,” Caleb stands up. “Can we get off, please?”

“Sure,” I grin at him, standing and walking off the bus.

Caleb and I stop for lunch at a small cafe, grabbing sandwiches and juice to drink, and when we finish our meal, we begin walking. I attempt to engage Caleb in conversation, but begin rambling about my own training, the trouble I got into with the staff, anything to prevent silence from falling between us. I'm pretty sure he tuned me out. Maybe he's not a coward, just an introvert, and that was his first fight.

After a few hours of walking, we have exited the town and arrived at a two-story building near the edge of a wooded area. The building itself is constructed of faded grey bricks, but the glass in the windows and doors are clear and polished, showing no signs of time's touch. Save for a handful of cars, the parking lot is deserted.

It's unassuming, and there's no sign indicating what it is, but we both know we've arrived at our destination, the Alzir Training Branch of the GSDF.

“We're here,” I grin at Caleb. “Ready for an adventure?”