Undeniably linked to the psionic discipline of telepathy, dividualism is considered a child discipline whose layers and nuance have ultimately separated it from a simple subcategory into an entirely realized discipline of its own.

Telepathy, being the practice of directly reading moods and thoughts, is the discipline of ‘surface-reading’, whereas dividualism is a telepathic delve into the minds of others that allows one to share more than just words and moods, but both borrow and lend entire realms of knowledge, or issue specific mind-to-body commands that all connected bodies obey. A singular practitioner has to learn how to share the onus of control with untrained individuals, while multiple dividualists can develop a powerful and unique hive-mind mini-culture that gives the impression of a community of omnidisciplinary ubermensch.

Tulpamancy and the deliberate creation of split personalities have been categorized as dividualism under the assertion that it serves the same purpose: linking multiple minds together, even if said minds and personalities are ‘imaginary.’ Though tulpamancy has the stigma as a childish psionic practice, the development process of a fully-functioning, divergent tulpa is a time-consuming affair that many tulpamancers devote significant amounts of time meditating towards.

Dividualism is an extremely difficult discipline for those lacking in strong empathetic qualities. For this reason, it was not very well-developed by war-time entities and only named afterwards by psience-psychologist Dr. Eeshan Bhaavik Babu, who used what was considered advanced telepathic techniques at the time to study PTSD and other psychological traumas following a century of world-wide strife.

Due to the discipline’s at-the-time unknown dangers, Dr. Babu unfortunately committed suicide after repeatedly experiencing the traumas of his patients, leaving an imprint of their mental scars on his psychology at a time when there were too few other practicing dividualists to help treat his sudden and exacerbated psychosis.

Though related, the discipline of domination is considered separate from dividualism, but both have severe consequences for misuse.

January 21st marked the beginning of the spring semester at Phoenix Academy, and it was a day Dean Nathaniel Davis looked forward to every year.

But, January 21st was still a week away. Students would be arriving soon to move into their dorms, starting with the new students. Most would be younger, about thirteen, though some older teens who had only just applied would need to get used to the campus too.

He stared at himself in his office mirror, considering a red tie over his tan sweater and brown slacks, before ultimately loosening it and tossing it aside. He pulled on a black jacket and zipped it up about halfway. Giving himself an admiring look, he briefly flexed, proud he’d kept his youthful physique into his later years.

Appearances were important for a man of his status, and he was accustomed to exercise throughout his life, so he wasn’t a brittle old man like Burke, or a walking tub of lard like Hugo. Taking care of himself was a priority, it made him… respectable. But, more than respectable, it made him approachable, and if he was going to be greeting a bunch of predominantly white kids to his school, he knew he was going to have to look good on camera.

He took a breath. This wasn’t about appeasing a bunch of folk still caught up in age-old classism and Civil Rights-era attitudes, this was about being a friendly face to children.

“You’re stressed, Than.” He told himself in the mirror. “Don’t let it get to the kids, alright?” He asked himself, presenting his fist to his reflection for a brief bump. “Alright, looking good, feeling good?” He asked himself, and he relaxed his face. It relaxed into a small smile; good, he was going to guide his students to a better future.

He walked away from the mirror and over to a bookshelf. Displayed at eye-level were a few of his most personal treasures: the medal his mother had hammered out for him from some old tin cans, a reward she felt the world owed him for an essay he’d written in middle school; the framed diploma he’d earned from Brown University, his scholarship paid for by his mentor, earned after years of concerns that he’d never be accepted or pass; a book containing a collection of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s speeches and letters, a gift from Zhou Ping to him personally to remind him of what he came from and what they could gain through community; and finally, a large binder full of drawings, essays, and gifts gifted to him personally, each one from his students, each one showing their hopes, their dreams, their happiness, and their sorrow, collected over a decade and a half of work.

His finger traced each one, a small tradition to stay strong in the face of uncertainty. He walked past his bookshelf and stood at his door, taking a moment to glance up at the large portrait of his mentor, and his best friend.

Zhou Ping smiled down at him wherever he was in his office, and as always, his pride and his happiness was tempered by heartache. It was dulled after years of grieving and coming to terms with the loss of the man who took Nathaniel under his wing, but it was still there.

He would have said something short and profound to Nathaniel. Something like: ‘You have one chance to get these children to trust you, so don’t blow it.’ Maybe he would have said it more eloquently, but having known Zhou for years, Nathaniel realized… probably not.

Nathaniel exited his office and walked with a sense of purpose towards the elevators at the end of the hall, past rows of artwork the school had purchased.

The third floor of the campus’ ‘left lobe’ was practically a museum dedicated to the Kaibab band of the Paiute Native American tribe. When Zhou Ping first sought to purchase the land on the northern rim of the Grand Canyon, much hubbub was initially made about disrespecting a national park and a landmark with his inquiries, but when he was given approval to use the land for the purposes of education, the descendants of the Paiute tribe came forward to cry foul.

Nathaniel remembered Zhou Ping sitting in his office in New York at the time, stressed about the accusations of unfairness and disrespect towards the peoples’ ancestry. He remembered the number of ideas they softballed towards one another trying to come up with a feasible solution to mollify, or even appease the modern-day Paiute people.

Ultimately, nothing would create a perfect compromise, but Zhou Ping did make an effort to return a lot of Paiute tribe artifacts to their native land for safe-keeping and display, hire whoever in the tribe was interested in working on campus or in PJ, and ultimately added their name to the school’s official title.

Not everybody was satisfied, but the Kaibab leaders did acknowledge his efforts and worked with Zhou to ensure that the bridge to the future did not trample the annals of history. Nathaniel understood the importance of culture and remembering the sins of the past, so he revitalized efforts to maintain the Paiute tribe’s culture, slowly but steadily appeasing further fears and angers with regular commerce and assistance towards the nearby reservation.

That was Zhou Ping’s vision: bring everybody to roughly the same level and work together to create something better, and more interesting what they could apart. Nathaniel was sure he could have hung up another dozen portraits of Zhou himself, or the artwork of psychics from the world over, but he enjoyed greeting the Kaibab tour guides leading curious tourists through the school’s administrative offices to discuss the tribe’s history and culture.

He was also rather fond of the display case full of Paiute tribe arrowheads that were dug up over the course of the school’s life. He got to add to it every year as students inevitably dug up a few more.

The elevator doors opened ahead of him pressing the call button, and curiously, he stared at the single passenger inside with a present floating a few inches above his right shoulder, whose eyes briefly widened in surprise to see the dean standing at the doors.

“Benjamin.” Nathaniel acknowledged with a fond smile.

“Dean Davis.” Benjamin responded in his typical, placid voice, stepping off of the lift, the present floating after him.

“Back from Britain early, I see. How was your visit home?” Nathaniel asked in a soothing tone, and though Benjamin rarely emoted, Nathaniel had come to know the boy well enough to detect the subtle easing in his shoulders.

“Pleasant, but I wouldn’t call it productive. Father was quite insistent that I attend a seemingly endless number of events where he could crow endlessly over my achievements here.” Benjamin said, only the barest hint of annoyance in his voice. “I am looking forward to my year’s lessons. Ah, here you are, sir, a gift from my family.” Benjamin levitated the present to Nathaniel, who took it with a curious grin.

“Is that right? The Alistairs are too good to me; I’ll have to send a letter of gratitude to the Duke.” He nodded, turning on his heels to retrace his steps to his office, beckoning Benjamin after him.

Benjamin Alistair the Third, son of the illustrious Duke Benjamin Alistair the Second. He was a threateningly handsome young man: well-groomed brunette hair with just enough curl and volume to give it a unique, suave little bounce; a stern, boyish face with a hawkish nose and a strong chin, with large eyebrows that gave him a somewhat intimidating, mature appearance without taking away from his overall handsomeness; and a healthy, masculine build with wide shoulders, narrow hips, and a good diet lending towards a fit, skinny figure that looked good in his prefered two-piece and three-piece suits, or the odd polo when it was too warm out.

He followed the dean to his office, where the man set the gift inside to the right of the door for him to find later, and he granted Benjamin a pleasant smile. Benjamin didn’t smile back, but years of working with the young duke-to-be gave Nathaniel the insight into the boy’s body language, and he could read relaxation, and perhaps a bit of boredom in his posture.

“I know you find those large parties and gatherings unpleasant, but it’s important for a public figure to be seen and heard.” Nathaniel told him as they headed back down the hallway towards the elevators. “Public trust is important, especially if you have aspirations to be a statesman.”

“I’m aware, but that doesn’t make them any less droll. Marchioness Veronica was especially suffocating; she seems intent on setting me up with her granddaughter.” Benjamin did not sigh, but he had a certain way he spoke when he wanted to.

“I mean, is she cute?” Nathaniel asked with a chuckle, and one of Benjamin’s eyebrows twitched.

“She’s eight.”

Nathaniel stiffled a laugh. “Ouch.”

“She likes My Little Pony and butterfly patterns on her clothing.” Benjamin’s shoulders sank. “She was very happy to show me her new purse, which had her Nella doll and glittery makeup in it. She has three ponies, two dogs, and a cat named Minx the Sphinx.”

“Sounds like she has her life sorted out.” Nathaniel chuckled, and Benjamin risked a small shrug.

“She’s a breath of fresh air compared to her grandmother, and most of the other noble families. I’m rather exhausted from the topic of the Tories and talk of the noble family; apparently, Queen Diana’s foray into dividualism has some people concerned that it will contribute to her fragile state of mind.”

“The Queen is always invited to come study here.” Nathaniel said half-jokingly.

“I’ll pass that onto her, I’m sure she’d be flattered.” Benjamin said, then his head tilted to muse outloud. “I half-suspect she’s been studying her psionics as a way to cope with the passing of King Charles.”

“I’d say that’s a healthy coping mechanism, provided she does it safely.”

“She’s well aware of the dangers; British psientists have been visiting her weekly for her lessons, so I’m sure she’s well-prepared.” Then, rather tiredly, Benjamin gave a low groan, drawing Nathaniel’s curious eye as they approached the door. “I was actually rather looking forward to not having to discuss my opinions of the Queen’s most recent hobbies. Can we talk about anything else? Not the Tories?” He all but begged.

Nathaniel couldn’t stop himself from giving a barking laugh at the boy’s open aggravation. “Alright, alright! Sorry I brought it up, it’s just interesting from an outsider’s perspective. Besides, it is my job to encourage psionic education. What do you want to talk about?”

The two of them stopped in front of the elevators down, where Benjamin began to list off: “Anything but the British royal family, British nobility, British politics, British trends, British entertainment, and British food. I am disgusted with myself that I’m about to admit that I miss hamburgers.” Benjamin slid back into his normal, disinterested tone. “Other than that, anything.” He continued, then paused, then added: “Anything but Duplantier.”

The elevator suddenly chimed, surprising both boys, as neither had hit the call button yet, and the doors slid open to reveal a startlingly gorgeous young woman in oval glasses and strawberry blonde–brunette just a month ago–braid, wearing a charcoal black dress with a nice, large, gold necklace with a large ruby teardrop hanging just above her breasts.

Just above her left shoulder floated a wrapped present.

“Ah, bonjour monsieur Davis!” Noelle cooed in her husky voice, all smiles until her eyes traveled down to the young man at her side, and her expression immediately turned sour.

Benjamin openly sighed. “Speak of the devil, and the bitch will appear.” He spoke under his breath. “Noelle.” He grunted at the girl.

“Benny.” Noelle grunted back, stepping off of the elevator, the present floating after her, spinning slowly as the two glared at each other in their own way before Noelle looked up at the Dean, who had taken a large step away from the two. “Dean Davis!” She was all smiles once more, pointedly ignoring the boy, who looked away from her to stare at a Paiute tribe basket sitting inside of a glass case.

“Noelle, welcome back from France! How was your trip home?” He asked in a friendly tone, his eyes flicking between the two teens.

"Très magnifique, merci beaucoup!” Noelle curtsied cutely, straightening up to float her gift over to the dean, who took it with an awkward smile. “A gift from my family, to show our utmost gratitude! Amusez-vous!”

“Thank you Noelle, I appreciate it.”

Benjamin grumbled under his breath: “There’s no women present, you can stop with the cheese and wine speak.”

Noelle’s head snapped sharply towards the boy. “Would you like to repeat yourself to me, Benedict?”

“You’d hear more if you talked less.” Benjamin stared her in the eyes, and even unable to detect psionic resonance, Nathaniel could feel the hallway filling with the two’s electric ire.

“I’d talk less if you weren’t such a wet blanket, mon chiant.”

Nathaniel began to walk back towards his office to put Noelle’s gift with Benjamin’s…

“Control is important to a psychic, especially in telepathy. That is why you will always come second after me.”

“Ah-hah, we shall see this year; ton irritation te rattrapera! I have not been stagnant, you shall see naught but ma queues de pie by the end of the year!”

“That better translate to ‘the tears in my eyes’, otherwise I smell a lie.”

“Tsk! English pig, forever eluded by la beauté du français.”

“Please speak English, you’re wasting precious vowels trying to show off.”

“Says the boy in a suit.”

“Tch, your skirts get more daring every year; if I recall, America has a fairly narrow view of public nudity, so do watch your fashion, Duplantier.”

“And if I recall, American women like their partners daring and dangerous; I fear tes boules might shrivel up like raisins before you graduate.”

“Ahem.”

Benjamin and Noelle’s eyes remained locked on one another’s, neither wanting to be the first to blink, but then, reluctantly, Benjamin turned to face the dean, Noelle following a moment after with a small snarl.

“Is it too much for me to ask you both to get along this semester?” Nathaniel asked, his voice lower, rougher, impatient.

“I will tolerate Benny where I must.” Noelle sneered.

“She will be no trouble to me, Dean Davis, I apologize; I am well used to bearing the whimpering of dogs.” Benjamin snarked.

“I’m sure he has fantastic experience, bitches learn their places from their families.”

Benjamin turned to face Noelle, his straight-laced expression gone, replaced by a twitching eyebrow and nostril, his eyes zeroed in on her smug expression like he was contemplating burning her face off, but then the both of them gasped, their expressions warping into discomfort as the world suddenly felt… cold, dark, quiet.

In reality, the world was none of those things, but their psionic minds were suddenly trapped within themselves, unable to spread over the world as a sixth sense. They were both left twitchy and uncomfortable as the dean’s eyes narrowed at the two, disappointment across his face as he stretched his own very narrow, very suffocating power over them both.

Benjamin cleared his throat, knowing they’d gone too far, and he quietly turned to face Noelle. “Duplantier, I apologize.”

“Y-yes, I’m sorry as well, Benny.” Noelle nodded eagerly, giving the dean a pleading look.

“I am serious when I say: let me see some improvement this year.” He stated very firmly, the threat in his voice emerging as a deep rumble that left them both quivering. “Especially since we’re going to have a good batch of new students here who are coming under the promise of safety. Your cat-fighting might be amusing to some, but not to me.”

“Ah, oui! For the freshman, as you call them?” Noelle bobbed her head, her braid dancing behind her. “It will be quite exciting, Madeline’s precious little sister will be here this year~!” Noelle wiggled in place, all smiles and joy through her nullified psionics.

“You—” Benjamin stopped himself, giving Nathaniel a bit of an apologetic look. “You should at least try to avoid bouncing between American women as well, it’s sleazy.”

“Says you! Experience is the spice of life!” Noelle huffed.

“And are you still slumming it in the Puellamas?” Benjamin continued with a raised eyebrow. “Not that I’m complaining not sharing so much as a building with you, but I’d thought your father was—”

“A fool, a moron, an idiot, who needs to shut his mouth and let me live as I wish.” Noelle’s voice dropped to a feminine growl. “Bâtard orgueilleux…”

“Please speak English.”

“Learn French!” Noelle spat back, but Nathaniel’s glance made her hesitate to say anything worse. “Besides, I am content with my arrangement with Madeline. Her presence is a rainbow on a dull day.”

“There, see? You can compliment a woman in English.”

“I can also wipe my face with sandpaper, if it would so please you.”

“It might.”

Nathaniel sighed…

The front gates to the PA campus were wide open, though only under the careful watch of an extensive security detachment waiting nearby talking with whomever entered.

Most of the freshmen arrived in the company of their parents. Some arrived without family, escorted by a guardian assigned by the school to make sure they got the help they needed entering the campus. It began as a steady trickly when the gate first opened around 8:00 am, but it was right after lunch and dinner they really started to see an influx of young teens coming in—though some came in their later teens, and it was easy to tell they were new thanks to the looks of wonder or unsurity.

Luggage was dropped off with a few waving staff members that tagged each bag with the name and assigned room number of the student, and carted off in a little luggage truck that ran a circle around the campus taking the students’ belongings to the dorm rooms, where Nathaniel was sure the dorm staff was seeing to their proper distribution and safe-handling.

And, if not, he had a few ass-whoopings to hand out.

Nathaniel walked towards the post-lunch crowd of students filing in, already gathering in little groups while their parents talked with staff about where to go, what to do, and what to tell their children. A lot of them congregated around the campus map situated up in front of the lobes, some staring at papers or their phones with their curriculum and pointing buildings out to each other.

Benjamin was already with that batch of students, answering their questions and unintentionally inspiring a handful of crushes as he, ever the gentleman, spoke and directed with impressive eloquence.

The dean descended the steps with Noelle following along, his head on a swivel as he watched his school fill with life and excitement again. The end of the year was one of the roughest times on his mood; PJ went still as the students left and the businesses slowed, leaving the whole town at a fraction of its normal activity. PA was especially quiet, and he still had to walk in and out almost daily in order to conduct business, and not having throngs of students every which way left him chewing his inner cheek in distress.

He mused on the feeling. It reminded him too much of certain nights following 9/11. Back in New York, working for Zhou Ping, he would take walks just after sundown in the more well-lit areas of the city. His mentor’s office had only been about a twenty minute walk from the World Trade Center, so after the towers fell, for what seemed like weeks after, Nathaniel’s walks would be unsettlingly quiet as he walked towards the towers to ponder on the tragedy.

Having students back in his school felt right. Just a sea of short human beings with gangly limbs, skin problems, and weird hormones, all set to learn how to harness the power of their psionic minds; with any luck, for the betterment of humanity.

Nathaniel’s eyes passed over a group of students gathered together near the front gates, where he could see one of the ESP security officers slowly speaking to them in a foreign language. He glanced back at Noelle, and pointed the group out to her.

“Looks like we have some freshmen who could use a big sister to help ‘em out.”

“Ils sont entre de bonnes mains!” She said with a wink, picking up her feet to hurry forward.

“Noelle!” Nathaniel called, making her pause mid-step to glance his way. “I forgot to say: I like your hair.” He told her with a nod.

“Ah! Flatteur!” She winked at the dean and ran off, leaving him to approach a group of young men that were clearly familiar with one another.

“Hello there, boys, excited to start the school year?!” He asked with a grin, the lot of them turning to fix him with, at first, suspicious looks until they recognized him.

“It’s the dean, guys!” One said, the rest speaking their recognition.

“Yeah we are! When do we start learning pyrokinesis?”

The dean smirked; boys… “After summer your telekinesis teachers should start shifting towards thermokinesis. I’ll remind you that I take fire damage very seriously.”

There were some chuckles, nods, and glances around as they elbowed one another accusingly.

“So I have one guy excited for pyrokinesis, what about the rest of y’all?”

“I wanna be a doctor!”

“Sounds like biokinesis?” The dean asked, getting a nod.

“Telepathy!” Another answered.

“Mimicry!”

“I’m gunna major in divination!”

The usual suspects, but it was harder to enthuse youngsters in stuff like hydrokinesis and dividualism until they got only and understood what those could do. Nathaniel was happy to engage them on the subjects, telling them all about the experts they’d be learning from and the sorta fun stuff they could expect to do as projects and activities.

He neglected to tell them the time and effort it would take to get to the really interesting stuff; he’d leave that sorta villainy to their teachers.

Nathaniel bounced from group to group, doing much the same, introducing himself, learning about the students, helping them feel at ease that the man in charge of the school was there to engage them.

He answered the questions of the worried parents, too.

“—don’t have any religious institutions on campus, the Church of Christ’s Holy Love on Evergreen street is just a ten minute walk into PJ, shorter if William borrows a bike from the sports club.”

The concerned mother, leaning on her husband, gave a small pout, but didn’t press the issue. “Will he be allowed to pray in class?” She glanced towards a sandy-haired young man in a button-down shirt tucked into his suit pants, standing awkwardly at the rear of the crowd of freshmen watching Benjamin casually and skillfully fold a student's sweater into a neat, tidy square with nothing more than telekinesis.

“As long as he doesn’t disrupt his classmates, he can pray as much as he likes. If he needs more elaborate or personal prayer sessions, the study sanctum has rentable rooms for privacy, and we have plenty of students use it for group or personal religious studies.”

“How’s the wifi on campus?” The father asked, glancing over at his son. “We like to say grace before dinner, and still want to include Billy—err, William with us through facetime.”

Nathaniel gave an apologetic smile. “The wifi can be unreliable around meal times with hundreds of students using it at once. Your best bet for reliable face-to-face time would be through a campus computer using an ethernet cable. Our computer rooms don’t allow food in them, but maybe he can say grace with you and then go to dinner?”

Though the couple seemed put out, they both conceded a nod and thanked the dean before going to talk to their son about their plans.

Nathaniel glanced over at Noelle, who was charming her way straight into the heart of an Italian girl who couldn’t stop giggling through their interaction.

Some things never changed…

“Than!” A voice called out as Nathaniel milled about, his head turning to face a man he was all too familiar with. The handsome, younger head of the ESP, in the standard uniform, strode over, causing a young lady’s head to swivel after him in open admiration of his physique.

“Aiden! How are you, Officer Walsh?” Nathaniel asked with a forced smile. He knew by the look on Aiden’s face, the man had business on his mind…

“Sorry to interrupt, but I’m having a few documents delivered to your desk I need you to sign off on.” Aiden explained with an apologetic smile. “ASAP is preferred.”

“Regarding what, Aiden?” Nathaniel asked, planting his hands on his hips with a bit of a strained look.

“Classified.”

“The ‘classified?’”

“Yeah, them.” Aiden nodded, his apologetic look deepening. “The PDTF needs some information on security operations and I need your clearance.”

“Well, let them know they’ll have it by this evening.” Nathaniel made a move to turn away, but Aiden gave a nervous cough.

“Agent Cole is asking for it ASAP.”

Nathaniel’s nostrils twitched. “Well remind Agent Cole that I have a start-of-the-year routine I like to follow, and that being trapped inside my office all day fielding documents and phone calls doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence in the student body.”

“I understand, I’m just letting you know—”

“I know full well about classified and what classified is up to, I just–” Nathaniel sucked in a deep breath, and breathed it out slowly, “I would like to do something normal for a little bit.”

Aiden gave a sympathizing sigh, and nodded as he reached up and hung a hand off of Nathaniel’s shoulder, giving the dean a worried look as his voice lowered. “Sir, I’d love to return to normal SOP too, but these are very trying times. It’s three documents, just give ‘em a quick look, sign off on ‘em, and I can worry about the rest.”

“What is Zina even asking you to do?” Nathaniel asked in a conceding grumble.

“I can’t be too loud about it, but she apparently cleared the ESP’s involvement with the PDTF.”

“Seriously?” Nathaniel asked with a grunt. “Not that I don’t think the ESP is up for it, but…”

“They’re looking into adding actual psychics to the Psionic Defense Task Force; they want people who are trained and capable, and don’t have a lot of time to provide it themselves. Me and the ESP could help with this whole classified situation.”

“Hmph.” Nathaniel stared out over the yard, chewing on his inner cheek. “I’ll have them signed off on and delivered before my welcome.”

“Appreciated, sir!” Aiden gave a quick smile and ran off towards the right lobe, leaving Nathaniel to cool off and continue his greeting of students.