"There is a name, or an echo of one. It hangs just out of reach". - Seer from Missed Conversations, Vol. 1

Heads turned to watch Alex as he stalked down the corridor. He hoped he looked more confident than he felt. Ten students so far: all his age, all cold-eyed and speculative. Without so much as a word, he took his place at the back of the line. The silence was long and tremulous.

“I must be losing my touch.” A tall blonde eventually said, stepping out of the line. Her eyes flashed dangerously as they regarded Alex. “Either you’re the most skilful ethereal I’ve ever seen, or you’re new.”

“If you saw him, then he wouldn’t be much of an ethereal.” A boy answered. He had a jester’s air about him, uniform ruffled and sandy hair made up to be deliberately unkempt. The blonde girl ignored the comment and advanced on Alex, her playful expression unchanged.

“So? What’s your gift?” She asked, in a tone that made it plainly rhetorical. “Can you… spit lava? Climb up walls?” They stood mere inches apart now, the girl leaning in as if for a kiss. “Do your lips sing slavery?”

Alex said nothing, turning away to face the barren wall opposite him. He didn’t need this attention.

“Or maybe.” The girl said, much louder, so that everyone could hear. “With that depressing emo haircut of yours, which by the way, committed suicide a long time ago – maybe you can summon the ghosts of whatever boy band kicked you out, and they can take combat for you?” A chuckle rose at the last, and Alex felt his eyes begin to itch and burn. He felt the strange urge to defend what wasn’t even his sense of fashion. But what enraged him most, was that he agreed with the girl. He had even thought, whilst examining his uniform in the mirror, about quickly removing the ear piercings, and pulling back the locks of black hair that hung over his left eye. But now it was settled. He would not change how he looked and fold to the bitchy remarks of some self-important queen. He would champion the name of emo. In the end, Alex said and did nothing. He simply met the laughing faces of his now-classmates in turn, a vision of stoic detachment. To his surprise, however, one the boys – the one who seemed most suited to laughing – met his stare with only a quiet sort of understanding.

More students joined the line, until Alex became more and more indistinguishable. The blonde girl, whom he had heard referred to as Jasmine, continued to laugh about him to her friends – and Alex, burning inwardly, continued to ignore the bait. When around thirty students had collected by the doors, a fit looking man in dark jeans and a polo shirt led them inside.

The class numbered some twenty-five students in all. They stood at ease in a single, slightly curved, line. They came in many shapes and sizes, some were tall and lean, others short and bearish – but all were confident, and all were ants in the sheer volume of space this arena afforded them. The man, whom Alex had supposed was their teacher, stood before them. He had a hawkish face, and the sort of bearing that spoke to a lengthy fighting career. 

“As you all know.” He said, in a paradoxically clipped drawl. “Miss Keel is not well today due to the actions of one, now expelled, third year. Ordinarily, the physio would pick up the mantle of combat instructor, but he is – much to my personal amusement – injured. And so, it falls to me, your humble…” His eyes landed on Alex and a flicker of a smile touched his lips. “… technologist.”

Alex blinked at the very idea that this man could be anything other than a combat instructor. If what stood before him was the return on investment for a technology specialist, he couldn’t imagine the shape his actual teacher must be in.

“Now. Since I have no real interest in running you through drills.” He continued without enthusiasm. “We will spend the next two hours conducting a mostly symbolic assessment of your skills.”

An excited murmur rose from the group, and students began sizing one another up almost instantly. Alex kept his gaze firmly on the floor, mind racing: Assessments? But it’s only my first day! I haven’t even been taught yet! How in the hell am I supposed to fight someone who’s already been through a whole month of training? I mean, it’d be hard enough if I actually had a gift I could use. But I’m pretty sure the instructor won’t take kindly to me killing one of my classmates.

“Alright! That’s enough.” The instructor said, clapping his hands together for silence. “Now, we’ll start in the vein of your preliminary assessments - but with a caveat. See, some of you, boys mostly, still think that in the world of super villains and heroes, your gender means something. To dissuade you of this notion, I am dividing the class up into its respective sexes, boys on the left and girls on the right. If you have any doubts over to which category you fall into, then by all means flip a coin. But I’ll tell you this, just because knowing isn’t the same as understanding, the girls always win.”

The students began taking their respective sides. Alex could see individuals warming up: shadow boxing or testing different aspects of their powers. In that moment, he felt like practicing the more suicidal part of his gift. Just to get the blood flowing, he thought. Quickly and as surreptitiously as he could manage, he moved over to speak with the instructor.

“Um. Excuse me, sir?” He said, and the instructor turned to look at him, a small smile on his face as if he’d expected to have this conversation.

“Yes, Alex?” He replied.

“Well, it’s just that I’m sort of new. As you…” Alex stammered. “As you clearly already know. And I don’t have any combat training-“

The instructor raised a hand, cutting Alex off. “The world is unfair. But to your point, I think you underestimate what can realistically be achieved in a month – especially with this lot. Don’t think of them as in any way trained. In fact, from what I remember of my time at the academy, the first couple of months are more about exposing students to their own false assumptions, rather than looking for and enhancing pre-existing strengths.” And with that, the conversation was over – his ultimate problem left unaddressed. Before Alex could make his way over to the other boys and hide, the instructor’s voice rang out after him.

“First up will be our new arrival, Alex on the boys’ side, versus Jasmine for the girls.”

Alex froze. He could feel his eyes start to glow, could see the expressions on his teammates faces start to change. This was not going to end well for him. No ignoring her now, he thought. With a slow, fearful turn, Alex regarded his opponent – and found her ecstatic. He felt, more than saw the jester boy from earlier come up behind him. The boy whispered in Alex’s ear:

“Aim for the balls.”

To which Alex couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. This, he soon realized, had been a terrible mistake. Jasmine’s confident smile quickly changed into a sadistic grin. She was going to destroy him.

“Alright, three minutes, kiddies. First one to get knocked out or incapacitated.” The instructor called out, before blowing his whistle.

Alex didn’t know the cause of it. It wasn’t something to speculate about or even search for. Yet in that moment, he felt a surge of confidence. In what, he couldn’t say. But it was there, like the weight of tsunami at his back, driving him forward. He took off into a sprint, cutting a path straight towards his opponent. He was quick, he realised, far quicker than he had been as a girl – and far quicker than he should be even now.

As he neared his opponent, blood pumping, muscles working, he saw the initials of her reply. With speedy, graceful hands, she articulated a vaguely circular shape in the air, that glowed like a neon sign. She directed it across his advance and smiled, eagerly. A blast of energy erupted from the shape and bolted towards Alex, churning up the tiled floor as it closed the distance. He didn’t think, he only dodged. As the bolt of energy passed him by, Alex began to consider his options. A leading punch would probably do it – he felt strong – overwhelming strong.

Another bolt of energy, and then another – each burning hotter than the last against his skin – as Jasmine began to home in on his movements. But she was much too slow, even still. With a sudden rush of anticipation and adrenaline, Alex made a jump that would unhinge an Olympian’s jaw. He evaded the last bolt of energy mid-flight, and found Jasmine’s eyes, bright from the glow of his own. Bright from the rush of battle and bright from something blue and perilous coalescing within her. These are not the eyes of someone at a loss. He thought. In the seconds it took for Alex’s jump to complete, Jasmine was already finishing the channel for her grand attack. Her pearly white smile seemed somehow dull, in the raging torrent of white-blue fire that then erupted from her body, putting Alex’s eyes to shame.

He was flung backwards several meters and landed in a heap, his bones clattering from the impact with the arena floor. He could hear a shrill cheer erupting from somewhere far off as the girls drank in his predicament. He felt dizzy and vaguely singed, with a fracture somewhere down his right leg. He gritted his teeth and rolled over, just as another bolt of energy pockmarked the floor next to him. He had put on quite a show, he felt. Not bad for no gifts, if you don’t count my ability to move like some kind of demon. He thought.

“I’m going to be honest.” Jasmine jeered. “Somehow, I expected more. I mean, the question remains… what exactly can you do? Other than perform a serviceable imitation of a rug.” She laughed, and fired off another round of energy bolts, which Alex scrambled to avoid – one barely catching him on the thigh. With a grunt, he tumbled back to the floor, patting painfully at the burn mark to try and squash the cinders. He wanted to call it quits and take the loss – but she just had to make it hard on him.

“Ugh!” Jasmine spat. “And you came in sooo confident! You realise you’re facing the number one slot in the class, right? You should’ve been quaking in your boots, not laughing it up with that dweeb Jesse.”

She fired another shot, which fell just short of Alex’s prone form, and washed up a spray of small rocks that cut across him like knives. He buried his head in his arms for extra cover, unable to do anything but quench his burning eyes in the comfort of darkness. A strange isolation came over him in that moment. He was alone, in a void, his shoulders muffling most of the sound beyond – his mind sending it yet further away. It was then that Alex noticed the shadows deepening, falling away into something beyond. His eyes, which could still be felt burning like hot coals in his skull, were giving off no light at all. Knowing that there was nothing he could do to win, he gave his body to this new sensation, letting it slip away into a chasm of shadows and whispers.

Then, as if breaching the surface of some murky sea and emerging into the lurid light of day, Alex was pulled from the shadows and sent upwards into the conscious realm to which he belonged. He lifted his head, breathing hard, and looked around. He was still in the arena, still in the fight. But somehow, he had moved. Before him, with her back turned, stood Jasmine. For a moment he did nothing. He couldn’t comprehend it. Then, realising his chance – as one might acknowledge a miracle, he rose with all his strength.

Jasmine turned, but too slowly. He would not let her escape him again. With a preternatural effort, Alex grabbed the girl – wrapping his arm around her neck and applying knowledge he hadn’t known he’d possessed, dragging her down into a suffocating hold.

“Enough!” The voice of the instructor called, and Alex thought he heard more than a little surprise in the man’s tone. Alex released Jasmine, a spluttering infuriated mess, and let his head sink to the floor. Superhuman speed. Endurance.?The ability to teleport? Not so helpless after all, are you? He thought, a stupid grin plastered across his face. He had won. Somehow.

Then, cutting through his reverie, he felt a foot collide with his balls.