"How ‘you feeling champ?" Dad asked, looking over the glasses perched on his nose.

"Tired." I yawned, joining him at the breakfast table while rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes. "And still ill."

"It's just an excuse to not go to school," mum said from the kitchen.

"He looks terrible, Hun; give him the benefit of the doubt." He gave me an exaggerated wink, a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly thinking I was faking my illness too. I could only sigh in response. I felt too exhausted to argue, and whether they believed me or not, they wouldn't force me to go to school.

"You can't keep doing this, Mallory. You're spoiling him."

"Look at the kid," dad argued. "It looks like he didn't sleep all night."

She walked into the room, a tray of eggy bread in her hand. “Probably up all night after seeing a spider,” she muttered, placing the tray on the table and then her palm against my forehead. “Oh. You are still ill.”

"I told you," dad and I said simultaneously, eliciting a chuckle from him.

"You don't think it's the change, do you?"

"Too early." He exchanged the morning paper for a plate from the tray. "He's only… what? Eleven?"

"Hey!" I interrupted. "I'm thirteen!"

"Sorry, champ."

Mum shook her head slightly in disbelief. "I can't believe you don't know how old your son is, let alone his birthday."

"I do." His voice rose in pitch, feigning indignation. "He's thirteen, aren't you Kalak?"

I couldn't say it surprised me that dad didn't know my birthday, but not knowing my age was a step too far, and I wanted to get him back for that. "You... remembered it's my birthday today, right?" I fibbed, a grin stretching across my face as I watched his pale skin take on a more ghostly hue. "I hope you got me a gift."

"O-of course I did"—dad turned towards mum with a flash of panic in his eyes—"didn't we hun?".

Mum shared my amusement, responding with a playful laugh of her own. "We? I'm sure you did," she teased. "I've been buying my own gifts for him for the last thirteen years."

He stared at her like a kicked puppy, and perhaps feeling sympathy, she diverted the conversation with a subtle throat-clearing. "As I was saying, you don't think it's the change, do you?"

"I don't know. It could be, I guess." He turned to address me, the contemplative look on his face combined with his spectacles and salt and pepper hair making him seem a decade wiser. "Had any strange impulses recently? Like a need to go running, for example?"

I shook my head, my mouth still full with breakfast.

"He might not be a speedstar, you know," mum said. "He could take after me. Be a cool kid."

I almost choked with surprise while dad, sporting a grin on his face, shook his head, unimpressed with the pun.

"You haven't seen him in track and field," dad said. "With my genes and that natural talent, I bet he's guaranteed to be a speedstar."

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"That's not what Okapi said," mum replied lightly.

"The crazy doctor? I wouldn't take her word for anything."

"She's an accomplished researcher, you know."

Dad scoffed at the idea. It was the beginning of a debate that I had heard plenty of times before. She was "cold and robotic, and a bad influence," and that mum shouldn't "associate with that creep."

Having never met the woman and not being interested in their petty squabble, I turned my attention to the food before me to drown out the noise. It tasted fluffy, the brioche and butter doing the heavy lifting, but it needed a little sugar.

"...Kalak to the doctor's." The mention of my name pulled me back to the conversation at hand.

"Sorry, what?" I asked.

"I'm not happy with this, but fine." Dad's reply didn't help my confusion, but from the way he returned back to the paper, I could tell mum had gotten her way.

"I'll be taking you to the doctor's," mum answered. "You've been ill for almost a week. If it isn't your change, then it's about time you get some antibiotics or something."

"It's not going to help but—" Dad cut his sentence short with a stare from mother.

"Kalak, we'll leave after lunch."

"Fiiinnne," I said, drawing out the words with my mouth full.

"Why not just get over-the-counter meds?" Dad started again.

"Why can't I just get a second opinion from a professional?"

"You're more than welcome to. I just don't think it's worth their time."

"Okapi would love us stopping by. She hasn't met Kalak yet either."

I tuned out the conversation again, indulging in the adequately sweetened eggy bread. The bickering about the woman was inevitably about to spark once more, so I focused on sorting through my own thoughts while I ate.

I had conflicting feelings about going to the doctor. On the one hand, I didn't want to go; I wanted to curl up in bed and eat ice cream, despite it being winter. Whether I was going through the change or not, a doctor's visit wouldn't have changed anything. On the other hand, I couldn't stop my leg from bouncing, the idea of confirming I would get my gift soon making me jittery — though it could have been the excess sugar.

I immersed myself in the idea of being a speedstar, imagining the wind in my face, running through my hair, and the sensation of adrenaline in my blood, pumping through my veins. I found myself enticed. And though the allure of dad’s gift was tempting, mum's gift was nothing to scoff at; she boasted the ability to freeze time for a short duration — from my perspective, it resembled teleportation. A more powerful, but also more limited ability than dads, who could travel long distances at the speed of a car.

I silently giggled to myself, amused as I considered their gifts. Dad travelled faster whereas mum made others travel slower — infinitesimally slow, to be accurate. Mum could walk to a destination faster than dad could run, and dad would superheat after using his gift whereas mum would physically freeze (when overwhelmed).

They were equal and opposites in many ways, but despite the differences, both their powers echoed the same age-old saying: “the greater the gift, the greater its consequence.” It was the gods' way of balancing the scales, though I don’t know how much I believed that. The idea that using powers continuously wasn't sustainable seemed intuitive to me — there was a reason we didn't run everywhere.

If I could have chosen my gift, it would have been teleportation. Freezing time had its appeal, but I didn’t like its limitations — you were bound to what you could physically achieve in those fleeting moments. Dad, on the other hand, had self-imposed limits, and pushing past them risked snapping bones or tearing muscles; worse was the prospect of falling at those speeds.

I shifted my thoughts back to teleportation, the image of bloody insides spilling out and torn limbs not the most appetizing thing to entertain while trying to enjoy my meal.

Teleporting felt risk free. Sure, it wouldn't help trying to catch a falling cup, but I could sleep until the very last minute and teleport straight to school.

Any gift related to speed that allowed me to achieve that was a victory in my book, but of all the options, teleportation seemed like the jackpot.

Yes, I nodded firmly to myself, it was the best. It also fell within the remit of the god of speed… right?

The uncertainty broke me out of my daydream and I looked up at my parents, still bickering over something

"— we all know the fever comes during the change," mum said.

"We don't know; we think. And that's from a series of observations, not whatever that sociopath does."

"Observation and research go hand in hand. She researches by noting down observations. And she's not a sociopath, just misunderstood."

"Her eyes look like dead fish and she looks like she'd steal candy from a baby for research."

"Now you're just being silly."

"I… just don't like her."

Okapi. They were still arguing about Okapi, and I had finished eating my distraction. It was time to take my leave.

"Thank you for the breakfast. Oh, and don't forget my gift, Dad!"