Her words froze through me. The syllables embedded themselves in my ears, each one more rapturous than the other. Sparks flying. Us, soaring through the air.

Images projected onto the walls only stayed there for a brief few seconds before giving way to something new. Now, in saltwater. A realm in which matter only

bothered to float, as if not concerned with anything. The woman called out the name of another place, and the images shifted once more. We were now in

space, floating above a golden bauble. I didn't realize right then, but now it occurs to me; that interlocking mechanism of rings and discs was most likely

the size of an entire planet. The magnificence of it all stifled my breath. My grandmother raised her hand one last time, and collapsed the illusions of

travel into blue embers gliding in the small room. The aging walls, damaged couches and the window (still giving way to the evening sun) revealed themselves

from behind the magical drapery. Firdevie finally spoke:

"This, you do not have yet". Her voice carried with it a soothed and impenetrable air. "That is projgean, that which transports only your cognizance."

"That..."

"...is something you can only learn with time."

"...was awesome!"

My unremitting glee had shown its head once more. She responded with a blooming smile on her face:

"It was, young one."

"Let's do it again!"

"I will show you one final thing first. You don't have to sit on the carpet, come" she patted a spot on the couch next to her. I merrily took my place.

"Do you remember that time in the mountains when many green embers showed up and made you giddy?"

"Yes grandma."

"Try to feel that giddiness again. Recall the essence of those particles."

I didn't even know what half of those words meant at the time, as I was only six. Despite this I knew what I to do. My conception of magic has not wavered

much since my childhood. Lifting one's arm is a refined process. Reflexes are the thoughts of bodies. Accessing magic is thinking with your body, whereas

using magic requires discipline. I only needed to show how high I could reach this time. Like walking, like breathing.

In mere moments a coursing sensation originating from my heart glided across my body, and settled on my right arm. I swatted my hand through the air to

release the buildup. Green things in the likeness of glowing, shrunken leaves apparated all over the room. They only stayed for a short while. When they had

all gone away, Firdevie turned her proud smile to me.

"This talent is not ubiquitous. You alone among your peers may end up being the only one with this ability."

"I'm special!?" I impatiently blurted out. Grandma quickly followed with a light chuckle.

"No, that wouldn't be true" she said. "Do not be happy with the things only you can have. A good person is someone who does the best they can." She softly

grasped my hand. No other person's smile was as warm as hers. "Put your heart to use, not your might". She took a deep breath. "Now, I think someone wants

to visit strange places, correct?"

"Yes!" Thus was my enthusiastic response. "Can we go to a sauce mountain?"

She looked stumped at first, but her fixed expression quickly turned into laughter as she understood me:

"Do you mean a volcano, son?"

I shook my head with joy. Upon the realization that I was referred to as a boy I was filled with a zest that far surpassed the unadorned pleasure of

anticipation. Upholding my esteem of caution, I looked to the passage connecting the living room to the kitchen. My father was there, standing as still

as he could. The displeasure on his face was almost perspicuous enough to be felt. He had heard grandma, and there was nothing I could do.

Firdevie and I turned the sky like a dial as we visited many truly wondrous locales: A bazaar unfathomably far away from our humble city. The surface of

the asteroid 6 Macochta. The horrifically lengthy body of a county-sized wurm. Many places were visited, and at the end of our journey we finally visited

a "sauce mountain". The day had become night, and it was time for me to sleep. I happily tucked myself into my bed, a respite from my very difficult job of

being excited as a toddler. She came to kiss me goodnight.

"You are a lovely boy". Grandma was never one to hold back a compliment. "Like as the substances of the universe become stars, you too will become

something great". Her tired face hadn't failed to include plenty of mercy and love in its expression. "Goodnight". She lightly kissed my forehead.

"Goodnight, I love you" I whispered. "I love you too". She got up from the bed and opened the door to get out. While she was closing it I noticed the

silhouettes of my phlegmatic parents. They were standing in front of the door, with a clear intent to stop her. After grandma left the room the arguing

didn't cease for quite some time. They held nothing back while expressing their disfavor for Firdevie's actions.

"Why are you calling her a boy seriously? She's just playing pretend."

"Well his eyes shine when called a boy, so I'm assuming he doesn't hate it."

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"'He'? Really? We're calling her a 'he' now? She's not even listening!" My mother's incessant shrieking would take on an even sharper edge when paired

with her words.

"Do you two not remember whence you came? You are the branches of the tree, the progeny of the spirits. It is in your blood to respect a person's

identity."

"Doesn't apply with children."

This continued for a rather long time. As this was taking place, I just stared at the decaying ceiling of my bedroom hoping for the argument to come to an end.

Maybe I was a girl? Maybe it was me who was at fault for insisting that I was a boy. Maybe if I conceded, it would be better for grandma. She would get less

headaches. At the same time, I didn't understand how that could be. When given the choice of identifying who I was, I knew at least one thing about myself.

I was a boy. Like walking, like breathing. It was innate. Adding to this, I didn't want my parents calling me a girl in any way. I had enough days in which I

was repulsed by my body. I was... missing some parts as I had put it when talking with Firdevie about this. I had wished upon a star to have those parts

for a long time. When I was strongly reminded of this, when my parents called me the wrong thing, strong distress afflicted me. I wanted to scream. That was

not something I wanted to go through again and again.

Grandma and my parents kept going for a lot longer than I'd anticipated, but they decided to end it after a while. I had enough of hearing their horrific

descriptions of me anyways. "Future princess". "Brat girl". "Just a child". "Deluded". I was tired, so it didn't take long for sleep to conduct me into its

domain.

A pleasant breeze furbished the open areas of the next day. After a nice breakfast (which my father would always refuse to help the preparation of)

Firdevie offered to take me to a "place of bewitching quality".

"Be back soon" my father said coldly. He was the sort of person to be fond of keeping his possessions under his belt, and I could tell that we were only

objects to him.

Our home was at the outskirts of the city, and so the alluring grassy plains were always close to us. The place my gran told me about was not too far into

said plains, so we made our journey. Along the way, she told me little bit more about magic.

"When you conjure up those little sprites, you tap into your instincts. It does not take memorized or concentrated effort to realize them. Those particles

are the result of simple interactions between you, and the Sichocht."

"The what?" I said with my usual, aloof voice.

"The Sichocht. The wellspring of magic. The base layer from which everything rises."

"How does-" I would have tripped on a rock had she not caught my by the arm. Her grip was unnaturally sturdy for someone her age.

"Be careful, curious youngling!"

"How does it work?" I continued, without a hint of deterrence in my voice. She chuckled ever so slightly. "That is far too complicated for you as of now"

she said. I must've appeared quite dispirited, for Firdevie immediately followed her own statement:

"Do not sadden yourself with the premise of your incapability. I was equally incompetent in comprehending such things at your age" the warmth of her homely

smile persevered in the slightly cold air. "You will understand one day".

As we were getting closer to the location, she instructed me to do some "exercises" with my abilities. I only needed to replicate what I had done back home.

I created, they weaved. Floating, stuttering, flying, almost kissing. The particles appeared and stirred each time I moved my arm energy-filled arm. By the

time we had arrived at the wooden shack, I had long forgotten what we were supposed to be doing. The cabin stood amid a collection of sparsely-laid out

trees. The windows were boarded shut, and most of the paint had already peeled and fallen to the floor. She got a small key out of her pocket, and opened

aged and crooked door with it. While the exterior of the place was quite decrepit, the interior was truly filled with wonders.

Books. Leather bound books. Big books, small books. Books that had sustained so much damage that they looked like they could fall apart when subjected to

the slightest touch. They were everywhere. On the floor, on tables that were right next to walls, on the shelves. The inside of this shack was a treasure

trove of knowledge.

"Most magicians like you learn their craft in schools" she paused to look at me, "but I suppose giving you a little knowledge beforehand wouldn't be a bad

idea, hmm?"

I smiled and turned my head towards all the tomes. The least damaged one was situated on five other books and still had some green sheen on it. It was

slightly thinner than all the others. Its spine read: "İlkrang Büyaoi Bilolas". I pointed to it and yelled:

"I can't read that!"

Firdevie looked at me with a flat expression. "Yes-"

"Can I read it?"

Puzzled, she took a moment before responding:

"Do you want me to read it for you?"

I enthusiastically shook my head. She calmly reached for it. Picking up the green covered texts she said:

"There are things to demonstrate in this book. We should go outside if you want to see what you can do."

Upon hearing this I immediately ran outside to the grassy field, as was usual for my overly excited self. Gran slowly followed me, unbothered by my

juvenile excitement. I ran my hands through the greenery to feel the light touch of the druidic pieces. Firdevie opened the textbook as she approached and

picked a page for us to study as we sat down. While she was holding it, I noticed the peculiar symbol etched on the cover. It was the caricature of a tree,

but drawn in a way as to incite questions as to why it was drawn in the way that it was drawn. The central stump had split into many boughs, and

those boughs had split into several smaller branches, but each strand was drawn with an undulating motion. As a result, the whole etching had the rough

shape of a flame, or a multi-headed snake.

While I was examining the book, she called me by name. I begrudgingly responded with a timid "Yes?". Noticing my discomfort, she asked:

"Is something wrong?"

I did not want to correct her, she had already suffered enough trying to defend me, but I knew I couldn't lie to her. If it wasn't for her listening to me

and caring about what I say, I would have no refuge.

"I hate that name."

"Why?"

"It's girly."

She looked at me with a compassionate eye.

"Would you like to be called something else?"

I nodded. She grunted and got into her usual "thinking pose". Gran would always give the most peculiar yet loving names to things. I realized that she was

trying to recall a name she thought suited me.

"How about Farriz?"

Farriz. It sounded like nothing I had heard before. Not even the phonetics of the word reminded me of anything I already knew.

"Does it mean anything?" I asked.

"It means the sea in my tongue," she said.

Farriz. As was usual for her she had found another name with a history unknown to me yet I still fell in love with it.

"Gran, can you call me that? I hate my old name."

She, once again, unashamedly showed her smile. This time it felt bright enough to turn sunflowers towards us.

"Of course."