The night sky was cold that day. The people of New Langshir were deep in autumn. Notes of winter were already beginning to intercede the crisp flavors of the trees shedding their dead onto the ground. A man and a woman dressed in an extra layer adjusted each other’s scarves as their eyes drank those harvest colors, apparently unconcerned.

It was almost idyllic to be this way. In this era of connectivity, this seemed exceptional. Some might call it naiveté. The passionate would call it harmful apathy, for the passionate exist for the cause with a puritanical drive. If you wanted the gifted to continue working as heroes, you hated humanity and our natural abilities. If you hated gifted, you were anti-gift, a term that had a cold, sterile definition a long time ago, now given new emotional fire. Allegiance and framing had always been the true common coin in a materialist world.

The greatest annoyances were those who didn’t care. Looking down from the sky these apathetic many became obvious. There were millions of them. So a thousand people died from the Awakening. In the grand scheme of things, did they matter? Why were the passionate Langshirites so angry? The economies of scale needed to maintain a metropolis of such size—and indeed a first-world power—had brought the world’s climate to a breaking point. It’s said that millions died prematurely due to industrial pollution making its rounds throughout the atmosphere. The planet was on the brink of ecosystem collapse. A slow death for millions so far away and so long from now, just wasn’t as stirring as those that died here, behind borders, broadcasted graphically for all to see.

This perspective saw four kinds of people. Those who cared—but only selectively, those who didn’t—the apathetic majority, and heroes—whose job was to protect the people and the culture, even if they were hated for it, till death did them part. It was an unstable system. Someone was keeping it that way.

Someone high above, who sat a necessary distance away to see the bigger picture. There was a drawback to this. The world became a pointillism, and human beings became dots on a data graph. People were not details.

“Look at the way they move,” Leucilis said.

Amelia had caught up to her mother and stopped about ten yards away, floating above the city. Her face was strained with effort; she was trying not to breathe too hard, to show how much catching up drained her.

While Leucilis hovered on rigid wings emitting hot, bluish jets, Amelia needed to keep hers in motion to keep the altitude.

“All strutting from one place to another,” Leucilis said, “from one self-appointment to the next. Repetitive lives that anyone in our position would soon devalue. They do not see that. The protected are entitled to protection; very rarely do they sympathize with a protector who fails. The hardest part of being a hero is continuing to care.”

“I suppose you are trying to say power is so burdensome on you,” Amelia said slowly, evenly, without panting, “that you are owed understanding.”

“If you understand, then you are rare,” Leucilis said. “Your father did. That was why I had him. He understood, even up until the moment I chose my people over him in the heyday of the rebellion before your time.”

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“I see no reason why I must understand,” Amelia stated.

“Unfortunate…”

“It cannot be helped.”

“…that you are more like me than him.”

Layers of restraints reached their seams. Amelia’s eyes widened as the stoic mask fell away. For the next few moments she could not form coherent thoughts. She had never accelerated so hard until this point.

She swung her right fists while propelled by the full thrust of her wings. Both were caught in Leucilis’s palms. But their momentum kept going, dragging them both in a rapid arc downward. The impact drew a ravine through a park. Screams rang out as people scattered in a panic. A tree heavy with red, orange, yellow leaves disintegrated into thousands of shards. The couple watching the fall froze in shock, no longer content and unconcerned.

Amelia did not stop. She bore all her weight into her punches. The ground shook. The crater where there was once an old oak deepened. It only made her angrier that she was being completely blocked by two forearms.

“How nostalgic,” Leucilis said.

“Shut up!”

“Your grandmother and I once had a frank exchange of opinion as well.”

Amelia brought all four elbows down. Her strike dug into the wet earth. She glanced furiously, searching. Leucilis stood several meters away, untouched. Amelia flew straight at her, muscles primed to swing without restraint. Again, Leucilis disappeared from her field of view, and Amelia barreled forward, striking a parked car. The vehicle went airborne, rolling over the street to the sound of panicked horns. Pedestrians who had been busy filming with their phones barely managed to get out of the way of the car as it landed. A storefront crumpled from the impact.

“This is unbecoming, Amelia,” Leucilis said like a patient schoolteacher.

“I hate you!” This time she moved slower, keeping Leucilis in view. Her knuckles found purchase this time, impacting solidly against her mother’s guard. But it was like a toddler striking against a wall.

Then, Leucilis let her arms rest at her sides. Amelia did not question the opening. She struck her mother’s cheek as hard as she could. There was a resounding crack of chitin. Staggering back, Amelia fell on her knees. Her knuckles bled. Her teeth gnashed with pain, but far, far more fury.

“I hope you found what you need,” Leucilis said. She looked away, towards the direction where something else had begun to arise. A new mark to add to the current crisis. “Because this city is under assault.”

“What?” Amelia said with a snarl.

“I do watch, daughter. But I will not help you.”

“I do not want it.”

“I know.”

As they spoke, trucks drove into the area from all directions. Workers dressed in purple and gold uniforms hurried into the area, walking past and around them in silence. The giant gashes in the dirt were filled in. Fresh grass was unrolled on top and cut into perfect shape. The battered storefront was rebuilt. The destroyed car was towed and a new one parked where it was supposed to be. Almost no sign of the disagreement remained beside the gnarled stump of the tree.

“Will that be all?” Amelia asked. She stood straight, regaining a measure of her composure.

“Take care of your friends,” Leucilis said. She unfurled her wings.

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“You are stronger than I was at your age.” It was said as regally, as expressionlessly as anything else she had said. Yet it felt different. Amelia wanted more. She hated that she wanted more. It was all she would get.

Leucilis unfurled her wings and leapt into the air. The thrust nearly threw Amelia back onto the ground. Eyes narrowed, she watched the blue streak race away, parting the clouds in the wake. A sharp boom shook her eardrums moments later. Amelia left the park, frustrated that this ordeal had succeeded in giving her catharsis.