The students were silent as they showered. Only hot precipitation and careful scrubbing could be heard, utterly absent of joking conversation. Many would later have to attend the infirmary to deal with the bruises that were developing underneath their skin. The more observant would have noticed that a few students had to be attended by Professor Verruck, who took to the task with enthusiasm, as opposed to the deadpan ennui with which she approached teaching.

Lian nursed bruises of a different kind. Tobias’s words still rang in her ears.

“Satisfactory, this time,” he had said, citing from his clipboard. “You made no significant mistakes, but being proficient means being aware of your own limits.”

And rather shamefully she had used her mental gift to overhear that Lyssa had gotten a Proficient. Vortex had received an Outstanding, but everyone had gotten used to that. The turbulent student would likely have first pick of mentor for the upcoming program.

She found Lyssa by the entrance to the gym, before she left for the day.

“Lian, good to see you,” Lyssa said. But her tone had been neutral, so unemotional that it was easy to interpret it as coldness.

Lian nearly shivered.

“You’ve gotten better,” she said. “Way better.”

“Thanks to you,” Lyssa said. She began to walk, and so Lian had to as well. “Your altruism gave me foundation.”

“Is that so,” Lian said. “I mean when I first met you, you seemed like a lost puppy. Now, I don’t know. You barely got a scratch back there, all while using only one gift.”

“I suppose.”

“Is that one your favorite?”

“It’s just the most convenient,” Lyssa said.

There was the slightest odd pause. Not only that, Lyssa seemed entirely different from before. Her personality felt sequestered and muted, changed from scared, emotional, panicked. Lian was tempted to reach into her thoughts, just to see what had happened.

Instead, she sighed.

“I guess you don’t really need anyone anymore, let alone me,” she said.

Lyssa stopped. She was thinking, carefully choosing the words.

“We all have to choose a way to see the world,” she said, “in order to get what we want out of it. I don’t know how to do that. Not yet. But a… part of me is working on it.”

“What?”

“We are all stronger than we realize.” Lyssa’s brow furrowed, but she had ran out of words. She wasn’t the speaker among the voices. She was sheer stoicism when most would have gone mad. Apathetic where many were passionate. A solid pillar of stone, unshakeable and alone. She had defied the character of her Self already by saying such things. But she would defy her character again when Lian smiled at her.

“You’re right,” the hybrid gifted said. “This was just one exercise. I guess the Awakening has had me on edge.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

The smile made Lyssa feel strange. Not happy—that feeling was far beyond her ability—but fulfilled in a way. She was not equipped to understand it.

“Weird,” Lyssa said to herself.

“Maybe,” Lian replied. “Trust in us hasn’t been so volatile in years. But I suppose every generation of heroes has felt these shifts in the zeitgeist. And-”

A student ran up behind them.

“There you are,” Eden said. The transmutationist had been tremendously useful in that exercise. The ability to turn the air in a room into something heavy and inert made firefighting seem archaic. “You two coming to the demonstration?”

“Oh, right that was today,” Lian said.

“What is this?” Lyssa asked.

“Don’t know who started it, but some of the students have decided to mount a peaceful rally in response to the intrusion on our grounds,” Eden said. “You should come.”

“To what purpose?”

The young man seemed taken aback.

“Well, to prove to the public that heroes are still trustworthy, I guess. To prove that their rejection of us doesn’t mean we’ll reject them. Or something.”

“Sure, why not,” Lian said. “I’ll go.”

“Great.” Eden left.

Lian had a few more words to say, but they evaporated as she clutched her temple. A barely withheld grimace etched across her face.

“What’s wrong?” Lyssa asked.

“A mental sprain,” Lian said. “Happens when psychics push themselves too much. You wouldn’t know, you’ve a monstrous mental stamina.

“Anyways, you coming or what?”

The past few days had been tiring. Lyssa had been spending early mornings running through esoteric exercises with Jackson. By dawn she learned how villains liked to move in the shadows. By day she joined the rest of her cohort in normal heroic curriculum. On top of that, she could feel the turmoil of her inner conflict on the edge of her awareness, raging day in and out.

She was exhausted and needed an early night.

“Sure, I’ll come,” Lyssa said.

“Okay, see you there,” Lian said.

Lyssa watched her leave with a measure of intensity. There was a hesitance to Lian’s gait, a slowness to her movements she did not notice herself. But the psychic’s face remained bright and strong. It made Lyssa want to keep an eye on her, without really knowing why.

She joined her class at a campus club room. It was a roomy hall, wide but snugly decorated with the memorabilia of past cohorts. There was about a hundred students there, all making signs and preparing slogans. Members of the other first-year class must have joined in as well, in addition to some second-years, judging by the slightly different M.A.G.E patch on their uniforms.

No third or fourth-years attended. Perhaps they were all too busy. The upper-years were almost fully fledged heroes in their own right, participating on patrols, working at companies. Many were already involved with private security solutions. Though Lyssa had a feeling busyness had nothing to do with it. She watched her compatriots work, laughing, sharing jokes, making carefree conversation as they prepared for a public demonstration. It was always like a party, an event for young socialites to speak of later.

She checked her phone. Already news of the planned demonstration was spreading. There was going to be a Q&A. An open call to engage with discourse with any of those trespassers or people who fear the gifted. As she scrolled, she saw a recent article latching onto the algorithm; another young gifted had been put into the hospital by ungifted gangs. Street altercation gone wrong. War between species. By ‘The Common Langshirite’. A picture of men and women in improvised armor, sports equipment resting on their shoulders, posed as if ready to take on the world. Another article, Category-1 Danny Jessup in critical condition from brutal beating. By ‘The Gifting Tree’. A picture of a barely recognizable young man married to tubes and machines.

“Whatcha readin’?”

Lyssa blackened her screen.

“Penny?” She said with a slight inflection of surprise.

“I dunno, it seemed like fun,” Penny said demurely. “And it’s for a good cause. We’re just telling people we’re just like them, and that we live in the same world. None of us wants to hurt anybody.”

“Amelia?”

“We’re not inseparable, you know. And you know how she is.”

“Hm.” Lyssa watched the preparations near completion and the afternoon darken. She watched the happy faces, hopeful and forward-looking, smile at each other. Lian seemed to have mingled seamlessly into the group, becoming the center of the festivity. Not unexpected; she had reached out to Lyssa out of pure altruism, seeing someone who needed help. People like that were as rare as they were rarely alone.

Lyssa felt glad she had come. No, affirmed. She couldn’t care less about the demonstration, but she needed to be here. Just in case.