Tom exited the isolation room with what he hoped was a bored expression. He wasn’t sure how convincing it was, even with his efforts to slow himself down – inside, he was filled with energy.
It was awesome. The isolation room had been so much better than he had been imagining. It had been created for people like him. The answers to most of the pressing questions he had been asking had been readily available. They had predicted what he wanted to know and made sure the books with the knowledge were identifiable.
One session had transformed his view of his entire situation. He was both significantly safer and better placed to have explosive growth than he had initially thought.
Then he remembered what he had read, and recalling how humanity had earnt these protections in the first place destroyed his excitement.
His emotions, Tom acknowledged, were all over the place. Fear of the future, dread of failure, anticipation of his impending power… they were yo-yoing everywhere.
The area outside the isolation room was empty until Bir’s doors opened. A moment later, so did Pa’s.
Tom frowned.
Bir looked like how he felt, and her eyes were red. She had tried to wipe away some tears, but had failed to hide the evidence.
His heart broke.
That was the other cost of the protection that he was receiving. Little Ta had been resilient, but occasionally the isolation had gotten to him. Bir and others like her suffered at least once a week.
Pa had been closer to Bir, and his happy face, too, had fallen when he spotted her. He immediately ran over and hugged her.
No words were exchanged; and, truth be told, there was no need for them.
Their session had taken them past dinner time, and, as they trudged toward the gymnasium, Tom let himself interact with the others on autopilot, his conscious thoughts directed internally. He collected his food and started eating without registering the actions.
The cost of the isolation rooms was higher than he had realised. How many other innocent children were like Bir? He frowned. He guessed it didn’t matter - the price had already been paid. It was up to him to make the various sacrifices count, and that was exactly what he was going to do. New questions swirled inside him.
How should he make the most of these resources?
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What was the best way to fix his healing?
Was there an opportunity to cut himself under the table?
The extra sharp meat knife that he had grabbed with dinner was clutched in his hands on his lap, ready to be used. Surreptitiously, Tom cased the room. None of the adults were looking at him, because they were still deliberately ignoring everyone who had gone through the ritual and were instead focused exclusively on the older children. At different tables too, he realised. He hadn’t even noticed it, but the four-year-olds had all been funnelled onto a table near the bubble machine. A machine that, as usual, during the evening meal had its active effects switched off. The coloured bubbles did nothing but pop, and, to his surprise create an effective smoke screen. They were materially hidden from the sight of the grownups, and then, as a secondary protection, all the adults and the near adult were pointedly not glancing in their direction.
He licked his lips.
If he slipped the hand clutching the knife under his pants… then a bit of pressure.
“Ta, you like.” Bir gestured at a pink vegetable on the side of his plate. He had tasted it and found it to be very similar to a carrot, but channelling his younger self had rejected it.
He made a face and stuck out his tongue to non-verbally show how disgusting it was. The girl promptly speared it with a fork and ate it happily.
Carefully, Tom pulled the hand holding the knife back above the table. The adults might not be able to see him, but he was not protected from the other kids in the same way, and the risk wasn’t worth taking. If he was going to cut himself, it had to be done under his clothes. The bleeding had to be low enough that it wouldn’t soak through the fabric of his top, and it had to be unnoticed by everyone.
There were too many ways for the attempt to go wrong, and it wasn’t worthwhile to take the risk. An hour of distracted training of a healing spell he might end up having to discard was not that valuable a prize.
The question about the pink carrots had pulled him out of his self-reflection at least. Present in the moment, he turned his attention to the chocolate mousse dessert, which was the one good part of his dinner selection. Snotty Ma on the table behind them was complaining about her elixir being spilled. Bir next to him was giggling a little at the expressed outrage, but, thankfully, the other girl didn’t notice.
They escaped dinner without any drama, and the rest of the evening continued in the same vein, but by the time he settled down to sleep he had made some decisions.
For the next week, he would take stock of the reference materials available in the isolation room, and once that was done, he would dedicate the full two hours to reacquiring his spear skills. Outside of the isolation room, his focus would be on building his healing magic up with a two-pronged strategy.
First, he would try to extend the range and ability of his existing spell to facilitate its evolving, and secondly, he would use a free-form magic to directly create a better version of the spell. He figured he would split both his fate and his available time between those two tasks.
He woke in the morning and immediately snuggled deeper into the covers. It was cold outside the blankets, and his memories from Little Ta told him that was always the case. There was a temptation to nap longer in the cozy warmth, but he assessed himself and decided that extra rest would be a luxury rather than a need. While keeping his movements slow and trying to avoid moving the blankets unduly, he grabbed his toy knife and pulled his top up to expose his belly and chest. He shoved the mass of material under his chin and pinned it to prevent it from rolling back down.
Then, without fuss or hesitation, he cut himself.