The next morning, he woke, and with the aid of light he examined his wound. All that was left were two faint lines on the skin of his arms. There wasn’t enough data to verify the effectiveness of his healing spell; unfortunately, he didn’t know how much natural healing would fix him overnight. The minor wounds from last night being healed by morning was not beyond the realm of possibility, but Tom was suspicious. With his likely terrible vitality, his guess was that the injury should have looked worse and his magic had helped out.

Well, he would do a controlled test tonight. Make two wounds and heal one to confirm scientifically how effective the spell was. For now, he needed an injury to continue practicing his healing, so he promptly used his knife to open the wound up once more. The cut was nastier than he had expected, clearly worse than last night, and it bled profusely. With a frown of distaste, he got rid of the leaking blood. Then he repeated the healing attempt of the previous night, but used only half his fate. Keeping some available for emergency use during the day was for the best. The spell form was frustratingly difficult to create, and the end result looked like what he had achieved with his first attempt – in other words, so ugly and malformed that it would be a minor miracle if it worked.

It settled on the cut, and the magic activated itself. The bleeding scabbed over, and in mere moments the recent wound looked like it was a two-day-old one instead of fresh. Even the color of the bruise was reduced to a dull yellow.

He didn’t get ahead of himself. The cut that he had closed was minor and the efficiency of the spell was terrible, but it was progress nonetheless, and that was all that mattered. Tom considered opening the cut further, but decided against it. He would continue trying to duplicate the magic during the rest of the day, but without fate boosting his skill level he doubted he would be able to achieve even the partial success he had to date.

He emerged from his personal blanket fort and saw that, as usual, Bir was already gone and Pa was sleeping. Following his normal routine, he went through the cleaning loop, then used the bathroom and walked briskly down to breakfast. His stomach grumbled as he got closer, but it wasn’t ready. There were still twenty minutes until eight when the proper food got served. Until then, there was only fruit and dry bread available. Tom would have liked to be able to sample the fruit, but little Ta would not have considered it, so neither did he.

Bir was with a mixed group of four and five-year-olds, so he joined in. They were playing bubble tag, a game where both sides had to avoid popping the bubbles. After only twenty minutes of running through the bubbles, the automatons activated, swarmed the tables, and deposited breakfast.

There wasn’t a single adult in sight, and once more he skipped the fancy food options and had his sausages like Little Ta would normally do. After he had eaten, he saw pastries getting delivered and hurriedly got back in line. When he reached the front, there were only two chocolate ones left, and he grabbed both, the maximum allowable quota, and ran over to Bir to share.

Excited by their luck, they departed, intending to go to the magic television room.

As they left, Tom made a point of duplicating little Ta’s usual approach of staying next to the door frame, and it caused him to almost run into an older girl with brunette hair and a white streak going the other way.

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She was around ten.

The collision was minor, but it felt like static electricity snapped between them.

He backed away with wide eyes. The girl must have experienced it too because she glared at him and then her eyes flickered between him and Bir. A small smirk appeared on her face as she stared first at the half-eaten pastry in his hand and the full one in Bir’s.

“Dragons.” She cursed with obvious, false annoyance. “The morning pastries have been distributed. I guess it’s bad timing on my part. But…” She pointed at Bir, aggressively. “You there! Give me that.”

Bir backed away eyes wide and put the pastry instinctively behind her back, as though hiding it would make a difference. Privately, Tom thought she would have been better off licking it, but as young as she was, she wouldn’t have even considered that.

The older girl scoffed at the reaction:

“If you don’t give it, I’ll take it.” She strode over, pushed Bir firmly against the wall and forcefully grabbed the pastry from her.

There was nothing that he could do. It was so unfair. They were outside the main hall, so there were no automatic protections. Usually there would be an adult around who might or might not intercede. But because of the ritual, none of the usual volunteers were allowed in.

She was going to get away with it.

The older girl, ruffled Bir’s hair. “Don’t cry, little baby. I’ll make sure I enjoy it.”

Bir was introverted around older people at the best of times, but when being bullied, Tom knew that she had just shut down. She was almost comatose. The bully took a big bite of the pastry and smirked at him.

Fury coursed through him.

The entire thing was unacceptable. She couldn’t do that without consequences. He wouldn’t stand for it.

With an angry snarl, he charged at her. Different techniques and approaches flashed through his mind, but weaponless and with this weak body, there was not much he could do. Bereft of options, he lowered his head and tried to skull charge her.

With contemptuous ease, she sidestepped him, and he ran past her. Then she lightly kicked him in the backside, making him overbalance and go sliding along the floor.

Roaring, he got up and charged her a second time. This time, he held himself back slightly so she couldn’t dodge around him. She didn’t bother - a single long arm arrested his momentum. He tried to kick her, swing his fists, but her length let her avoid the blows. Effortlessly, she restrained him, laughing.

“I’ll kill you,” he screamed.

The girl, because that was what she was, remained amused. Then abruptly, she got bored and moved at full pace for the first time.

The world tilted and spun. He found himself with his arm behind his back and his head down below waist level being pushed into the wall. She was not gentle, and it hurt significantly more than anything he had done to himself in this life. He attempted to wiggle, and it only made it worse. Agonizing pain radiated from his shoulder. He twisted. Tried to kick her with his heels and attempted to bite her hand when it got too close.

It was futile. He had lost.

The fury fell away.

He blinked, confused at suddenly being able to think. Tears were running down his face. His arm felt like it had almost been pulled off and his jaw felt dislocated, but most of his attention went internally. He had no idea why he had reacted so aggressively.

“What the dragon was that.” The older girl demanded. “You went psycho.”

Tom relinquished control and put little Ta in charge:

“It was Bir’s pastry. You weren’t allowed to take it.” Little Ta screamed. The unnatural rage was gone, but enough of the underlying anger remained as fuel for the younger him to channel. “You’re mean. You’re mean, mean, mean.”

With a laugh, she released him:

“Piss off, kid. You did good, but no one wants to hear your blubbering.”