Technocracy: AIR, Part 1

Softly blew the breeze of Spring ‘round Saera as she sat,

Sat and yet could not ignore the cramps that she now felt,

Felt amid her thighs and in her abdomen as well:

Not too bad a pain, yet something she could not ignore.

“Mmm,” she mumbled, softly, sitting in the silence of English class, as the teacher lectured. It was such a normal sound, to almost anyone.

But Marin sat in the desk right next to her, and Marin was not anyone. Her navy eyebrows rose as she heard the noise. She leaned over. “You okay?” she whispered into the ear of her best friend.

Saera leaned over to her, just slightly. “Just cramps.”

“Ooh,” cooed Marin, sympathetically. “Sorry. Put some heat on it when you get home.”

“I know, Marin.”

“Be careful, okay?”

“I shall try.” Saera tried to sit and stare ahead, keeping her focus on the English class being taught.

Saera felt the cramping in her abdomen and thighs,

Not so painful, nor so harsh, that it could not be borne,

But it was discomforting, and now it made her sigh—

Breath out, and when she did so here eyes glimmered bright white,

Flickered with the neon white that Marin noticed, as

A cool breeze began to circulate throughout the room.

“Oy,” said Marin, “Hey, be careful,” and her own eyes glowed,

Glimmering bright neon blue, and still no one observed.

Marin turned her head sideways, and Saera now could feel

Pressure leaving her abdomen then, and felt her cramps

Die down some—they were still there, but they were not as harsh.

Her eyes stopped their neon white glow, and the air was still.

She turned now to Marin, whose eyes had stopped glowing, too.

“Did you do that?” Saera asked. “I did,” Marin replied.

“I could feel the pressure, so I moved it around some.

It probably won’t last very long. They will come back.

But I hope it makes you feel better,” and Marin smiled.

And Saera gawked at her. “I did not know that you could

Move the water INSIDE someone’s body,” Saera said.

“Well, I can,” said Marin, with a small and gentle smile.

“Just like you can move the air INSIDE someone’s body.

There’s no limit to us, any of us,” Marin said.

“You need to get grips on that, as you move forward, too.”

“Miss Meni, Miss Alhimov,” said Mr. Amos, their English teacher. “Would you like to share your conversation with the class?”

“Ah, no, sir,” said Saera, sitting straight ahead. “No, sir, we are deeply sorry.”

“Now,” said Mr. Amos, “as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, we see that the meter of Gregor Abraham’s poem is unusual. A galloping, unrhymed couplet. A line of fourteen syllables, followed by a line of thirteen syllables. What does it make you think of?” He turned. He paused. And, to his surprise, a sallow arm, clad in a green dress sleeve, came up. “Miss Meni, your thoughts?”

“Oh, well,” said Marin, and Saera was surprised, for Marin did not often volunteer in English class. “Well, Mr. Amos, I mean, the poem is about flowers, right? Flowers in the Spring?”

“Yes. I mean, self-evidently.”

“Well, I mean… the long line and the short line, going back and forth… it made me think of flowers swaying back and forth, as they’re blown by the breeze. You know?”

Mr. Amos smiled at her. “That’s not a bad interpretation, Miss Meni.” He turned back to the digital whiteboard. “So, what follows from that? As we can see…”

Saera leaned over, and Marin saw the small, gentle smile on her lips. “That’s not bad. I thought of that as well.”

“You’re not the only one who can read things,” said Marin, grinning at her friend. “By the way, there’s another chunk of your hair that’s gone white.”

“I am not surprised, given what just transpired. I… felt it.”

“Miss Alhimov, if you would?”

“Ah,” said Saera, pale face blushing. “So sorry, Mr. Amos. It shan’t happen again.” And she spoke no more, though she gently smiled at Marin, grateful for the mild release of pressure in her abdomen and thighs.

A class and a half later, Saera shifted through the thronging students on her way to the entrance of the school. Some of them would look at her, and move away from her as she walked. Saera quirked her silver eyes. She was used to being invisible, or she had been for the longest time. But the growth of snow white chunks in her hair had made her both more, and less visible. To see her, walking down the hallways, was to see something strange, and stark: a girl who, even if she wore dark clothes, was quite bright, and light, with her pale skin and her silver eyes. The displacement of blonde with white in her hair accentuated this. It almost seemed that, even in gloom and shadow, Saera had a spotlight cast upon her; even in weak light, the sheer stark whiteness of her body and features could regularly be striking. To see her was to notice her, if only in her strangeness, and so she was more visible. But more visible in a way that invited removal: those who saw her were quick to get out of her path.

Not that Saera minded. She had never much cared about the opinions of others. And now that she had, not just Marin, but Ardo and Terry too, she cared about the opinions of the rest of the world even less. Speaking of: she saw Ardo, basking in a shaft of March sunlight, almost glowing, and she thought perhaps there was a heat upon him. His new head of crimson red hair certainly accentuated this impression: his red hair combined with his brown skin to give him a warm cast, an impression of heat, even more than he had had before. A contrast with her own cool paleness, which her growing head of white hair was only making more stark.

She waved. Ardo saw. He smiled, and waved back at her. Saera smiled more. “Hey,” she said, when they were close enough to speak.

“Hey!” said Ardo, grinning at her. “Feeling good?”

“Ah, mostly,” said Saera. Marin’s temporary remedy was passing, and the cramps had begun to return. Ardo, of course, would not know of these at all.

But Ardo smiled at her, and he meant it, and Saera took the joy she had felt for months in how happy she was to know him. “It’s your turn,” Ardo said.

And she knew what he meant at once. “Yes,” she said. They began to walk, through the thronging crowds of students towards the far entrance of the school.

“Hey!” Marin said, coming from their lefthand side to walk with them. Her navy blue hair flowed behind her, glimmering in the sunshine.

“Weirdo,” someone muttered as she passed by.

Marin craned her head back and she noticed that the boy

Who had flung the insult was now hunching just above

A water fountain; so Marin flicked out her left hand,

And the water blasted upwards from the fountain’s spout,

Spraying him all over with a gushing water jet.

“Ah!” he cried and staggered backwards, soaking, dripping wet.

“Asshole,” muttered Marin, and she smiled with some glee.

Ardo, meanwhile, idly snapped his fingers on both hands,

And Saera could see the flare of sparks there in the space

Between his thumbs and his index fingers. Saera saw

That even, for just a moment, a small tongue of flame

Hung there in between the fingers on his brown right hand.

“You two need to be careful,” said Saera.

“I’ll be fine, Saera,” said Ardo.

“Yeah,” said Marin. “Relax, girl, I know what I’m doing.”

“Really?” The three of them turned, and saw Terry walking beside them all. “Because both of you seem pretty reckless to me.”

“I’m not afraid,” said Ardo, grinning, the flare of neon red flames briefly visible at the corners of his eyes. “What if I did get in trouble? So what? It’s not like anybody could do anything about it.”

“You could, like, be captured,” said Terry. “By the military. They’d take you in to do research on you.”

Ardo snorted, smoke coming from his nostrils. “They’d try.” And he grinned, and walked a little faster.

“What a drama queen,” muttered Marin, who had kept pace with him.

“At least I’m not gonna drench someone with water every time they look at me funny, fatass,” said Ardo.

Marin curled her lip. “No, you’d probably just light them on fire, instead.”

The two of them glared at each other, Marin’s sapphire blue eyes glinting into Ardo’s ruby red. They stopped in the middle of the hall and squared each other up. Their new hair colors only heightened the contrast between them, Marin’s long head of navy hair a sharp distinction from Ardo’s chin-length crimson locks.

The spell lasted a moment. It was broken when Marin rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she said, hiking up her backpack and resuming her trek to the entrance of the school. Ardo huffed a breath and followed in her wake.

Terry and Saera had stood and watched this confrontation. Terry groaned. “Those two are going to cause some property damage at some point.”

“They do still behave somewhat tensely with each other,” said Saera. “At times I think they actually enjoy fighting.”

“Well, now that they’ve gained control of their elements, I hope they fight less often,” said Terry. “If they got angry enough to actually use their powers at each other they might destroy the entire school.”

“True.”

“It actually makes me want to work harder at getting control of my element,” said Terry. “Just for the sake of keeping a lid on things.” He turned to Saera. “You too. We might have to get between them at some point.”

“Yes,” said Saera. She nodded. “Yes, that is an excellent point. It would be well for me if I could use Air to break up a fight between them.”

Saera stood a moment, and the breeze around her rose,

Swirling cool and chilly through the high school hallway there,

Billowing her hair and making her sleeves flutter some.

“You don’t seem that far away,” said Terry, feeling his own hair blow in the breeze. “You’re about where Ardo was right before he made the full jump. Can’t be too long, now.”

“I should hope,” said Saera, resuming her walk through the school, Terry following close behind.

That night, Saera lay on her bed, reading. A soft, cotton heating pad was laid over her pelvis area, as she propped herself up against the pillows of her bed, reading from the digital paper volume she owned. She was reading some poems that she had purchased from the local bookstore. She had actually wanted to buy the physical, hardback copy of this volume, but she had been low on money, and the digital edition had been cheaper. She smiled a bit, just a little. Her cramps had greatly diminished as the evening had gone on, and she was half-tempted to just take the heating pad off entirely. But prudence compelled her to keep it on, in the hope that she would soon feel no cramping at all.

She was reading, now, a poem, something written in iambic pentameter:

The birds were flowing, swelling through the air.

They flittered and they flowed throughout the sky.

They carved the air, the breeze parted around,

Their wings alike now to a ship’s proud prow.

Saera nestled up against the pillows of her bed,

Thrilled, at last, to read a poem that she enjoyed a lot,

Feeling a great rush of joy to read about the birds.

As she did, a breeze, a gust, began to fill her room,

Blowing at her hair and at the papers on her desk.

Saera felt it and she knew that it was happening,

But she kept on reading, too invested to deter,

And the breeze began to blow beneath her outstretched legs,

Underneath her legs, underneath all her body whole—

Until Saera realized that, as she had sat and read,

She had been LIFTED off of the bed, into the air,

So that she now hovered, on a cushion of cool wind,

Floating a few inches off of her pink comforter.

“Oh!” cried Saera, but as she noticed, the moment passed,

And she plopped back down onto her bed, bouncing on the mattress. Her silver eyes were huge and wide.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, my.” She had been in the air. She had been floating. She had not considered this. She had been going out with her three friends to Terry’s house the past few weeks, as February had given way to March. She had been trying to build, and strengthen, her link to the element of Air. To feel it, not merely to know it intellectually. First Marin, and now Ardo, had told her that she would have to know it, on some level that went beyond the mere acknowledgment of it in her thoughts. This, for Saera, had been slow going. She, who was so used, so comfortable, with thinking things through, considering them coolly and intellectually. To close her eyes and open her mind—to surrender to some lower instinct—felt strange to her.

As a result, she had still been mostly instinctive with her element. The breeze would blow. The air would grow cool, or grow hot. But she had no control over these things, they merely happened, often in response to her feelings or moods. She still had not… aligned. She and her element had not cohered, not as Marin had done with Water, not as Ardo had done with Fire.

And she wished to change it. Because, for all her coolness, her coldness, her distance… deep in her chest, Saera’s heart did beat. She felt, and she yearned to feel, and she yearned to feel… this. She yearned to feel what Marin and Ardo felt. Something about them felt different now, and yet the same. As though they had become more of who they were before. As though they had not fundamentally become different, and yet they had—but they had because what they had been before, what they had possessed before, they now had in greater abundance. Saera could see it. And it made her greedy, and jealous. She wished that for herself. She wanted to know what it felt like.

Saera did not notice that the breeze had blown again,

Blown, was blowing, and it blew now underneath her legs

And her seat—and once again she hovered off the bed,

Hovered, but she faltered now—but then she shouted “Wait!”,

And she tossed her digital reader aside, and thought,

Thought and spread her arms out wide, and willed, and hoped, and strove,

Tried with her pale fingers to grasp this thing that she felt,

Felt, and yet which threatened to retreat, so now she chased,

Chased after it, begging, pleading, grasping in her heart,

Grasping, and she closed her silver eyes, and begged, and thought.

Thought, and thought, yet she began to falter, and to drift

Back down to her comforter. And she felt desperate then.

“Please,” she whispered, and she glanced up to the ceiling and

Cried out “Please!” and in that moment, something crossed her mind

Crossed her mind and crossed her chest, a thing that she could not

Describe, could not spell out with her words—and yet could feel.

And she felt it, and she grasped it with her heart’s right hand.

Something that was there in ways that she could not explain,

And the wobbling stopped, and she did not sink any more.

Instead she was there, hovering inches off the bed,

Hovering, and desperately she grasped the thing she felt.

No, not felt—the thing she knew in ways she could not tell.

Grasped it, and she used it like a ladder to climb up,

And she handled it within the fingers of her mind,

Clean and cold and lovely, like a diamond cut from ice,

Yet a thing that she could handle, wrap around her heart.

Something that was not a thing she’d ever felt before.

But at the same time it felt just vaguely familiar,

Like a thing that she had known, yet somehow had forgot.

But she knew it now, and she could feel it, and she rose

Off the bed a little higher. Suddenly she grasped

Fully on the thing that she could feel, and she SHOT up

Up so fast, so sharply, that she almost bumped her head

On the ceiling of her room. She corrected in time,

So she merely gently bonked against the upper curve

Of her ceiling. And she hovered there, borne up aloft

By the winds that flowed and swirled around her tall, thin frame.

“Oh my gosh,” she whispered, looking down now at her bed.

Now she moved again, and once again she thought and felt.

She jerked awkwardly to one side, and then to the next.

But Saera was a quick learner, and instinctive, too,

So by thought and will and impulse, and what she could feel,

She began to use the air and breezes round herself

To move across her room, from one far wall to the next.

She bounced up against the creamy stucco of her wall,

Then bounced downward, flipping over, turning upside-down

So her hair, mingled with white and blonde, hung downward too,

And she bounced against her bed, and scraped along the top

Of the mattress—where her prudence now took full control,

Telling her to stop now before she could hurt herself.

So she let go of the thing that she had firmly held

With the fingers of her heart, and so she plopped and bounced

Onto the top of the mattress, on her comforter.

Saera’s eyes were huge. “Oh my gosh!” she cried. She curled herself up into a ball, drawing her knees up against her chest. “Oh my gosh,” she said. She put her hands up against her cheeks. She could barely breathe. That hadn’t been a dream. That had been real. “I can fly,” she whispered. She smiled. “I can fly!” she shouted. She laughed.

The next day was Saturday. Saera sat quietly in her mother’s car, as it drove itself down the streets towards Terry’s house. She felt the sharp bump and bounce of the car’s tires over the cracked pavement. She frowned. Terry did not deserve to live in such a terrible, run-down part of town. He was too good for it. No one at all deserved to live under such circumstances, but Terry, especially, did not. She had sometimes thought of broaching the subject with her mother. Marin had told her what Terry had told Marin: that he feared being placed into a foster home because it would take him away from all that he had known and loved. But perhaps her family could adopt Terry? She had thought about this. She supposed the logistics were difficult. But she had thought about it, all the same. And she would certainly not mind having Terry as a foster-brother.

“Hmm?” said Aemelia. “Sweetie, did you say something?”

“Ah,” said Saera. “No, no, Mama.”

“Oh, I wonder if we’re going to be the last ones to arrive, again,” said Aemelia, looking at her watch. “That traffic downtown was unusual for a Saturday.”

“Perhaps. But my friends will not mind.”

“No, they won’t,” said Aemelia. She beamed at her daughter. “I’m so happy you found two good friends so soon. Marin has always loved you, but Ardo and Terry are so good, too. You all really do seem to care about each other. I’m happy. I’m glad you’re so much less alone than you have been before.”

Saera thought. She thought about Marin. She thought about Ardo. She thought about Terry. Her chest grew tight and warm, and she smiled, huge and bright. “I’m glad, too.”

The car pulled up to Terry’s house, revealing Marin, Terry, and Ardo already standing outside. Marin was wearing a teal green skirt and a soft white sweater. Terry wore jeans, a gray henley, and his usual field jacket, while Ardo wore a short-sleeved orange shirt and some jeans. Saera herself wore white pants and a pink sweater.

“Have fun!” said Aemelia as the door swung open.

“I shall, Mama!” said Saera, brightly stepping out into the March sunshine. It was a week or so away from the first day of Spring. There was a chill in the air, but it was a mild one, and already things were much warmer than they had been a week ago.

As she stepped into the sunshine, Saera softly breathed,

And around her spun the wind in gentle, rolling gusts.

All three of the other teenagers could feel the wind

As it blew upon their skin and made them shudder some.

Marin felt the breath of breeze, and turned around, and saw

Her best friend approaching, as her short hair blew about,

That hair, which had mingled blonde with shocking, snowy white.

Marin smiled, her navy hair blown by the breeze. “Should have know. Hey there, girl!”

“Hello,” said Saera, smiling as her mother drove away behind her. She smiled, and the breeze rose, and the trees shook.

Terry saw the branches, fresh with leaves new-sprouting, shocking green. He saw the branches, and he saw them moving, the gusts of March made stronger, sharper, suddenly. He turned about, his hair, with its streaks of metallic brown, billowing. “That’s you, isn’t it, Saera? This wind, it’s you, isn’t it?”

“It is,” said Saera. “Come, come, I’ve something to show you all.” And she picked up her booted feet, and ran through the new grass, fresh green and springing up from the dead yellow stuff around it. Marin, Terry, and Ardo all followed in her wake, though not as fast.

And, at last, they came to the edges of the woods, where the trees bloomed above in the approaching Spring with its growing warmth, and its soft sunshine.

All around them rose a breeze, so gentle and so soft,

And yet ‘twas insistent, too, it could not be ignored.

It carried amid its waftings scents of the new Spring,

Softly scents of nectar, and of honey, in the air.

They saw Saera waiting, watching them as they approached,

Waiting, with her arms folded in front of her, and her

Hands clasped at the front, where they hung down against her lap.

She stood and she waited as the three of them approached

And around her swung and spun the breezes of the air

Bathing her in their sweet scents, as though she wore perfume.

“Saera, what is it?” asked Marin. “What’s the deal with you being so secretive?”

“I, ah,” Saera began, pale face twisting in uncertainty. Her silver eyes were like jewels amid the lightness of her skin, and they flitted, nervous, upon her three friends. “I did not want to be seen from the road.”

“Why?” asked Terry. “What did you have to show us that’s so secret?”

Saera breathed, and as she did the breeze around her rose,

And she said, “I have to show you this,” and she began

Hardening her face as though she was quite deep in thought.

And as she did so the air around them rose to blow.

Wind was billowing around them, ‘round Saera the most,

Billowing around her, blowing her pink sweater’s sleeves.

And at last her hands unclasped: she spread her arms out wide,

And she let the air arise; her hair billowed about

Raising her booted feet off the ground, into the air,

Blowing, jerking her to and fro, upwards in the air,

Blowing, she kicked out her legs and twitched her feet a bit.

“Saera,” Marin said, her sapphire blue eyes bulging wide,

“Saera, you’re flying!” she shouted out, and Saera gasped

And the spell was broken and she fell back down to Earth,

Landing on her feet amid the new-grown, springing grass.

“Oh, shit,” said Ardo, ruby red eyes bulging. He gasped, and the flicker of flame was on his breath. “Oh, shit, Saera, that’s cool! That’s awesome!”

“I, oh, thank you,” said Saera, smiling, but it was a small smile, barely seen.

Terry had remained silent. Saera turned her gaze upon him, and now Ardo and Marin did, as well. His expression, at first, was firm, and Saera worried, irrationally, that he might be angry at her. But a smile broke out on his face, then, and his copper brown eyes again did that strange twitch and shift, where their copper left them and they seemed glimmering gold-brown bronze. “You can fly,” said Terry, voice sounding flat.

“Yes,” said Saera. “Yes, I think I can.”

Terry smiled more broadly, and the glimmer of a laugh was in the back of his throat. “You can fly.” He stuffed his hands hard in his pockets. “I mean, that makes sense. You control Air. Wind. That makes total sense. But it’s… really cool.” He glanced to the side. “I’ve had dreams where I could fly.”

“Dude, who hasn’t?” asked Ardo, a grin on his brown face. “Who hasn’t? Everyone dreams of flying. It’s what we all want. Everybody wants to fly.” He swung back around towards Saera, a huge, beaming smile on his face. “But you can!  You can actually do it, Saera! That’s so cool! That must feel amazing!”

“I… it does, yes,” said Saera, wrapping her arms around her in a motion that Marin recognized. “I suppose I just wanted to come back here because… I did not want anyone to see.”

Marin cocked her head to the side. Her sallow-skinned face bent in an expression, and her navy blue hair flowed and caught the glimmer of the March sun. “Saera, you’re frightened.”

“I… no, no, that is not it,” said Saera.

“Come on, yes you are, you can’t fool me.” Marin smiled at her. “You’re afraid of something about all this. About your element. About Air.”

“I simply…” Saera was wrapping her arms around herself more tightly. “I do not wish anyone to see, is all.”

“You want to hide from it,” said Marin.

“I… no, it’s not a person…”

Ardo’s crimson eyebrows rose. “Oh. I get it. That’s what fatass means.” He absently snapped his fingers, sending a spark of orange flame briefly into the air. “You’re afraid of your element. You’re afraid of seeing it, and of being seen with it.”

“I… would not go that far.”

“Saera,” said Terry. He crossed his arms. “Be honest with us. And with yourself. How do you feel? How do you feel, really?” His glinting metallic brown eyebrows lowered. “Are you really afraid of your element? Of Air?”

Eyes of copper brown, of ruby red, of sapphire blue, bathed Saera with their attention. Saera’s own glimmering silver white eyes wavered, like those of a cornered animal. She bent, and seemed to curl in on herself, as she stood. “I am afraid,” she said, her voice very low, almost too low to be heard, save that, perhaps, the breeze and wind itself carried her words to the ears of her friends. “I do not like being seen. I do not like being seen by others. I do not want to be seen, as a result of… this. Of what has happened to me.” Silver eyes widened desperately at them all. “I prefer to live a more hidden life.”

“Hmm,” said Terry.

“That’s not all,” said Marin. “It’s not just that you want to hide from people and you’re worried Air won’t let you. You’re not just afraid of that, because of Air.” Marin stepped forward. “You’re afraid of Air, period. You don’t want to accept it. You’re afraid of it.”

“I—”

Ardo’s eyebrows rose. “She’s right,” said Ardo. “Saera, you look so scared. What’s wrong? It’s nothing to be afraid of. Believe me, it isn’t! I fucking love how much—”

“I do not like letting things in!”

Sharp the breeze blew, harsher, with a hint of Winter’s cold,

Billowing about them, blowing all their clothes and hair.

Saera tumbled to the ground.

“I love… quiet. Inside.” She stared at the ground as she sat upon it. “I like being ignored, by people. By the world. So that I may have quiet, and peace. I even like… not being disturbed by… people I love. By my mother. By you all. I like being alone… even when I am with you all.” Saera wrapped her arms about her shoulders. “I have built a place, inside, where there’s peace. Quiet. Where I can go, when I am afraid. It is nice. It brings me comfort, and joy, when I feel troubled, or even when I don’t.” Saera’s silver eyes raised up to look at them. “But if I read you right, Marin, and you too, Ardo… I would have to break that apart. I must let this in. This. Air. I would have to let it into all of me…” Saera drew her knees up against herself. Her white pants were muddy. “I do not want that. Can I keep nothing for myself?”

The other three stood, there, waiting. Silence reigned, save for the breeze that blew, gently, beckoning the Spring.

Marin breathed—and as she did she felt the air grow warm.

Puzzled by the pricking of the warm air on her skin,

She turned to see Ardo moving forward, and sit down,

Sitting next to Saera, where she sat, curled in a ball.

“W-” Marin began to speak and began to move forward. But a hand fell on her shoulder. Marin turned, to see Terry holding her back.

Marin glanced up at him. Terry eyed her seriously. “Wait,” he said very softly to her. And Marin chose to trust him, and stay where she stood.

Saera glanced to the side, at Ardo sitting next to her. He looked at her, and he smiled, wearing his feelings out in the open for all to see, as he almost always did. “It’s pretty great,” he said. He snapped his fingers, and sparks flared amid index finger and thumb, and a swirl of his wrist brought a flame into his palm, burning brightly amid the midday sun. Ardo gazed at the burning fire, for a moment. Then he glanced to Saera. “It’s great, and you should do it. Let it in. Don’t be afraid.”

“I know,” said Saera. “I know, I know, I know, I shouldn’t be, I should not be.”

“I know you are,” said Ardo. “I know. I know you’re afraid. Everything you said… made sense. I’ve never felt anything like that, but you explained it pretty well.” Ardo chuckled. “You always explain things really well. You’re really good at it.” He gazed at her, and stared at her until she stared at him, her silver eyes meeting his red. “But it’s not some invading enemy. Really, really, it isn’t. It’s not some weird thing that comes from outside, and… and conquers you, you know?”

“I… am not sure,” said Saera.

“It’s not an invader. It doesn’t come from outside. When you finally feel it… when I finally felt it…”

Ardo’s eyes flared briefly in a blaze of neon red,

And those flames of neon red were at their corners seen.

Only for a moment. Then all was as it had been.

“When I finally felt it… when I finally got it. I realized, this didn’t come from nowhere, or outside. That it was… always inside. It was there, I just didn’t know about it.” He smiled. “It’s the same for you. It’s gotta be. Air has always been there, inside you. Just like Fire was always inside me. It’s not about letting in some outsider. It’s about becoming this… complete person. This whole human being. It’s finding what you’ve been missing.”

Ardo finished speaking. And he sat there, beside her. In silence. Saera waited for him to talk again, but he did not speak, nor did Terry, nor did Marin. And Saera, perhaps not for the first time, was made pointedly aware that her three friends were happy to wait for her to make herself known, in a way so many people in her life were not. Because they knew her, and knew who she was, and what she liked. This is what made them her friends.

And so she turned to Ardo, and smiled at him. “I think… I hope you’re right,” she said. Ardo reached in and wrapped her in a hug.

Saera rose to her feet. Ardo did as well. And now, now Marin moved forward in a swell of motion, navy blue hair flaring behind her, and Saera was enveloped in a lovely tight embrace. “Don’t be afraid,” said Marin. “Ardo’s right. He’s exactly right. It’s not… an invader. It’s you. It’s more of you. It’s more you than you could ever have imagined.” Marin looked her best friend in the eyes. “It’s more you, and it’s waiting for you to accept it.”

Saera smiled. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have anything to fear. I’d never let anything hurt you.” Marin grinned. “I never have and I never will.”

Saera breathed out, and the trees shook in the breeze of the air. She turned to Terry. “Oh,” said Terry, recoiling backwards a bit. “Saera, it’s going to be fine. You’re the smartest person I know. I trust you.”

“Thank you, Terry,” said Saera.

Ardo glared at him. “Give her a hug, dumbass.”

“Oh! Oh,” said Terry, and he almost tripped as he moved forward, and wrapped Saera tightly with his long arms. It was awkward only for a moment; then Terry pulled her a little tighter against him, and Saera could hear the beat of his heart. “It’s absolutely going to be okay. All three of us are here with you.” Saera looked up at him, and Terry stared down at her, his expression fixed. “None of us would ever let anything bad happen to you. And we all believe in you. I believe in you.” He smiled. “You can do this.”

Saera snuggled against him for a moment. Then he let her go, and she pulled back. She saw them all, gazing at her, smiling at her, radiating love at her, and the thought rose in her heart that she could not believe her luck. She smiled at them. “Thank you. All of you. I’ll do it. I shall. I shall get it done.”