Three years on Planet X felt like a lifetime and a blink at the same time.
I'd gone from helpless potato to a walking, talking, semi-functional toddler. My legs still wobbled sometimes, and my arms were basically pool noodles, but I could move on my own now.
Sort of. And I've been surprisingly busy.
Olfang started teaching me when I was barely six months old before I could even sit up properly. He'd hold up these holographic flashcards, pointing at symbols that looked like someone had taken Earth's alphabet, thrown it in a blender, and glued the pieces back together wrong.
"This is kresh," he'd say, tapping a squiggly symbol. "It means 'energy.' Repeat after me. Kresh."
"Guh," I'd respond, because baby vocal cords are garbage.
But I did listened. And by the time I hit two years old, I could actually understand what people were writing.
Apparently it was some kinda "Universal language," Olfang explained one day, adjusting his glasses as he pulled up a star map. "Discovered by the Nerd Clan centuries ago. Every inhabited planet in this quadrant uses it. Makes interplanetary trade, diplomacy, and knowledge sharing far more efficient."
I stared at the map. dozens of planets, connected by lines of light, all speaking the same language.
Makes sense, back on Earth, we couldn't even agree on metric versus imperial. Well, where I was from.
Learning to speak it was harder. My mouth felt weird, like my tongue didn't fit right. But being bored I worked at it. Slowly and carefully. And by three years old, I could hold basic conversations without sounding like I had marbles in my cheeks.
"You're progressing remarkably well," Olfang said one evening, looking proud with his calm smile. "Most children don't achieve this level of fluency until four or five."
I shrugged. Helps when you've already lived a whole life.
But I didn't say that part out loud.
Theodosia, on the other hand, had other plans.
"He needs to start training," she announced one morning, barging into the living quarters like a freight train.
Olfang looked up from his workbench, where he'd been showing me the basics of circuitry. "He's three, Theodosia."
"Exactly! Prime time to start building habits!"
"The typical age for psionic training is ten," Olfang said, his tone patient but firm. "His neural pathways aren't developed enough yet. Forcing it too early could cause strain."
"Strain builds character!"
"Strain will lead to permanent injury."
I watched them argue, a wrench still in my tiny hand. This was becoming a pattern. Theodosia wanted me in the gym. Olfang wanted me in the lab. And I was stuck in the middle, trying to figure out which side I even wanted to be on.
The thing was, I didn't hate what Olfang was teaching me.
Engineering was… kind of cool, actually.
He'd started with the basics, circuits, power flow, energy conversion, and beginner formulas. Stuff that would've made my head spin back on Earth, but here? Here it was like learning to tie your shoes fundamentally.
It was way deeper than anything we had on Earth, I realized. But if I already know how to fight… why not learn something new?
Diversifying didn't seem like a bad idea. Yeah, I wanted to train pretty badly, especially after how I'd ended up dying. Yeah, I wanted to get back in shape—or into shape, since this body was basically a wet noodle. But it was a new life.
So I paid attention. I learned. I asked questions.
And Olfang ate it up.
"You're a natural," he said one day, watching me assemble a basic photovoltaic power cell. "Most children your age can barely focus for five minutes."
Yeah, well, most children your age haven't been shot in a gym.
And besides learning more or working out I really didn't know what else to do, with all the time in the world I could only occupy my brain with this to keep myself from thinking to much about my past life.
Then, one random afternoon, everything changed.
I was in the workshop with Olfang, learning the act of setting instructions that a computer can understand and execute, when a gust of wind swept through the room. Dust kicked up from somewhere—probably one of the vents—and it hit me right in the face.
I sneezed.
Hard.
And the dust scattered.
Not because of the sneeze.
Because I pushed it.
I felt it—this sudden rush of excitability corsing through my head. Every neuron in my brain fired at once, lighting up like a Christmas tree. All of my muscles flexed involuntarily, my whole body going rigid for a split second.
The dust cloud shifted direction mid air, swirling away from me in a purple haze.
I stared at my hands.
At the two small stumps on my head—no, not stumps anymore. They'd grown. Just slightly. Enough that I could feel them now, like phantom limbs I'd never known I had.
The tealish green orbs hadn't appeared yet, but the stumps were longer, and darker
"Rad?" Olfang's voice was sharp. "Did you just—"
"I… I don't know," I said, still staring at my hands. "I felt something. Like… like everything was connected."
Olfang's eyes went wide behind his glasses.
"Theodosia!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "THEODOSIA!"
She burst into the room thirty seconds later, nearly taking the door off its hinges.
"What? What happened? Is he hurt?"
"He unlocked his psionics," Olfang said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Theodosia froze.
Then she grinned.
"YES! I KNEW IT! I KNEW HE'D BE A PRODIGY!"
"He's three," Olfang said, still staring at me like I'd just sprouted wings. "Children don't unlock their abilities until they're five. At the earliest. Their minds aren't developed enough before then."
"Well, clearly ours is!"
I flexed my fingers, trying to recreate the feeling. The energy was still there, but faint, my brain was still in an relatively excitable state.
"Can you do it again?" Theodosia asked, crouching down to my level. "Try to move something. Anything."
I focused on a small tool sitting on the workbench—a screwdriver, maybe six inches long. I reached out with my mind, the way I'd felt the dust shift, and tried to grab it.
Nothing.
I tried again, pushing harder.
Still nothing.
"Don't force it," Olfang said gently. "Psionics require balance. Mental focus and physical strength. You can't brute force it."
"But he's three," Theodosia said, frowning. "He doesn't have the muscle development yet."
"Exactly. Which is why this is so unusual."
They both stared at me, and I felt the weight of their expectations settle onto my tiny shoulders like a bag of cement.
Great no pressure.
That night, they argued.
I could hear them through the walls—Theodosia's voice loud and insistent, Olfang's quieter but just as firm.
"We need to enroll him in school," Theodosia said. "Now. Before someone else notices."
"He's three years old," Olfang repeated. "He's not ready."
"Once a child unlocks their psionics, they're required to attend. You know the laws, Olfang. If we don't enroll him, the Council will intervene."
There was a long pause.
"He's too young," Olfang said finally, his voice strained. "The other students will be twice his age. Twice his size. He'll be at a disadvantage."
"Then he'll learn faster," Theodosia said. "Just like he learned the language faster. Our son is special, Olfang. We can't hold him back just because we're scared."
Another pause.
"I'm not scared," Olfang said quietly. "I'm concerned. There's a difference."
"Then we agree. We'll enroll him next week."
I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, my stubby antennae tingling faintly.
School.
I didn't know what that meant here. Back on Earth, school was just… school. Boring. And, for me, pointless. A place where you sat in a chair and memorized stuff you'd forget a week later.
But here?
Here, school could mean anything. Training, Teaching the culture, anything.
I clenched my fists, feeling my brain jolt through my skin.
Alright, I thought. Let's see what you've got, Planet X.
The next morning, Theodosia woke me up at dawn.
"Come on, Radicles," she said, grinning. "We're gonna test your limits."
She dragged me out to the training yard, a flat stretch of ground behind the compound, dotted with weights, bars, and obstacle courses that looked like they'd been designed by someone who hated children.
"Try to lift that," she said, pointing at a small weight, maybe five pounds.
I focused, reaching out with my mind and a skinny purple string followed.
The weight wobbled for a second but nothing happened.
Theodosia whooped, pumping her fist in the air. "THAT'S MY BOY!"
I collapsed onto the ground, panting, my head spinning.
Five pounds, I thought, staring at the sky. I feel like I ran a marathon.
This was going to be harder than I thought.
But as I lay there, catching my breath, I couldn't help but smile.
A little sweat never killed anyone.