The living room was cozy, dominated by a large viewscreen. Mrs. Evans, Astraea's current foster carer—a kind, ephemeral woman whose entire bloodline had risen and fallen within Astraea's stasis—fussed with a bowl of popcorn. "It's starting, sweetie! The National Awakened Showcase! Isn't it exciting?"
"Very exciting, Maggie!" Astraea chirped, her voice perfectly calibrated to a child's pitch of wonder. She tucked her feet beneath her on the sofa, a dragon in pajamas patterned with cartoon cats. I remember when entertainment was troubadours in castle halls or plays performed by candlelight. Now it's broadcast globally in real time. The ephemerals have become quite efficient.
The screen flared to life with pompous music. A man in a sleek suit appeared, standing before a reinforced concrete stage. "Welcome, citizens! In the wake of the First Gate's stabilization, the Awakened Association is proud to present our first class of newly manifested talents! Witness the dawn of a new era!"
Astraea took a slow breath. The dawn. She remembered the actual dawn, thousands of them, each a fresh miracle. This was not a dawn. This was the first, fumbling strike of a flint after an age of darkness.
The first "Awakened" was called. A young man, sweating under the lights. He clenched his fists, face red with strain. With a grunt, he caused a handful of pebbles on a table to tremble for five seconds before he slumped, panting. The crowd applauded wildly.
[System observation log]
[Ability: Earth-aspected mana manipulation / Crustal resonance]
[Efficiency: 2.3%. Control: Erratic.]
[Developmental assessment: Promising toddler!]
Toddler, Astraea agreed silently. He holds the pebbles like they might bite. I once shifted a ley line to get a better napping spot. The principles are similar, just executed with the grace of a drunken badger.
Next came a woman who could summon a weak, sputtering flame in her palm. The fire was orange-yellow, unstable, and threw more smoke than heat.
"Look at that fire, Astraea!" Mrs. Evans whispered, clutching a pillow. "It's a miracle!"
"It is very bright," Astraea said politely. The color is all wrong. Too orange, wrong spectral signature. The core temperature is barely 600 degrees—she's burning her own life force to sustain it. Inefficient. Dangerous. Adorable.
The flame triggered it. A sudden, unbidden memory.
She was soaring over primordial forests, her father beside her. Below, human villagers huddled around their pitiful campfires. "Look at their little lights, little star," her father rumbled, his voice vibrating through her bones. "So fragile. So brave. They warm their hands against the dark, not knowing we could snuff their fires with a thought. Respect their courage."
That was 300 years ago. The village is now a shopping mall.
She blinked, returning to the present. The woman on screen extinguished her flame, looking proud and exhausted.
A boy followed, turning his skin a mottled, rocky texture for a full minute before fainting. Each display was met with gasps and thunderous applause.
Astraea watched with the detached fascination of a master glassblower watching children play with warm wax. Their efforts were earnest, energetic, and profoundly crude. They pushed and pulled at the trickle of returning mana with their untrained souls, all brute force and no finesse.
They were, as her internal monologue mused, toddlers given matches in a room full of ancient, dry tapestry.
The showcase reached its climax. A man in military uniform stepped forth. His power was "Kinetic Redirection." A heavy steel ball was suspended from a crane. He focused, veins standing out on his neck, and made a pushing motion. The ball swayed, then swung in a small, controlled arc. The display of "precision" brought the audience to its feet.
[Analysis complete!]
[Ability: Applied force theory / Basic inertial manipulation]
[Notable progress! This user may achieve 'D-Rank' within a year!]
Astraea sipped her apple juice. Four hundred years ago, I played catch with a smaller moon in the void. The principles are similar, just scaled down by a factor of several billion. She felt no arrogance, only a weary, ancient kind of pity. They were trying to reinvent the wheel with hammers and hope, celebrating the invention of the square.
"What do you think, honey?" Mrs. Evans asked, mistaking her silence for awe. "Would you like to be Awakened one day? Have neat powers like that?"
Astraea turned her millennia-old eyes to the kind, ephemeral woman. She let a spark of genuine, childish-seeming excitement light her face. "Oh, yes," she said. "It looks like… so much fun." Fun, she thought. Like watching baby birds flap their wings for the first time. Charming. Fragile. A prelude to the true flight they cannot yet conceive of.
Later, in her small room, she stood before the mirror. The day's tiny mana intake hummed in her core—a mere 0.4 units, but it was something. With a thought more precise than any surgeon's scalpel, she directed a wisp of it to her fingertip. Not to create a force or a flame, but to manipulate light itself.
Minor Luminescence / Photon Governance
A tiny, perfect point of silver-white brilliance appeared, hovering just above her skin. It held absolute stillness, no sputter, no strain. It was a pinprick of a dead star, controlled with the ease of breathing.
[Skill manifested!]
[Congratulations! You've unlocked: 'Minor luminescence'!]
[Wonderful! A perfect first step for a Luminous Child!]
Astraea gazed at the light, then at her reflected face—a child's face. The disconnect was, as always, both profound and mundane. She dismissed the light.
"A first step," she murmured to the silence that knew her true age. "On a path I started walking before their nation was a glimmer in a mapmaker's eye."
She performed her nightly check. Running her hands along her spine, she felt the subtle, almost imperceptible thickening of two specific vertebrae—T5 and T6. The wing anchors. They hadn't changed in centuries. Now, they felt… warmer. As if blood remembered what should be there.
She climbed into bed, the System humming a silent, lullaby-like tune about "growth milestones." As she drifted into a rest that was not quite sleep, her final thought was of the gate, a distant, gentle throb in the world's side.
It was leaking mana. It was feeding the hunger.
And tomorrow, she would go and stand in line with the other toddlers. To get her official matchbook.
Growth progress: 0.0002%. The System celebrates my "first step." I celebrate my four hundred millionth. The perspective is everything.