That night after the near-loss of Jate, the dorm rooms felt too small. They drifted outside one by one, drawn by a collective need to be within arm's reach of each other.

Peach brought Phun along. He sat on a stone, his sketchbook forgotten in his lap.

Thanom sat cross-legged in the dirt. He started a small fire, hidden behind the ridge near the dormitory where the staff couldn't see the smoke.

He held his hands out, palms facing the flames. When the fire began to die, he pushed with his mind, and the embers flared hotter, feeding on his own heat. When Mali laughed at something Jate mumbled, a sudden, bright crackle of sparks made her gasp and smile.

Art watched Thanom, chin resting on his folded arms. The firelight carved deep shadows into his face, which made him look older. "You're controlling it better," Art said softly. "Not just releasing it."

Thanom glanced up. "Jate's dad called it bad wiring," he murmured, voice bitter.

He flexed his fingers, and a violet flame swirled harmlessly around his wrist like a bracelet.

He held his wrist out toward Art, an unspoken challenge. Are you afraid?

"It's not," Jate said from the shadows. He was sitting apart, still afraid he might accidentally dissolve if he relaxed. "You're not, I mean."

Peach was staring into the coals, her eyes reflecting the orange glow.

"We almost lost you today," she said to Jate. "Because we didn't know what we were doing. We were just... spilling."

She looked up, her gaze sweeping over the group.

"We need to know," she proclaimed.

"Know what?" Art asked.

"How big we are. We need to find the edges." She picked up a branch and drew a jagged line in the dirt between them and the fire. "We need to see what happens when we stop holding back."

Art looked at the line. He frowned, his instinct for preservation kicking in. "That sounds dangerous."

"Definitely," Peach agreed. "But being small almost got Jate taken."

That struck a nerve.

"Okay," Thanom said.

He stood up and stepped over the line Peach had drawn. He then turned to face them, his back to the dark forest. Thanom rolled his neck, cracking the tension there, and closed his eyes.

The campfire behind him dimmed as he siphoned its energy. Then, he opened his hands.

Fwoom.

The fire spewed in his palms, flashy and liquid. He let it crawl. The violet flame moved up his arms, over his shoulders, wreathing him in a frightening crown of light. The heat coming off him was searing.

He held it for ten seconds, his face tight with concentration, sweat beading on his forehead. His eyes snapped open—twin pools of violet. He looked wild and godlike. Then with an exhale, he closed his fists. The fire extinguished. The campfire zapped back to life behind him.

Thanom slumped slightly, looked at Art, eyes wide, seeking approval. Am I a freak?

Art stood up and discreetly made his way over to Thanom, looking down at the packed earth. He bumped his shoulder against Thanom's arm.

"Show off," Art muttered, teasingly bowing to Thanom. "My turn," Art announced.

Art then held out his hand. A single, perfect white lotus grew from his palm, its petals unfurling with a soft flourish.

Before he could even look at it, Peach plucked the flower from his hand and popped it into her mouth.

"Nice," she said, chewing the petals solemnly. "However, I believe you can do more."

Art watched her swallow the flower, a spark of frustration lighting in his gut. He looked at Thanom, still radiating beside him. If Thanom was the fire that burned to keep them warm, Art realized he couldn't just be the flower that sat on the table. He had to be the unyielding soil that held them all up.

He knelt and pressed his palm flat against the dry dirt. He poured his desire into the soil to keep things together.

He forced the plants to grow.

The ground groaned. It was a tearing sound. Art grimaced, the veins in his neck pulsing out.

Crack.

The dirt split open under his hand. A network of thick, white roots shot up like pressurized veins. They twisted around Art's wrist, pulsing. They grew fast, tangling into a knot of raw, aggressive life—leafless, thorny, and strong enough to break stone.

"Huh," Art exhaled, pulling his hand back. The roots stayed there, quivering slightly. "It looks like… an exposed nerve."

He looked at Thanom. See? I'm a badass too.

"That was very effective," Jate noted. His voice was steady as he stood up.

Jate walked to the line. He looked at the fire, then at his own hands.

"I don't want to go anywhere," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I just want to be…"

He closed his eyes and simply ceased to be solid.

One blink, he was there. Next, the space where he stood was empty.

"Still here," came a voice.

It came from everywhere. It buzzed in their ears, and they could even feel it slightly in their teeth. It was laced with a fine, almost shrill static.

The fire flickered as a draft moved through it—a draft that was Jate.

Jate merged back into solidity, toppling forward, grabbing his stomach.

"That felt…" he said, rubbing his chest. "Thin… and cold."

They all turned to Mali.

She was the youngest. The smallest. She sat cross-legged, looking at the fire.

"Mali?" Thanom asked gently. "You don't have to."

"I want to," she said.

She held out her hand, palm open, as if telling the world to Stop.

And it did.

The sensation was brutal.

Art felt the air in his lungs turn to rock. He couldn't exhale. The fire stopped moving. The flames froze in spiky peaks of orange glass. A moth, fluttering near the light, hung suspended, its wings locked in flight. The background sound of the cicadas cut out.

Complete, crushing silence.

It felt like being underwater at the bottom of the ocean. The pressure compressed their eardrums. Jate's mind, usually so fast, felt like he was thinking through syrup.

They were trapped in a photograph.

Mali held it for thirty seconds. Her face went gray. Her nose started to bleed, a single dark drop sliding down to her lip.

Then, she gasped, and the world crashed back.

Whoosh.

The air rushed back into their lungs. The fire crackled. The moth flew into the flame. The cicadas churred again.

Mali swayed, her knees buckling. Thanom was there in an instant, catching her before she hit the dirt.

"That was too much," Thanom said, his voice brimming with panic. He wiped the blood from her lip with his thumb. "Mali, you alright?"

Mali's eyes were unfocused. She licked her lips, tasting the copper.

"It was enough," she whispered. She looked at her hand, trembling but fascinated. "I felt it stop. Everything."

"What did it taste like?" Peach asked softly.

"Taste?" Mali rubbed her tongue against her teeth. "Old metal, but it feels like butter."

Peach's gaze scanned the circle and landed on Phun, who had been watching everything. "Time for intermission… You're up, Phun!"

Phun shrank back against the wall. He shook his head so fast his hair flopped over his eyes. "Oh, no. I don't have… any of that," he said, gesturing to the faint reddish glimmer still lingering where Jate had dematerialized. "I can't do any tricks."

"Nonsense," Peach declared. "Anyone can dance. Perform!"

Phun looked at the others. Mali was waiting with wide eyes.

Encouraged by their earnestness, Phun took a reluctant gulp, then closed his eyes.

He began to sing.

The melody didn't sound like a performance. It was more like a current.

It was a simple lullaby that sounded ancient, somehow… but familiar at the same time. His voice was pure and clear. It cut through the noise-saturated, crackling atmosphere, splitting it all aside to drift away like waves parting in the wake of a sailing ship.

Thanom's muscles relaxed. Jate no longer worried about staying intact, and Mali stopped fidgeting, now staring mesmerized. The static in Peach's head had cleared. Even the cicadas seemed to shut up.

They were all sitting together, captivated.

When the last note faded, a final beat of resounding quiet lingered in the air.

…

The moment was palpably graceful.

It was a powerful reminder that not all magic sparks. Some of it just... resonates ;)

Phun kept his eyes shut. "That's all I have."

Mali let out a delighted sigh. The others joined in, applauding. Phun opened his eyes, looking overwhelmed by their reaction.

Jate stared at Phun, mouth slightly open. "Beautiful."

Phun began blushing furiously. "It was only a song."

"Finally," Peach said, her eyes wide and glassy, reflecting the fire. "The finale."

Peach stepped into the center of the circle. She began to make a discordant sound that somehow harmonized perfectly with the lingering echo of Phun's song. As she hummed, ripples began to push outward, gleaming in orange. The others leaned back, the hair on their arms standing up. The vibrating frequency made their bones ache. They watched Peach's eyes darting back and forth with frantic speed. The orange waves grew and intensified for a few seconds, then her eyes closed and she slumped back onto the dirt with a small, triumphant smile.

"Besides the orange, painful gust…" Thanom's voice was shaking. "What did you do?"

Peach's eyes sparkled with a secret knowledge that she had no intention of sharing. She looked utterly proud of herself.

"She saw something, but isn't going to share." Jate groaned, annoyed.

The sensations of the ritual still buzzed around them. The white roots Art had summoned were still twitching on the ground. The smell of Thanom's fire lingered.

"We're not normal anymore," Jate said.

Peach tilted her head, watching the last of the embers glow.

"We never were," she said. "We were just pretending to be."

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