Erika Velle.

The name of the woman I saved.

In the moment, I thought I recognized her, but I couldn't connect how I would know of her. Looking at her, she's just a cute shaggy-haired tomboyish woman, a girl you could imagine living as your neighbor. But there was something about her—something that drew me to her.

Looking into her identity, she's really an amazing woman.

The first time I heard of her, it was because she was a major designer of New Eden's newest mass produced combat frame—I'd been doing research on different country's militaries at the time. For this woman though, that's apparently just the tip of the iceberg. She's accredited in countless fields—weapons, energy, human bio-engineering, and she's even written thesis' related to nanotechnology.

Reading about her, I couldn't help but imagine some old geezer that had been working on research every day for the last 100 years. Yet she's a young woman who just barely turned 20 years old.

And I saved her.

When I first noticed those men, I could instinctually tell that they weren't a group of harmless men out for a walk. When I realized they were after Erika, I had to intervene. In the chaos that ensued, I ended up protecting her—and I'm glad I did.

Before I realized what they were planning to do—and how far they were willing to go, I was content simply watching them—making sure they weren't doing anything illegal. And if they were, I was just going to do something small to discourage them. Have one of them trip or something—I don't know. But when I saw what they planned to do—I knew I needed to do more.

I've never felt like that before.

Feeling everything they did with my sixth sense—being forced to feel her terror, the way she pleaded. . . When I saw one of them readying their knife—I couldn't just watch it happen.

To be honest, I wasn't thinking clearly at the time—I just reacted instinctively. But I can say without hesitation that if it hadn't been for my intervention—she would definitely be dead by now. I thought that I was totally used to my sixth sense, and the sensations that came along with it.

Actively feeling such violence is different. I'll need to get used to that sensation over time.

When I felt the brutality—the sheer disregard they had for her, it was like I couldn't move. I'm not proud to admit it, but my body just wouldn't work—I couldn't think straight, I couldn't speak. For a few brief seconds—I lost focus, and that was all it took to lose control over my power.

But I couldn't forget.

I kept replaying every little thing they did to her—over and over in my head, and I kept imagining what was going on while I did nothing.

I hoped that they may come to their senses, and understand what they were doing.

But I knew better than to place my hope in others.

No matter how hard they may try to rationalize what they intended to do—they'd still gone too far. Even if they understood now, they'd probably try to justify their actions anyway.

If I didn't stop them, then I'd also be partially responsible for her death.

I had no choice but to do something.

Once I came to terms with what had to happen in order to save her—my hands no longer shook. I forced my hands to steady themselves, and grit my teeth hard enough that I thought I may crack one of them—and I reactivated my sixth sense.

I saw the entire scene play out before me. I felt the knife about to be held to her throat. I could see her face, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled for her life. I don't know how to explain what happened next—everything just became so much simpler. I didn't want to kill them, but when I understood that their path did not allow for retreat, I was able to no longer look at them as "men attacking a woman," they simply become objects under the perception of my power—objects that could be manipulated.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling—but I felt no guilt over what I did.

I just focused on Erika, and made sure to make it so she was never in danger.

It was all so easy.

A few short months ago, I'd have either gotten myself killed attempting to physically help her, or I'd have stayed hidden while I waited for the police to respond to my plead for help. Those men were too skilled, and if they caught me trying to help her, I'm sure they'd have done something horrible to me.

But now?

It was even easier than I'd imagined. Any one of the men were easily twice my size—being only 13, I'm very confident they'd have no issue killing me. Once my hands stopped shaking, and some semblance of calm returned to my mind—it became as easy as breathing. When I used my psychic muscle to break bones, or tear ligaments, it felt equivalent to using my hands to snap a tooth pick.

It became nothing more than a simple task—using my power to break an object.

A few days removed from the attack though, I can't deny that it keeps replaying in my head. Feeling every rip, every tear—every break of a human body—and knowing you did it, it's hard not to be a bit obsessive over it.

They deserved it—I believe that.

I let them live—they should be happy with that. Still, feeling my psychic muscle snap an arm like a chicken wing is hard to forget.

I'd like to say that I have no regrets—none whatsoever about what I've done, but I can't lie—I can't help but feel an inkling of worry.

The fact that I can do such things both terrifies and amazes me.

Either way, I'm currently just shy of two weeks before my mother returns. I'm going to give my all into training for my remaining time, and meet the future head on.

***

I just got the call that my mother will be home soon. She's supposed to arrive around lunch time, and of course—not only is Annette coming here, but she'll also be living here alongside my mother—for however long this lasts.

I've been looking forward to seeing her again, and I'm ready to genuinely try talking with her—actually get to know her. Again.

At least, that's what I've been telling myself.

I'm already dreading this.

I wish I could say that I'm the picture perfect scene of a totally cool—calm—and collected young man. But I'm not. I may manage to look totally calm on the outside, but my mind won't stop racing. Outside of her advertisements and work, I haven't actually seen her in months.

I've only seen her through pictures, video, and the occasional hologram. It's like she's become a completely different person over the last year—at least to my perception. Her actions are so different from what I'd expect her to do, it's like I know two different people—or more accurately—two versions of the same woman.

My mother doesn't seem like my mom anymore.

She's always kind, generous, and she has the kind of radiance that naturally draws people in—it's to the level where countless people are ensnared by it. Yet to me, she's the mother who moved away to focus solely on her work when her son was 12—and she happened to leave when it started to show that her son didn't wish to follow in her footsteps.

I don't know exactly what she's been doing these past few years—but I can't help but feel that her absence isn't just a coincidence on her part. My mother loves me, and she always has—I know that.

I still can't help but feel bitter.

Resentment.

I hate whining about my feelings.

 

Over the last two weeks, I've made quite a bit of progress. I haven't achieved anything completely new, but I've mostly just focused on improving the tools I already possess. The radius of my sixth sense has almost reached a quarter of a mile. I can tell pretty much everything that's happening within that distance, and so long as I remain focused, I can manipulate anything within that area.

A bit of an unfortunate problem with my sixth sense is comprehending what other people are saying. Due to the fact that I feel the world around me—I don't actually hear my surroundings. So—understanding what people are saying poses a bit of an issue, I can sometimes make out what people are saying by watching their lips, but it's nowhere near a flawless system. Ideally, I'll be able to further improve my sixth sense, and be able to actually hear what people are saying, but so far, I've had no major progress. For the moment, I'm stuck with learning to read lips.

It's so much harder to read people's lips than movies make it seem. I really thought that it was a skill I could learn without too much trouble.

That's not the case, unfortunately.

Besides that—I've continued strengthening my barrier, and increasing my capability of shaping my power directly. Both areas have seen improvement, but it's nothing astonishing. I'm very close to being able to start lifting water to further increase my strength. And I can't help but feel that I'm much closer to using my power to actually fly, I'm able to have my barrier hug my body closer, and it's finally able to partially block the wind at high speeds.

I can't wait until I can use my power as an all new transportation method.

 

Just as I sit down, I decide to make a casual scan around the ward with my perception. As my luck would have it—I manage to pick up my mother and Annette traveling here in their cabin.

Yep. That's a pretty good summary of my luck.

I'm strong enough to look down on any criminal, but I'm still looked down on by my mother's manager.

I'll admit—it bothers me.

I'm supposed to have an incredible power that could potentially change the world—yet I'm treated like trash by one of the only people that can greatly affect my life.

Why does it bother me so much?

Maybe I'm just insecure because I have yet to break their hold over me.

Maybe deep down—I'm scared that if I ever truly stood up to my mother—she'd leave me for good. I guess there's some truth to that.

***

Fifteen minutes later—I sense both of them arriving outside, and beginning to walk home.

Alright Fate, you can do this.

Nothing's new, nothing's changed. They can't be told about anything.

Once they're right outside, I rush to open the door, and greet them with a smile.

"Mom, Annette!"

"Fate! Hello my dear—" Annette starts off by greeting me in the happiest tone she can muster, but her happy face doesn't reach her eyes. I can't mistake the disdain concealed within them. It's strange to think that we've had so little interaction with each other over the last year, and yet she still treats me as if I shouldn't exist.

"Fay! It's soo lovely to see you again. Mom's finally home!"

My mother is one of two people who use that nickname for me.

Before I can respond, my head is already latched in a death grip, and her hug feels as if she's trying to suffocate me with her chest.

I do my best to endure it.

"M-Mom?! Annette?!"

"Oh, My Fay, I'm so happy to see you again!"

Annette looks visibly uncomfortable from my mother's hug, and tries her hardest to avoid eye contact with both of us. But looking up at my mother, I can't avoid the fact that her eyes do look slightly wet with tears. She's not crying but. . .

Did she actually miss me?

Is that why Annette looks so upset?

Is she that upset over not seeing me in so long?

Are her emotions right now genuine, and not acting? It seems like such a small thing to care about, but I can't deny that I feel happy for the first time in a while. I thought that her leaving for so long was because she also partially hated me for not being her successor.

Did she really move out for so long just because of work?

Does she not hate me?

"M-Mom, I'm glad you're home, really. I'm elated that you're here, But I think I'm about to pass out." I barely manage to give out a muffled plea.

My mother's hug is tight, and she's squeezing me like she's afraid I'm going to disappear.

"I-I've missed you too Fate! And I've been so busy since I got back, but I've decided to take some time off so we could spend some time together. You've grown into such a fine young man—you've become so handsome—" my mother says after hugging me like a rag doll, and giving a kiss on my cheek.

As if she suddenly remembered that Annette was present, my mother quickly releases me from her grasp and turns towards the door.

"Come inside Annette—don't be such a stranger!"

With the focus taken away from me—I take a few seconds to scan over the two of them.

My mother is wearing a white sleeveless dress that accentuates her already perfect figure. She wears her deep brown hair slightly parted on the left side, and she keeps her lightly curling hair loosely tied behind her neck. Even as her son, I can't deny how breathtaking she is—I've always been told that I get my looks from her, because of that—I couldn't possibly count how many times I've been told how beautiful she is, and how much my face resembles hers.

She's always possessed an unrivaled talent in acting, and just about any artistic field—but she'd be fine if she only possessed her looks.

Annette though—is another story altogether. She's the same height as my mother, and has an hourglass shape with large breasts—her skin is a pale color, but her most outstanding feature is her hair. Her hair has a deep red color—it's not quite crimson, but it's very red, she keeps it neatly tied behind her head, and leaves it long in the front. She's wearing the same business style suit coat she always does, and she looks like a beautiful professional.

They're both gorgeous women.

Both of them.

But Annette's open disdain for me makes it impossible to view her as anything besides a problem. Her looks do not match her personality.

"Of course," Annette replies, "We should go ahead and get settled in. Fate, I'm glad to see you're doing well. I hope you don't mind my intrusion, it'll be fun living together again—it'll be like when you were younger." She walks close to me and gives me a light hug.

Her fake expressions make me sick.

My mother smiles happily at her words.

"You're welcome to stay here as long as you want Annette. We have plenty of room."

I walk up to both of them, and begin carrying the luggage they brought with.

"Thank you, my dear. Fate, I'm so grateful for your help." She says in a sweetly-sick tone before turning to her room.

The entire way, she never once looked back at me.

"Let's hurry and put our things in our rooms—we can talk more tonight. It's so good to be home. Love you, Fate." With that, my mother gives me another kiss before she disappears into her bedroom. After following her, I set the bags down in the hallway outside their rooms, and turn towards my room.

***

Honestly, things have gone better than I thought they would.

Despite Annette's obvious hate for me, she hasn't done anything overtly hostile. At least not yet. She's kept her distance and avoided direct confrontation.

The first night home was actually enjoyable. I made dinner alongside my mother, and we were able to talk normally. Despite the slight tension between us, it felt nice having her around. I think she understood that the distance between us was created due to her actions, so she seemed extra willing to attempt to bridge the gap.

But. . .

I don't think she actually knows anything about me anymore.

I don't hate my mother whatsoever, but even without my newfound power, it would have been extremely difficult to become close again—go back to the way things used to be. With my power though, I'll never be able to be entirely honest with her—tell her the truth. I think that she truly believed that by simply returning home—we'd be able to have a heartwarming reunion, rekindle the love between mother and son, and we'd be able to talk to each other about anything—let bygones be bygones.

Before Annette and her own actions created this rift between us, I could easily tell my mother everything that happened during the day. Unfortunately, those days are long gone. I won't be able to say anything about my power or my abilities, nor will I be able to openly discuss my feelings with her.

So I'm stuck telling her half truths, and lying to her constantly.

It sucks.

Since we've lived apart for so long, Annette always assured my mother that I was perfectly taken care of. She told her that she was constantly checking on me personally, or she said that she was sending some of her subordinates to look after me when they were out of the country. As such, she apparently told my mother about a bunch of lies about fake made up hobbies, and interests that I supposedly enjoyed.

Listening to my mother talk about how I was doing at school, or talking with her about interests I know nothing about was somewhat painful. If she wasn't trying so hard to reconnect—and if she didn't look so happy spending time with me, I'd outright tell her Annette lied.

But I can't do it. I don't want to hurt her.

Call me a coward if need be, but I don't have the heart to tell her that everything she learned about me is nothing but a fabrication. Just by listening to my mother speak, it's easy to tell that she is genuinely trying—it's clear that she spent time researching the fake hobbies Annette told her I enjoyed. She knows that she made a mistake. Leaving your son within days of finding out that he doesn't want to be your successor, and then not seeing him for months at a time—that's going to create a rift, even if it was a misunderstanding.

I do enjoy spending time with her again, even if it gets in the way of training. Having Annette constantly hovering around is annoying—especially the way she looks down on me constantly. At least for now she's only an annoyance, she's not actively doing anything to make my life worse.

It feels like a cold war is going on the moment my mother is no longer in the room.

A quick status update on my power's growth—I'm able to manipulate a maximum of 50 objects at once. It's still astoundingly difficult to manipulate that many objects at the same time, but my capability is definitely growing. I've also reached a point where I'm confident that I can start using my power to manipulate water directly—so I'm going to start using water to further my power's strength. Lastly, my precision when shaping my power directly is continuing to grow—and my sixth sense has seen similar growth—its radius is around 0.5 miles—it's pretty much impossible to hide from me while it's active.

With that out of the way—my main issue is what I'm presently dealing with. My mother came here to reconnect with me, but she also came because she's having a movie release in a few days—and she's holding a celebration here. A lot of people are going to be coming into our home; a minimum of one hundred—so I'm currently helping my mother and her team prepare our apartment venue.

Under any other circumstance, I'd be dreading this—every step of the way. But there's a single ray of light.

Rise.

I'll finally get to see her again.

It's been 4 months since I've seen her in person. We've continued to talk on the phone occasionally, but she's recently been given a promotion to some kind of special investigative police task force—so she's been constantly busy. Because she's so close to my mother—they're practically childhood friends, she'll be coming to the celebration tomorrow.

I really can't wait to see her again.