Book 2: Alice
IT HAS ALWAYS been thought that home is where one is born into; familiar voices in a house, a family with the same surname, by blood and by face.
But for us, it's different. It has been difficult to belong anywhere in the world we are born into. Our powers set us apart—too much. And the world fears what it does not explain. Some kids are even neglected by their parents away. Some had to hide. Some lived their entire lives in shadows not because they were actually dangerous, but because they might be misunderstood. But what made it scarier is the presence of a group that targets people like us. They're ominous and strange. And every so often, children with gifts vanish without a trace.
So, I made a choice. It wasn't easy, but it was necessary.
I built a place using whatever resources I could find where people like me didn't have to apologize for what they were. It is like a quiet sanctuary hidden far from the noise of the ordinary world. Not to turn them into someone the world would accept—but to give them space to accept themselves.
The Academy for Gifted Beings.
Well, it started as a vision that for a long time I organized. I saw the academy as a refuge for gifted beings protected from the view of a world that would never understand them; a space where they could feel secure, needed, and seen. Not as oddities or hazards, but as human beings. Young, unsure, and powerful in ways they could not yet recognize. Much of this was hard labor. Building anything worth having is usually the hardest thing to get accomplished. But somehow, someway, it came together. And slowly, they came in.
The children. I welcomed them one by one.
Billy was the first one to arrive—one of those loud and stubborn kids and not afraid to be called brave. His red hair mirrored his personality. For all practical purposes, he behaved like a kid afraid of nothing; however, it could also be speculated that this boy had never lived in a home that made him feel safe. After him came Aria, with a different kind of personality that came in quiet like music fading out after the last note. Next were Mamori, Bryce, Lennox, Molly, Noelle, Eli, Suzie, Wallace, and Andreus.
But there was one that I tried to protect. One that is different from the rest of them. One that I wanted to save.
Primrose.
She was different. Not just gifted, but something else entirely. What that is, I couldn't quite clearly explain. I mean, I just sensed it upon first gaze in her arriving. I saw the sorrow in her that felt strong, yet untamed. I guarded her, not from mistrust but with the knowledge that this world would have the hardest time understanding her. But she misunderstood. Even the other gifted were aware that I tried to protect Primrose from something, but they didn't question anything.
In fact, I loved them all. As a teacher. As a protector. And, in many ways, as a mother. But no matter how much care you give, life doesn't always protect what you build. I mean, I won't speak of what happened. Not yet. All I'll say is: things changed. Everything changed. The Academy is gone, though its bones still rest somewhere in the rubble. It started as a home for us where we can be safe, but as soon as it was destroyed, my children also left, with their own paths being crossed.
What's left is… this. What's left is the uncertainty about where our lives would take us next. But at least I'm not alone now. At least I have two of my children with me.
I then heard faint voices nearby and looked at my right where Noelle and Primrose are outside, tending the plants. They've been living with me since. The only thing I can describe about the place we're staying is that it's tucked away from prying eyes like the academy we once lived in. It is more like a cabin we built when there was nothing left.
The sunlight seeped from the canopy of the trees, and for a moment, everything felt still—almost peaceful. But then, a gust of wind swept through the yard.
I paused.
There was something in the wind—something faint, yet unmistakably familiar. It stirred a memory I couldn't quite reach. Slowly, I rose from my chair. The breeze brushed against my skin once more like a whisper beckoning me forward. Noelle and Primrose didn't look up as I stepped off the porch. They remained focused on the flowers and vegetables, unaware that I had quietly walked away from the cabin.
I then followed the path beyond the trees, and there, nestled in the stillness of the woods, was the lake. The surface of the water reflected the world with unsettling clarity—too perfect, too still. I leaned in, expecting to see my face as it is now.
But it wasn't.
She was still me… only younger. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. Her eyes sharp with certainty, her posture confident, almost arrogant. A girl who hadn't yet known loss. A girl who lived for admiration and carried none of the weight she would one day bear. She hadn't yet learned what it meant to lead… to love… to lose.
I stared at her, and in those eyes, I saw all the moments I'd left behind.
I remembered when I first realized I wasn't like my mother, or father, or even my friends. I remembered the looks—the fear, the awe, the careful distance. The silence that followed me into every room. I remembered meeting others like me. For the first time, I wasn't alone.
And I remembered him.
The first gifted I ever met. The one who challenged everything I thought I knew about power and belonging. He taught me how to stop hiding. How to see strength in difference. How to build something that felt like family. I mean, was the beginning of it all. And, in ways I never anticipated, he was also the beginning of the tale.
I drew in a breath, still staring at that younger version of myself. Behind me, the wind shifted again, and I heard faint voices coming from Noelle and Primrose.
Whatever comes next… it's theirs to carry now.
But I remember.
And I will not forget.
Sixteen years ago… the day it all began.