Mike sat hunched over his desk, headset on, eyes glued to the glowing monitor. Explosions and bright streaks of color danced across the screen as his fingers hammered the keyboard. Gaming was easier than thinking and definitely easier than looking at the folded sheet of paper that still lay at the corner of the desk like it was staring at him.
A tug at the cord, a sharp click and then black.
The screen went dark.
Mike blinked at the reflection of his own stunned face before twisting in his chair. Powder stood proudly behind him, tail swishing, the power cord dangling from his mouth.
"You've got to be kidding me," Mike groaned, pulling the headset off.
The cub made a happy snort as if announcing victory.
Mike rubbed his temples, then let his eyes slide back to the paper. He picked it up slowly, as if it might burn. For the fifth—no, sixth—time, he read the words. A mission brief. The usual dry tone. Only this time the photos stopped him cold.
A girl, about his age. Same dark hair with some silver, same nose, same stubborn jawline. His twin sister. A stranger who looked too much like him to deny.
Mike swallowed hard. He didn't know how to feel—shock, anger, confusion. All of them swirled in his chest until shadows began creeping from the corners of the room, dark tendrils swallowing the walls. It always happened when he had too much on his mind. Powder noticed first, whining softly before nudging at his legs.
Mike exhaled and reached down to stroke his fur. Powder was more than just company as Milo, the therapist clone, always called him Mike's emotional anchor.
Mike set the paper down again. Among the pictures was a school, framed in glossy brochures, and beneath them, newspaper clippings about TERA (The Elemental Revolutionary Army). Terrorist attacks scrawled across headlines: entire forests set ablaze simultaneously, an Arctic strait frozen solid with ships trapped for weeks, chaotic storms disrupting cities.
As he had continued to read the mission brief it had been drawn to conclusion by Echo who was the only shadow clone that Mike saw once a year that it was highly likely that the next target for TERA was his sister whom he didn't know he had the last hour.
All because of his mother.
Mike traced the name at the bottom of one clipping: Dr. Elara Nyberg, Spirit Elemental, world-renowned researcher. His mother. Gone, but still hunted through her legacy. The photo of the woman looked somehow familiar to Mike but he couldn't pin exactly where he had seen her even though he was positive he had never seen her.
He shut his eyes and pulled the headset back on, trying to drown it all out with gunfire and flashing pixels.
By the time Hugh rang the supper bell, Mike's stomach twisted with more nerves than hunger. Hugh was always punctual—obsessively so. Mike dragged himself to the dining hall where three clones were already seated: Gordo, Milo, and Kane. They looked eerily like his father, but carried themselves differently, each a splintered personality in flesh and shadow. He had named each clone according to their personality and another other criteria that he had forgotten.
Mike sat, Powder flopping down beside him with a huff.
Hugh appeared in his apron written on "Your opinion wasn't in the recipe", balancing a tray like a stage actor in the spotlight. Powder immediately set upon chewing at Hugh's trouser leg.
"Honestly," Hugh muttered in disdain, trying to serve with dignity as the cub tugged. "Polar bears are among the few animals that actively hunt humans. He'll eat you one day."
"Powder would never eat me," Mike replied, bending to scratch the cub's ears. Powder grunted in agreement, as if sealing the promise.
Kane chuckled. "I bet he wouldn't. He's a good boy. We should take him out for a ride sometime. I know a spot with a huge herd of them."
"Not at the table," Hugh snapped. "Why can't you all eat in silence like Gordo?"
Mike looked at Gordo who was concentrating on his food and had already finished 4 servings and Hugh was adding him more with a pleased look. Everytime Mike saw Gordo he seemed to be eating or snacking or in the bathroom and he never seemed to gain weight.
Milo leaned forward, chin resting on folded hands, eyes soft and probing. "He helps you, doesn't he, Mike? You feel less alone with him."
Mike avoided Milo's gaze. Once you looked too long, it felt like being peeled open. Instead, he stabbed at his food. "Speaking of not being alone," he muttered, "what the hell is going on with my new sister? Why didn't anyone tell me? Why is TERA after her? Why—"
His breath ran out.
Milo raised a hand gently. "First she isn't 'new'. Now take a deep breath. Start with how you feel about this news."
Mike gritted his teeth. "I don't know how to feel. That's the problem."
Kane, seeing the mood shift toward a therapy session, quickly interjected, "How about that polar bear riding, huh? I've got a spot…."
Just then, Rex, the Authoritative clone, appeared, striding into the room from the basement. He wasn't alone. Mike's breath caught in his throat. Rex was accompanied by Echo, the fleeting, once-a-year clone. This was a serious occasion.
"There is no time for that," Rex said, his voice a low command. "You are to prepare. You leave tomorrow for school."
For a boy who had spent his life in the coldest place on Earth, Mike had a surprisingly varied education. He had never set foot in a traditional classroom, but he knew more than most. His teachers were all, in a manner of speaking, his father. A strange, shadowy faculty of clones, each with a specific specialty.
There was Sage, who taught him everything he knew about academics and the theoretical applications of his darkness element. He was an eternal presence in the library, a quiet shadow hunched over ancient texts or glowing data pads, his mind a fortress of knowledge. Mike would often find him meticulously annotating a book or staring into space, lost in thought.
Then there was Nilo, a far more relaxed educator who taught Mike the art of procrastination. Nilo was nearly always dozing in a comfortable chair, and his lessons often consisted of watching old television shows and discussing the plot for hours on end. Mike would seek him out when he needed a break from the relentless rigor of the others, knowing that Nilo was always ready with a clever excuse to put work off until tomorrow.
His physical education came from Bran, a relentless taskmaster who was never seen without a heavy coat and a stern expression. He taught Mike how to run a five-kilometer course in the punishing cold without breaking a sweat and every conceivable way to use his shadows for defense and attack. Bran's lessons were a mix of brutal combat drills and quiet, deliberate lessons on how to use his element to block and parry.
For lessons in stealth and information gathering, there was Vail, who never looked or sounded the same twice. He was a master of disguise and taught Mike everything from forging a passport to picking a lock with a paperclip. Mike would sometimes be surprised by him in the house, a different face, a different voice, with a new skill to teach.
Kane was the adventurous one, the one Mike genuinely enjoyed. Kane handled all the external errands, but he also taught Mike the more exhilarating skills: how to expertly shadow travel and the trick to riding a polar bear like a horse, a feat that required a surprising amount of skill and a complete lack of fear.
For the more difficult emotional lessons, there was Milo, the kindest of them all. Milo acted as a quiet therapist, a gentle listener who would simply offer a word of advice when Mike needed it most. He was the one Mike went to when the weight of his father's world became too heavy.
And finally, there was Hugh, the ever-present butler with an obsession for order. Hugh's rigid dedication to tidiness was so intense that Mike had, over the years, become a neat freak himself, simply to avoid the grunts of disapproval that would emanate from the shadowed servant. Mike preferred to simply forget about Gordo, the gluttonous clone, altogether.
The one clone he barely knew was Echo. Echo seemed to exist outside their world, only showing up once a year to spend time in the basement. It was a complete mystery, a blank space in Mike's understanding, and it was the one thing that truly intimidated him about his father's power.
That night, sleep taunted him. Powder snored in his corner, twitching as if chasing seals in dreams. Mike stared at the ceiling, heart racing with nerves. Finally, he gave up.
The air outside was sharp but calm, late August quiet draped in perpetual night. Svalbard's polar night was creeping closer—the endless dark that lasted months. Maybe that's why they lived here, he thought. Maybe it suited the shadows.
Powder padded at his side as Mike wandered until he found Bran three kilometers out, standing sentinel like a dark tower.
"What are you doing out here?" Bran asked.
"Just a walk," Mike replied. "Can't sleep."
Mike tilted his head back to catch the northern lights painting ribbons across the sky. They flickered green and violet, weaving silently like ghostly curtains. They walked together for a while in silence, watching the mesmerizing dance of the Northern Lights before Mike felt a bit tired and finally returned home, managing to fall asleep.
This time, exhaustion dragged him under.
The next morning, he was awoken by Kane. "Time to go."
Mike felt as though he had just closed his eyes. Powder was looking at him with those big puppy eyes, whimpering and whining. Mike bent down and gave him a final scratch behind the ears, telling him to be good and that he wouldn't be back for a long time.
Powder whimpered, pressing close.
Mike gave him one last scratch behind the ear before standing. "And Kane please make sure he eats. Take him hunting if you can."
"Done," Kane said with a grin.
Outside, shadows stretched across the snow. Kane drew one forward like a curtain, its darkness swirling.
"Ready?" he asked.
Mike swallowed, heart hammering. He stepped in.
He felt the familiar pull of the shadow, a brief sense of disorientation, and then, in what felt like a blink, they were standing in front of a harbor, bathed in the late evening light.
Other students were arriving too, an extraordinary scene. Some flew in, others emerged from the sea, some from the earth itself. There were some who looked like they had just teleported there, and others were emerging from the ferry docked at the harbor. Mike had read in the mission brief that the school was on an island, but he wasn't prepared for the sheer number of students with extraordinary powers.
They followed the crowd, walking toward a large gate. Over the top, he could make out the name.
"Grayson Academy."