Thursday's aggression was more direct.
CYAP had "Mixed Age Cooperative Time" once a week, where different age groups combined for activities. The Sparkle Room merged with the Glimmer Hall. Older children, bigger children, with more developed—though not necessarily more powerful—sparkle abilities.
Chloe had a cousin in Glimmer Hall. Marcus, age nine, Tier 2—he could make a sustained glow around his hands, useful for "illumination arts." He was also, according to Leo's whispered briefing during morning circle, "kind of a jerk."
"Chloe told him something," Leo murmured as Teacher Milly explained the day's cooperative project: building a "city of light" with glow-blocks and collaborative sparkle patterns. "He's been looking at you since he came in."
Astraea didn't need to look to feel the gaze. Marcus stood with a group of older boys, his hands already glowing with practiced yellow light. His eyes tracked her with the focused attention of a predator spotting unusual movement in the grass.
The city-building began. Children divided into teams. By what seemed like chance but was clearly orchestrated, Astraea, Leo, and Mia ended up in a group with Marcus and two of his friends.
"So you're the fast-grower," Marcus said as they gathered blocks. His voice had that particular tone older children used when establishing dominance. "Chloe says you think you're special."
"I'm just tall," Astraea said, keeping her eyes on the block she was placing. A foundation for their city section.
"Tall and weird." Marcus stepped closer. He was a head taller than her, even with her recent growth. His glow-hands cast long shadows. "Your sparkles are wrong. Chloe showed me. They don't act right."
Leo stepped between them, a small but determined barrier. "Sparkle behavior is determined by mana-wavelength interaction with individual neural pathways. Variance is normal."
Marcus looked down at Leo as if noticing an insect. "What's with the green finger, weirdo?"
"It's a focused luminescent manifestation," Leo said, unruffled. "Approximately 0.003 units output. Consistent."
"You talk weird too." Marcus turned his attention back to Astraea. "So show me. Show me your wrong sparkles."
It was a test. A public one. Other children were watching now, sensing the conflict.
Astraea summoned her three silver sparkles. They hovered obediently above her palm. Standard. Simple.
Marcus snorted. "That's it? Chloe said they did rainbow stuff."
"The tube amplified them," Astraea said. "It was the tube, not me."
"Prove it." Marcus pointed to a nearby "amplification arch"—a small doorway-shaped frame designed to magnify sparkle patterns for city lighting effects. "Go through there."
If she went through the arch with her sparkles active, the amplification would be even more dramatic than in the tube. It would draw every eye in the room.
"I don't want to," she said, the child's right to refusal.
"Scared?" Marcus smirked. "Scared everyone will see how weird you are?"
Her dragon core stirred, not with anger but with irritation. Like a mountain annoyed by a gnat. Her control slipped—just a fraction.
Her passive aura, usually pulled tight as a drumskin, rippled.
It wasn't anything visible. But everyone in their group felt it. Mia gasped softly. Leo's green finger flickered. Marcus's glow-hands dimmed momentarily.
To human senses, it felt like: sudden cold. Pressure in the ears. A sense of being watched by something much larger. The instinctive unease of small creatures when a shadow passes overhead.
Marcus stumbled back a step, his bravado evaporating. "What was that?"
"What was what?" Astraea asked, pulling her aura back under control. The sensation vanished.
"You… you did something." Marcus's voice lost its confidence. He looked at his hands, which were glowing normally again. "Some kind of… pressure."
"I didn't do anything," Astraea said, which was technically true. She hadn't done anything; her biology had reacted. Automatic. Instinctual.
The other children were murmuring now. They'd felt it too.
Teacher Milly hurried over. "Is everything alright here? Marcus, are you bothering the younger children?"
"She did something!" Marcus pointed at Astraea, but his finger trembled slightly. "Some… weird sparkle thing. It felt bad."
Milly looked at Astraea, who shook her head, wide-eyed. "I just made my normal sparkles, Teacher. Like this." She demonstrated. Three silver lights. Perfectly harmless.
"Marcus," Milly said, her voice firming. "We do not accuse other children of 'weird' things. Everyone's sparkle expression is unique and beautiful. Now apologize."
Marcus's face flushed red—embarrassment mixing with residual fear. "But I felt—"
"Apologize. Or you'll sit out of cooperative time."
The threat worked. Marcus mumbled something that might have been "sorry" and stalked away to another part of the room, shooting a last, confused look at Astraea.
The incident should have ended there. But children talk. And feelings, especially strange, primal feelings, spread faster than facts.
Throughout the rest of cooperative time, Astraea noticed the subtle shifts. Children who usually crowded close to see her sparkles kept a respectful distance. Those who asked for her help with block structures did so hesitantly. Even Mia stayed slightly farther away than usual, though her water orbs still floated loyally nearby.
It wasn't fear, exactly. More like… wariness. The instinctual caution one shows around something unknown. A dog encountering a creature that smells like predator and friend simultaneously.
Her unintended defense had worked. Marcus wouldn't bother her again. But the cost was isolation.
At juice break, Leo sat beside her, his scientific mind analyzing. "The phenomenon was a localized atmospheric pressure change combined with temperature drop of approximately 2.3 degrees Celsius. Lasted 1.7 seconds. Correlated with your increased respiratory rate."
"I was stressed," Astraea said, which was true.
"Human stress doesn't change room temperature." Leo sipped his juice. "But dragon stress might."
She looked at him. He met her gaze steadily.
"Your passive biological field," he continued, as if discussing a textbook example. "It reacted to perceived threat. Like a porcupine's quills raising. Or an electric eel's charge building."
"You're not scared?" she asked softly.
"Of course I am." He said it matter-of-factly. "You're a dragon. That's objectively scary. But you're also my friend. Those facts aren't mutually exclusive."
The simplicity of his logic was breathtaking. Ancient beings could learn from children.
[System Notification]
[Defensive Mechanism Activated: Passive Aura Fluctuation]
[Effect: Deterred aggressor. Side effect: Social distancing by peers.]
[Analysis: Subconscious biological response to social threat.]
[Recommendation: Practice greater emotional control. Consider "soothing" aura techniques.]
[Note: Friends might need reassurance that you're still you!]
The System was adapting, she noted. Its recommendations were becoming more nuanced, acknowledging her non-human nature while still aiming for social integration.
The rest of the day passed in a strange limbo. Chloe avoided her entirely, shooting occasional confused glances from across the room. Marcus stayed with the older children. The other Sparkle Room kids treated her with cautious politeness.
Only Mia approached directly, during afternoon craft. She slid into the seat next to Astraea, her water orbs circling slowly.
"It felt like… before a thunderstorm," Mia whispered, not looking up from the friendship bracelet she was weaving. "When the air gets heavy and the birds stop singing."
"I'm sorry," Astraea said. "I didn't mean to scare anyone."
"You didn't scare me." Mia tied off a knot with careful fingers. "It just felt… big. Like when I stand near the big mana transformer downtown. Not bad. Just big."
Mia's connection to growing things gave her a different sensitivity. She felt scales where others felt threats.
By dismissal time, the social dynamics had reshaped. Astraea was no longer the intriguing new girl or the teacher's favorite. She was the slightly-uncanny, better-kept-at-a-distance girl. The one whose sparkles did strange things and whose presence sometimes made the room feel odd.
As she packed her bag, Teacher Milly knelt beside her. "Raea, sweetie… is everything okay at home? With all the growing and changes?"
The concern was genuine. And it missed the point by miles.
"Everything's fine," Astraea said, offering her best child-smile. "Just growing pains."
That night, she measured herself: 150.9 cm. The growth was slowing further, settling into a still-impossible-but-less-obvious pace. Her body was consolidating, building density rather than just height.
She examined her aura control in the bathroom mirror, pulling it tight, letting it expand just slightly, testing the edges. Like flexing a muscle she'd never consciously used before.
She had defended herself without meaning to. And in doing so, she'd made herself more other, more separate.
The ancient dragon understood isolation. She'd lived it for centuries. But this was different—being isolated while surrounded by people. Being alone in a crowd was a particular kind of loneliness humans had perfected, and she was now learning its contours.
Her body had defended itself without her permission. The dragon beneath the skin was becoming harder to contain, reacting to kindergarten threats with cosmic-scale instincts. And every reaction left marks on the world, like fingerprints on glass.