The rain started Saturday morning, a gentle drizzle that turned the city into a watercolor blur. Mrs. Evans declared it a "perfect baking day," and the apartment filled with the warm, sweet scents of chocolate chip cookies.
Astraea helped measure flour, her hands careful and precise. Centuries of watching human cooking techniques had given her theoretical knowledge; now she applied it with dragon-exact measurement.
"You have such steady hands," Mrs. Evans remarked, watching her level a cup of flour perfectly. "Like a little surgeon."
"I like things to be exact," Astraea said, which was true.
The baking was a peaceful interlude, a bubble of normalcy. But even here, her nature manifested. When she stirred the batter, the mixture seemed to incorporate more smoothly, the chocolate chips distributing with unnatural evenness. When she placed cookies on the tray, they spaced themselves in perfect grids without conscious thought.
Mrs. Evans didn't notice. She hummed along to the radio, a love song from twenty years ago that sounded ancient to Astraea's ears.
The peace was broken by a message from Mia. Can you come to my garden? Mom says it's okay if your mom says okay.
Mia's family lived in a ground-floor apartment with a small backyard that Mia had transformed into her "garden." Mrs. Evans, after a quick call to Mia's mother, agreed. "Fresh air and friendship! Just be back by four, sweetie."
The drizzle had softened to mist by the time Astraea arrived. Mia's garden was a wonderland of containers—pots, boxes, hanging baskets, even an old bathtub filled with soil. Plants of every kind grew in lush profusion, many glowing with gentle bioluminescence or shimmering with Awakened adaptations.
Mia was waiting under a small canopy, her water orbs floating around her like loyal pets. "Hi! I wanted to show you something."
She led Astraea to a particular planter—a long, shallow trough filled with silvery soil. Growing in it were slender, crystalline plants that sparkled with internal light.
"Moonthread," Mia said proudly. "Very rare. They usually only grow near natural mana springs. But I got seeds from my aunt who works at the botanical gardens."
The plants were beautiful. They were also leaning distinctly toward Astraea, their crystalline tips bending like compass needles.
"They like you," Mia said, her voice quiet.
Astraea crouched, examining the plants. Her dragon senses extended without conscious thought. She could feel their simple life-force, their attraction to her mana-rich presence. Like flowers turning to sun.
"All plants like you," Mia continued. "The ones at CYAP. My herbs at home. Even the mold on the bathroom ceiling leans toward the wall that shares your room."
The observation was delivered with Mia's characteristic gentle curiosity. No accusation. Just fact.
Astraea straightened. "Plants respond to lots of things. Light. Water. Nutrients."
"And mana," Mia said. "They grow toward strong mana sources. Like gates. Or powerful Awakened." She looked at Astraea, her eyes clear and guileless. "But you're Tier 0. You shouldn't have strong mana. Not like this."
The mist drifted between them, beading on the leaves of moonthread plants that still strained toward Astraea.
"Maybe I'm just… good with plants," Astraea offered weakly.
Mia shook her head. She pointed to another planter—ferns that usually curled inward. They were unfurled, reaching. "They've been like that since you started at CYAP. At first I thought it was coincidence. Then I charted it." She pulled a notebook from her raincoat pocket. Childish drawings of plants with arrows showing direction of growth. Dates. Notes.
Leo had his scientific method. Mia had her botanical observations. Both were arriving at the same conclusion from different angles.
"My water orbs too," Mia said. The floating spheres of liquid, usually content to drift around her, had clustered near Astraea. One extended a tentative tendril toward her hand before retreating. "They're shy. But they want to be near you."
Astraea looked at the orbs, at the plants, at Mia's earnest face. The evidence was all around her, growing in pots and floating in air. Her disguise was fraying at the edges, revealing itself to those who knew how to look.
"What do you think I am?" Astraea asked softly.
Mia considered the question. "Not human," she said finally. "Or… not just human. Something more." She frowned, searching for words. "Like… when you mix paint. Blue and yellow make green. But green is its own color. Not just blue, not just yellow. Something new."
The metaphor was surprisingly apt. Astraea wasn't human pretending to be human. She was dragon expressing as human. A different color entirely.
"Are you scared?" Astraea asked.
Mia shook her head. "Scared of what? You're still Raea. You still share your crayons. You still help me untangle my glow-string." She reached out, tentatively, and took Astraea's hand. Her fingers were small and warm. "You just… have more colors than you show."
The simple acceptance was like a balm. No demand for explanation. No fear. Just recognition.
"Does Leo know?" Mia asked.
"Yes."
Mia nodded as if this confirmed something. "He watches you like a science project. I watch you like a garden. We see different things." She squeezed Astraea's hand. "It's okay. Your secret is safe with us."
The rain picked up, pattering on the canopy. They moved to sit under it, watching the garden. Mia pointed out her other specimens—glow-moss from the northern forests, singing vines that hummed in harmony with mana flows, even a small sapling from a tree that had supposedly gone extinct a century ago.
"My great-grandmother planted this from a seed she found," Mia said, touching the sapling's leaves reverently. "It shouldn't have grown. But it did. Because she believed it could."
The story resonated. Things that shouldn't exist, persisting against logic.
"Sometimes," Mia said quietly, "I think the world is more magical than the Association says. They have their tiers and classifications. But plants don't care about tiers. They just grow. However they can. Wherever they can."
Astraea looked at the girl beside her—small, gentle, connected to growing things in a way that was itself a kind of magic. Mia saw the world as an ecosystem, not a hierarchy. And in that ecosystem, Astraea had a place.
"Thank you," Astraea said. "For… seeing me. And not being scared."
Mia smiled, her water orbs pulsing gently. "Gardens need all kinds of plants to be healthy. Even the strange ones."
They spent the afternoon tending the garden. Mia showed Astraea how to prune moonthread without damaging its crystalline structure, how to encourage bioluminescence in glow-berries, how to listen to the singing vines' harmonies.
And Astraea, without meaning to, helped. When she touched soil, it became richer. When she breathed near seedlings, they straightened. When she hummed—an old dragon lullaby her mother had sung—the vines harmonized in perfect pitch.
Mia noticed, of course. But she didn't comment. Just smiled and noted the changes in her book.
When it was time to leave, Mia gave her a small pot with a single moonthread sprout. "For your room. So you have something growing with you."
The gift felt significant. Not just a plant. A connection. An acknowledgment.
Back in her room that evening, Astraea placed the moonthread on her windowsill. It immediately bent toward her, its crystalline tip glowing softly in the gathering dusk.
She measured her height: 151.8 cm. Barely any growth today. Her body was indeed consolidating.
The recalibrated System offered a new display:
[Social Connection Map]
[Primary Bonds:]
Leo: Scientific ally. Understanding: 84%. Trust: 97%.Mia: Empathic ally. Understanding: 71%. Trust: 95%.Mrs. Evans: Caregiver. Understanding: 12%. Trust: 100%.Teacher Milly: Authority figure. Understanding: 8%. Trust: 85%.
[Secondary Bonds:]Chloe: Antagonist. Understanding: 23%. Threat: Medium.Marcus: Antagonist. Understanding: 31%. Threat: Low.
[Network Stability: Adequate]
She had allies. She had explanations ready (Leo's medical article). She had growing control over her abilities.
But Mia's words echoed: The world is more magical than the Association says.
The Association with their tiers and tests. The System with its classifications. All trying to put reality into boxes. But reality, like Mia's garden, grew in wild, unpredictable ways.
That night, as she lay in bed watching the moonthread glow softly, a memory surfaced.
Not triggered by scent or sound. By feeling.
She was small—dragon-small, the size of a large dog—curled beside her mother in their mountain aerie. Her mother's wing was draped over her, a silver blanket against the cold. "The world will try to name you, little star," her mother's voice rumbled, a sound felt in bones more than heard. "To measure you and box you. But you are a dragon. You are the sky and the void between stars. No box can hold you."
"What if they try?" young Astraea had asked.
"Then you grow," her mother said simply. "Until their boxes shatter around you."
The memory faded, leaving warmth in her chest. Four centuries later, in a human child's bed, the advice still held.
She looked at the moonthread, at her height marks on the wall, at the System's social map floating in her mind.
Boxes everywhere. Classifications. Tiers.
And she was growing.
[System Notification]
[Quest Updated: 'The Long Wait - Muscles Remember']
[Progress: Social foundations strengthening. Physical consolidation phase continuing.]
[Next Objective: Practice controlled manifestation in safe environment.]
[Reward: +5% to shape-control proficiency]
[Note: Growing isn't just about getting taller! It's about growing into who you truly are!]
For the first time, the System's cheerful note didn't feel condescending. It felt… accurate.
Two children now knew her secret. One through science, one through empathy. Both accepted her. The garden of her hidden life was growing unexpected but welcome companions. And for a dragon who had waited alone for centuries, that was a different kind of growth altogether.