People are born three times.
The first is when they enter this world.
The second is when they gain consciousness.
The third is when they understand the inevitability of death.
I am currently experiencing my fourth birth.
Life isn't as simple as breathing. I should know. I already died once.
"It's a baby boy. Congratulations. He seems very healthy, we can skip the standard procedure. "
Eh?
Hold on. I'm having my moment of enlightenment right now.
"Doctor," a woman's voice insisted gently, "please follow the procedure."
Procedure?
"Yeah, doc. We won't be at ease unless you give him a little smack on the butt." A man's voice followed after the woman's.
"Very well,"
Ruidy used all the strength from his newborn body to look at the super villain trying to humiliate him. Unfortunately, everything was simply too blurry.
Before I could protest the injustice of medical tradition, a cold palm struck my backside.
Pain exploded through my brand-new nervous system.
"Aaaagh!"
So much for dignity in this life.
"Excellent cry," the doctor said approvingly. "Strong and clear."
"Thank goodness,"
Thank goddess, my ass!
Through tear-blurred vision, I forced my newborn eyes open. And then I forgot the insult.
A sparrow made of ash circled the delivery room.
No one reacted.
No one screamed or complained about the airborne containment.
The bird's wings shed faint gray motes as it flew. In its beak, it carried a single black feather.
It circled once.
Twice.
Then perched atop the surgical lamp directly above me.
Its head tilted.
Watching.
The black feather slipped from its beak.
It did not fall like a feather should.
It drifted, deliberate, as if tracing a path only it understood.
Something about its descent felt intentional.
A message without language.
I stopped crying.
Carefully, I reached upward.
My fingers brushed the feather.
It dissolved like snow on warm skin.
Above me, the sparrow pecked once at the air—no, not air.
Something invisible.
A thread.
Then it unraveled into ash.
The doctors continued smiling.
My mother cried in relief.
No one had seen it.
Later, I would learn what the sparrow meant.
That same day, my grandfather passed away quietly in his sleep.
----------------------------------------------------------
Inside its mouth was a black feather, only perching on a surgical lamp after flying a circle around him.
Am I the only one seeing this?
No one was reacting to this weird sparrow. Strange given how in this circumstance having such a dirty bird would not be acceptable.
After perching for a second, the sparrow opened its beak, letting the black feather fall. Its gentle descent was marvelous.
Seemingly full of meaning, the rise and fall, the path it traveled meant something. Like it was trying to tell him something, but he didn't understand it yet.
Unable to help himself, Ruidy stopped crying and reached up to touch the feather. The moment his fingers touched the feather, it melted away like snow.
Turning to the sparrow still perched on the surgical lamp, Ruidy saw it pecking at something. Its beak pulled back before the sparrow dissolved unto nothingness.
Later on, he found out what that sparrow made of ash meant. His grandfather had passed away that same day.
----------------------------------------------------------
By the time I turned six I confirmed two things.
I had indeed been reborn.
Not that it was a big discovery. Unless I lost a hundred points to my IQ when i was reborn that much was obvious.
The second, I had drawn the short straw.
In New Avalon, children awakened powers like other cities lost baby teeth.
Predictably and publicly. With the added flavor of applause.
On the first day of kindergarten, during play time a boy lifted up his backpack and several other kids without touching them. He got a gold sticker and a popsicle.
A young girl accidentally turned the classroom pink. Everything from the furniture, light bulbs, and the classroom goldfish. The teacher congratulated her on "chromatic manifestation."
My great achievement?
I saw a cracked umbrella hovering above the snack shelf.
At the time I didn't understand the meaning but thinking back the umbrella meant disappointment.
Ten minutes later, they ran out of pudding cups.
I did not receive a sticker.
...
New Avalon was a city that loved spectacle.
Billboards rotated hero rankings every hour. The top ten smiled down from skyscrapers, capes frozen mid-dramatic flutter.
Recruitment ads played between children's cartoons.
Join the future.
Register your gift.
Be more than ordinary.
Registration day came when I was five.
We stood in a neat line inside the local Ability Assessment Office. Parents held hands too tightly. Some children vibrated with excitement. One boy's hair floated upward as if underwater.
When my turn arrived, a woman with silver-rimmed glasses placed her palm lightly on my forehead.
A faint blue ring expanded beneath my feet.
The air hummed.
She frowned slightly.
"Minor intuitive anomaly," she said, typing. "Support classification. Low output."
My mother smiled bravely. "Intuition is very useful."
"Of course," the woman replied politely, already calling the next name.
Behind her, I saw it.
A stack of paper files.
One of them was glowing faintly with smoke.
The smoke drifted toward a red stamp that read: APPROVED.
I didn't understand what it meant then.
But I understood something else.
The city measured power in decibels.
Mine whispered.
On the walk home, my father tried to sound cheerful.
"Support abilities are important. Every hero team needs logistics."
"Can we get ice cream?" I asked and rubbed my stomach.
"Sure," my father said with a smile.
"What about that double chocolate, supreme Supreme Girl Ice Cone?" I asked again.
"No, we can't celebrate that hard."
"Tsk,"
My mother was much nicer, "Oh, let him get it. We can afford it."
As my father paid, I saw a small empty bowl flicker above his shoulder.
It disappeared when he handed me the cone.
I didn't understand that omen either.
Not yet.
...
The first omen I understood did not involve heroes.
It involved a teacup.
It was a Thursday evening. My father had come home later than usual. His shoulders looked heavier, though nothing visible weighed them down.
My mother was washing dishes.
Steam curled upward. The television murmured in the background about an A-rank hero foiling a downtown robbery.
Then—
The cup slipped.
It fell from her fingers.
In that instant, the world tilted.
The porcelain did not simply fall.
It fractured in the air.
Hairline cracks spread across its surface like lightning trapped in clay.
Between two large shards, I saw it—
A thin red thread.
Taut.
Unbroken.
Cold wind brushed against my cheek.
Then time resumed.
The cup shattered on the kitchen tile.
My mother gasped. "Oh no."
My father stood quickly. "It's just a cup."
But I wasn't looking at the floor.
I was looking at the thread.
It stretched faintly between them.
Glowing.
Three days later, my father lost his repair contract.
The company had "restructured."
My mother began checking grocery prices more carefully.
They argued once. Quietly. After they thought I was asleep.
The cracks had been real.
But the thread never snapped.
That was the part I remembered.
That was the part I held onto.
...
second grade, I had office hours.
Location: the top of the jungle gym.
It offered elevation, privacy, and dramatic lighting during sunset. All respectable qualities for a fortune teller.
My rates were reasonable.
Two dollars per consultation.
Three for matters involving romance.
Snacks accepted.
No refunds.
Mina was my most consistent client.
She approached with sparks snapping faintly between her fingers.
"I think I'm going to tell Arjun I like him," she whispered.
Above her shoulder, a white moth fluttered.
Its wings were steady when she faced me.
But when she glanced toward the math classroom, the moth dipped dangerously close to a small flame.
I followed its path.
In the distance, near the vending machines by the gym entrance, I saw soft golden light.
"After school," I said. "Near the vending machines. Not during math."
"Why not during math?"
Because your moth burns there.
"Just trust me."
She nodded solemnly and handed over a strawberry milk.
Satisfied customer.
Next came Daniel.
He crossed his arms, metal sheen flashing briefly along his skin. "Am I going to pass the spelling test?"
Above his head, a rusted key hung from a thin string.
The string frayed.
The key slipped.
Fell into dark water.
I sighed. "Study chapter three."
He squinted. "Be honest."
"I am being honest."
He did not study chapter three.
He did not pass.
Business credibility increased.
When the bell rang and my office closed, I lingered at the top of the jungle gym.
From there, I could see the entire schoolyard.
Threads drifted lazily between classmates.
Animals flickered in peripheral vision.
Ordinary.
Comforting.
Then I looked toward the old storage building behind the gym.
For just a moment, I saw smoke curling beneath the basement door.
Low.
Hungry.
Gone in the next blink.
I frowned.
Minor disturbances were normal.
But ground-level smoke meant something was gnawing at the edges.
I made a mental note.
Raise consultation prices.