The record of the oldest person receiving their gift was at the age of 19 and he nearly destroyed the world. His name was Casimir. Records are inconclusive on what exactly he could do, but the untold and widespread disaster caused the World Government that rose from the ashes to make a new law mandating that all persons must receive their gift by the age of ten and that any person who has not received said gift by that time is to be reported, collected and executed by the Agency of Gift Enforcement or AGE.

When I was ten and didn’t get my gift my parents panicked. We packed up and moved, changed our names, bought forged birth documents. My parents drilled into me my new name and age. My parents mantra was always, “maybe this year,” or “it will be soon, I know it.” But it wasn’t that year or the year after. It was never the “soon” they so hoped for. After a few years it was impossible to pretend I was 10 anymore. People became suspicious, there were more inquiries and agents of AGE watching my family, watching me. With AGE’s increased presence and threat in our lives my parents decided to kill me. It took us 6 months to make all the necessary arrangements and on my 14th birthday, I died. My body was never recovered. I was swallowed by the sea and reborn.

My name is Cordelia now. I am 26 years old, and I still do not have a gift.

My name is Astraea Loren. I am 8 years old. Everyone where I live gets a special power when they turn 8. My birthday is today which means I get my power! I’m a little nervous that it won’t be a very good power. I walked downstairs to my kitchen for the party.

There were lots of pastel decorations and I saw that the cake was already on the table. The candle on the cake was already lit. I walked up to the table and the candle went out. I then put my hand on the candle and it lit back up. I was happy that my power had not been something completley boring and useless.

I always knew that at thirteen I would get my magical ability and I always thought that I would get the same abilities as my family. But when I was tested by the High Mage of my village, I tested as something different, something long forgotten, something evil. I was banished and left for dead by the village and my own family disowned me. But when I learned that I was destined for something greater then myself, I swore to be the master of my ability and not let it be the master of me. Five years of gruelling, brutal, agonizing training and I am finally ready to face my destiny.

My name is, or rather was, Halle Firebrand, but now I go by a different name, a name more fitting to who I am now. I am Rahera Blackheart and I am ready to for my destiny. A destiny that was written for me before I was born.

Now the only question is…

Do I rule the world, or do I destroy it?

                                                                                                                           June 21, 2022

After my 100th birthday I have officially lost hope. Maybe I got my power at so young an age that it isn't even noticeable. Maybe I just don't get one. It's not fair, I don't want to be special, I want to have powers like everyone else. All of my friends got their powers at a good age, an age that gives the power strength while also giving them a lifetime to use it. Even if I got my power now, I'd only have a couple years to use it. I think Jol must hate me. I don't know why a divine being would single me out to punish, I don't understand how I'm different from any other mortal. I guess I do sound pretty childish for a 100 year old, maybe that's why. I shouldn't presume to understand a god, his reasoning is on a level my tiny human brain cannot comprehend. I always maintained hope that I would get some awesome power, something that would be worth the wait, but powers only come on birthdays, and I don't think I can survive until my next one. My grandchildren joke that I'll get to be a superhero for a day, like some kind of make-a-wish kid that actually got his insane wish granted. If I really were able to make any wish, I'd wish to get a power at 30, just like everyone else.

-Badal Covarrubias

                                                                                                                            July 22, 2022

Jenny, my granddaughter with the power to see a week into the future, called me today. She said something big is going to happen to me on the 29th. She says she can't tell what and it scares her. I suspect I'll die in a tragic accident, or Jol will take pity on me and erase my sorry being from existence. Either one is fine by me, I'm tired of being an outcast.

                                                                                                                            July 28, 2022

Tomorrow is the big day, I'm hoping It's option two, that way no one has to remember the sorry excuse for a human I really was. If all goes well, I will not be writing tomorrow, so I want whichever of my posterity who acquires this journal to know that Esther has always been my favorite grandchild.

                                                                                                                            July 29, 2022

All did not go well, nothing has happened to me at all, I am writing this at 6:07 PM, so there is still time, Jenny is still worried about me, so I've getting special treatment from her. I won't complain about that. But I am disappointed that Jol hasn't ended me yet. Maybe I got my power already and it's just the ability to live longer than all of my peers. Some power that is. I wish Jol would just eradicate me right now, I wish I was normal, I wish-

                                                                                                                        August 2, 2022

I just got out of the weirdest conversation of my life. The fact that it took 90 hours isn't even the weirdest part. The weirdest part was probably the stern talking to I got from god. The short of it is, I got powers. I'm not sure how to feel, I've always wanted powers. I wanted to fit in, but now that I have them, I will never fit in with mortals ever again. This will be the last entry I will make in this journal, just so everyone knows, Esther's next.

The incessant clank-clank- clanking reverberated between your ears. The path ahead was blocked by a grotesque figure… the tall, dark trees suddenly became closer, narrowing the space around you. It became chilly, you see fog around you, blocking you from seeing beyond. “Howdy! Know where I can mine myself some good ole’ gold?” The grotesque figure says. Forgetting the terrible gift you received on your eighteenth birthday a few years ago. You summon a flashlight- you can’t, remembering that you woke up in the- what… late eighteenth century? Early nineteenth century? Anyway, you summon a lantern. Revealing the face of the figure that blocked your path. It was an ugly, filthy man. Having some missing and chipped teeth, the remaining teeth were bright yellow. His right hand was flinching constantly. ‘Twas the prospector. He was pretty annoying from last time. You don’t want another dog turned to a gold nugget so you get away from him by saying “ Well I saw a cave with a mine-shack, so I guess there’s gold there..”. You did some drama when you were a kid so you said that sincerely. You keep on heading forward, not looking back. You don’t have a goal for where your supposed to be but you just want to get away from that man.. no not the prospector but the shadow man. You call him that cause he’s always in the shadows. You never see his face except for his eyes and his weird hands. His eyes can change from white to red spirals. It can be white or blue judging on you. His hands are filthy, nasty looking but they also look like brown gloves with broken fingernails. Back to reality. The rank smell of rot and mold permeated the humid air. Every step forward was answered by some nearby slip or slither. You tread cautiously into… The Wetlands. Left or right. There are two signs, the left one says Peace’s Fool, the right one says…. Well, you can’t see what it says but there red graffit- ink saying turn back. Instinctively you turn left, not really wanting to take a risk. A foul smell invaded your nostrils and caused your throat to seize. A hulking man sat by a brackish pond with his feet submerged in the dark water. He pulled a hook from a pile of rotting fish and rose to his feet. “I am the Angler. Go fish.” Intimidated you, well, go fish. After what seems like hours you catch only one bass, it’s pretty small. The Angler is proud of you and he gives you a big bass for your reward for catching a fish. You considered the Anglers catch as a meal, but the rank odor deterred you. Dinner would have to wait. You venture further…into the unknown. A frigid gust of wind billowed, unwelcome, into your lungs. The beauty of the falling snow failed to distract you from the chill in your bones. You had ascended to… The Snow Lines. As you’re walking through the snow, you see a stone shrine. The curious side of you prevails the reticent side. You head to the shrine cautiously. But you trip and something hits your head, leaving you unconscious to the cold terrain around you. You wake up in cold sweat. You’re trembling. I guess it was all just a dream, you think to yourself. But the snow around you make you think otherwise. Was it all just a dream?….

Anxious about this impossible choice.

Which I will attempt to make with poise.

I can delay till I’m much older and unstoppable.

Being extinguished before then is very probable.

What good is a hero with no courage or a mockingbird with no song.

I will pick, please God don’t let me be wrong.

If I go too early and others wait.

Will that also seal my fate.

Possessing no comparable experience

Except a heavy reliance on resilience

Stepping into the unknown with expectancy

The power of hope is already part of my legacy

Entry 1

Dear Diary,

This place is boring, it’s all grey; grey walls, grey roof, grey floor. Grey, grey and more stinking grey. Momma says I have to stay here, but I don’t really know why. I don’t remember much either of how I ended up here in the room of grey. One minute I was coloring with my brother in the living room, I remember because I was trying to color a rainbow but Levi had the blue crayon; he wouldn’t let me have it, no matter how nicely I asked. Then my brother broke it in half, MY blue crayon, my favorite out of all the crayons. I had gotten so mad at him. I screamed at him, I screamed so loud that the walls rattled. Then there is nothing. I woke up here, in this room, surrounded by grey. I miss my crayons. I miss Momma.

Entry 2

Dear Diary,

Momma came to see me today! But her eyes were red, like she had been crying. She smiled but she was sad, how was that? When I’m sad, I can’t smile, how can she and cry at one time? Momma said I did something, something that isn’t my fault and something I’m too young to understand. She’s right, I don’t understand, how could I’ve done something that I actually didn’t do and without knowing how I did the thing I actually didn’t do? She said the doctors were going to help me. I don’t like doctors.

Entry 3

Dear Diary,

Yep, still don’t like doctors. These ones are really mean, they stick me with needles and don’t even give me a lollipop. The food is gross to, I can barely stomach it. I wanna go home but they say I can’t. Momma comes every day but never brings Levi. Is he mad at me for yelling at him? I honestly didn’t mean to. I asked about him today but she just did that weird sad smile that I don’t understand.

Entry 3

Dear Diary,

Levi I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell and I promise I’ll never do it again. It’s the reason why I’m in here, because I yelled. I promise I’ll never to do it again, if I swear on that promise will they let me go? I miss Levi, I miss my bed, my home, I miss Momma’s cooking and her back rubs. I just wanna go home. I hate it here.

Entry 4

Dear Diary,

They told me I could never leave, they told me I’m too much of a risk. Too much of a hazard to society. Momma was visiting me when they barged in and pulled her from the room. She put up a good fight but the men with guns were stronger. Momma was pulled from my room and out of my sight, there was a popping sound like a firework. Momma always said never light fireworks indoors. It’s been five days, Momma hasn’t come to visit me.

Entry 5

Dear Diary,

I. AM. ANGRY.

Entry 6

Dear Diary,

I broke my promise, I yelled, and it felt good. The walls rattled again but I got a needle in my butt before I could find out what was going on. It made me sleepy and when I woke up I had a device on my face that kept my mouth from opening. I wanna go home, they won’t let me. I wanna see Momma, they won’t let me. I have questions and they won’t answer them. Where’s Momma? Where’s Levi? Why can’t I go home? Why am I here? What is happening?!

Entry 7

Dear Diary,

‘I’m too powerful for a young girl’ that’s what I overheard. They said ‘if I’m this strong now, how strong will I be when I’m older?’ And to ‘think of the possibilities’ I don’t want to, I want to get out of this grey room, I want to go home. I don’t understand why THEY don’t understand that! I’ve been watching their faces and I don’t like how they look at me. Their smiles are not like Momma’s smile, not even the sad ones she had fallen into the habit of flashing. I want out. I’m getting out of here. I’m finding Momma and Levi once I do. I’ll tell Levi how sorry I am for yelling and giving Momma the biggest hug. I’ll promise my brother to never yell again, but for tonight; I’ll do it one more time.

"Bro. You're going to figure out your powers one day. You just got to be patient." Will said as he set his empty mug of beer back onto the table.

I took a large swig of my beer. "Dude, that's easy for you to say."

"What do you mean it's easy for me to say?" Will questioned.

"You figured out your powers when you were eighteen. You've had it forever."

"Okay. Maybe I should have paraphrased it or said it differently." He flashed a noticeable glance at his empty mug of beer on the table. "I blame the booze."

"Plausible," I muttered.

"What I mean. Is that since it's taking so long...you know, maybe your power is going to be fucking amazing. Studies say that the older you are the stronger the power is going to be."

"That's wishful thinking," I retorted, as I reached into the twelve-pack of beer at my heel and retrieved another.

"You're being negative," Will shot back, as he took a sip of his beer.

"How am I being negative? I'm thirty-six and I have absolutely nothing. Everyone...literally everyone around me has a power and I have jack shit," The frustration was starting to rise in the pit of my stomach, and I kind of wanted to change the subject. The further we got into this...while under the influence, wasn't a good idea.

"Come on man. It'll happen." Will said reassuringly. He pulled out his phone and started tapping the screen. "You hungry? You want some food? Split a pizza? On me?

I shrugged my shoulders. "I already ate."

"What you eat?" Will questioned, his right hand clicking through his phone as his left phone assisted him in downing his beer.

"Fucking...Ramen,"

Will lifted his head and glared at me as he finished his beer. "How the hell do you eat that shit all the time? You know that's not good for you, right? I think every time I talk to you about what you've eaten for the day it's either Ramen or Cup-o-Noodles."

I lifted my hands in defense. "Dude, work only gives me a thirty-minute lunch and they're easy to cook."

"If I were you I'd take advantage of like, Doordash or something, you know? Order food and have something super delicious delivered to your front door."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, ending with a chuckle. "Well, I'm not you."

"Ay-yi-yi, My Guy. You're a total mood killer." He paused for a second as if thinking something over. "Hey...maybe that's your power. You can consume anything you want and not get the health ramifications from it."

I pulled back in my chair and shrugged my shoulders. "I mean at my last physical my doctor did say I was pretty healthy despite eating like shit."

"You ever have it assessed? You didn't think to ask him right then and there?" Will asked, his eyes narrowing at me from behind his mug.

"I mean it never crossed my mind," I said with a shrug. "You know? I never once thought. Hey, maybe my superpower is that I can eat as many packets of ramen as I want. That's stupid, that's a really stupid power."

"Bro. That is not a stupid power. That means you can eat whatever you want and not get fat, or anything. That's fucking amazing. When you're done eating ramen do you feel like shit? I usually feel like shit, I can literally feel the sodium sucking away at my body."

I shrugged my shoulders and cracked open another can of beer. "I mean. No? I feel fine. I usually only eat them during work, so it's not like I'm doing anything active."

"So you're not sitting at your computer at work regretting the fact that you just digested a shit load of salt? Like it has no effect on your body?"

"Iono," I shrugged. "I feel fine."

Will let out a laugh and rolled his head back, swinging his drunken arms across the table and almost knocking his mug over. I had to reach out and catch it before it crashed to the floor.

"Dude!" Will shouted. "That's your fucking power! You've had your power the entire time!! You can eat whatever you want! That's amazing!!!!"

I laughed and shook my head. "That's so fucking stupid if that's my power."

"That is not stupid, man. That's incredible!"

"Alright. Whatever man. I sincerely hope it's not. What are you ordering? I'll help you kill whatever you order."

"Pizza. I thought I said that earlier. You kosher with that? I can add whatever you want since you can eat whatever you want."

"I'm kosher with whatever you want man. You're buying." I glanced at his empty glass. "You done drinking for the night?"

Will shook his head. "Absolutely not." He glanced at his empty mug, and I watched as it filled to the top with liquid gold.

"See...now that's a cool power," I said.

Will rolled his eyes. "Yeah...I just wish I could use it on other people."

I have always known magic exists When we are kids we see magic differently We are taught magic means illusion but I find this isn’t so ….. Magic is honing in on your authentic self and living in alignment. Magic is the perfection of nature and learning to live by it. Magic is walking into your favourite second hand store and finding that one thing you always wanted but never thought you would own. Synchronicity.
I believe in magic but not in the way i used to,magic can’t be willed or forced. I got my ability to hone my magic when I was nearly 40 and if you had of asked me as a child if 40 is old I would have said yes. Its not about age specifically but more about intuition. Being a woman is magic too,in sync with the cycles of the earth. We are all magic. Meditate and you will see. Our own divine magic is just waiting there to be tapped into and once you start you won’t want to stop. I don’t need a cape or a wand,no rabbits being pulled from hats,I’m not talking about that. Illusion isn’t real,its right there in the name but magic is everywhere,you just need to go within,find that quiet place and the answers will come. My magic came in at around age 39 and I appreciate it daily. Its no one’s but mine. For you it might happen differently but I’ve worked for this now I understand alchemy.

There’s some luck in being an Old One.

Firstly, I look about twenty-five. Twenty-five and Neutral is an accomplishment. Twenty-five and Neutral is the buzz of potential energy under your skin. It’s people drawn to you in anticipation of what you will become. It’s excited whispers and sketched out futures filling notebooks.

I am, of course, wearing fake marks. Today they are gaseous ones, carefully lightened and stretched so that I’ll be easily disregarded as I weave through the streets. That’s the second advantage of being an Old One.

You’re always something on Regent street: a victim, a thief, a saviour. If you’re marked, you can’t change it. Those damned things bleed through the thickest make up, and the most determined tattoos. Covering them makes people curious. Suspicious.

An Old One has to be something too, but at least we can choose. Lex’s facsimiles hold up against anything but the closest technical examination.

The final advantage is freedom, though I can’t say that everyone you speak to will agree with that.

I run to catch the bus, barely hopping in before the doors close, squeezing past people as I move from cart to cart.

Everyone here has somewhere to be. I’m no different. Except in every single other way.

I fall into a seat, digging into my messenger bag in hope of gum, candy, anything. This place always leaves a funny taste in my mouth.

A man across from me is far too comfortable staring. His solid markings aren’t new, but they aren’t particularly old either. I’d put him around forty, but really, who knows?

He thinks I’m helpless. He’s not wrong. But he’s not right, either.

My stop is soon, so I try to slip a few carts up, but he doesn’t even hide his interest, following me with the lumbering steps of an S. Well. Can’t blame a girl for trying.

No gum in my pockets either, but my hand circles around a cold sphere.

I hop off the vehicle the second the doors swing open.

I could run. This isn’t a place I would want to provoke him. The cracked concrete and crumbling buildings give too much ammunition. I need surprise, or I’m gone.

As I walk, I press the blue metal sphere to my lips.

“Make your mamma proud,” I say, and kiss it.

Then I drop it behind me.

I can hear the mechanical wings spread, the buzz quiet and quiet and then gone.

I pick up the pace. I still hear the man scream.

Forty years ago I would’ve felt guilty, but I’ve known too many Faded who had met men like him. One life for a dozen more.

I’ve never liked math.

The sphere returns to me, one drone at a time. In an alleyway, I hold out my hand as they slot together, tiny puzzle pieces, until the baseball-sized thing is back.

“Thank the skies,” I mutter, “Lex woulda killed me if I lost another one of you bastards.”

It’s not long before the scenery around me starts to change. Concrete turns to grass, walls turn to glass, and even the sun shines a little brighter.

I adjust the strap of the camouflage that is my messenger bag. I’ve been here before, as an L, an S, an E… Don’t know what it is, exactly, but it’s like the people here can smell the Neutral on me. And if they smell the Neutral, it doesn’t take long to connect the dots to Old One.

Like an ancient hunter, I am forced to cover up my natural pheromones with the musk of poverty. Or something. I don’t know much about hunters. Or history. Or pheromones.

Public school, ya know?

I think part of me had hoped I had misremembered the location of the condo I was headed towards. But Bren had wrote the address down, and I know this city well. I think I am one of the only people who has ever managed to bore themselves with it.

I know this area. My brain refuses to process it. Bren messed up. Emergency construction moved things around. I’ve accidentally been transported into a parallel universe. Something has to be wrong, right?

My gaze climbs the structure in front of me. The opalescent windows beginning at a point and spreading out upwards. A pyramid balancing on its tip, just to prove it can be done.

A sky garden wound around the complex with stairs that allowed you to walk to your condo through foreign plants kept alive via an S and E team that work impossible hours.

Normally, I would take that path. The verdant swirl could be surprisingly calming, and the tropical birds were a helluva sight. But if this address was right, I might finally Activate before I reach the top.

It’s a good thing I didn’t bother trying. The moment I step into the deliveries elevator, I know that Bren had dug out this file just in time.

NATs are idiots. No television show or gritty crime novel could convince me otherwise. In a place where marks were proudly displayed, emphasized, even accessorized, NATs wore cuffs and chokers, as if the information regarding their classification could be more valuable to an aggressor than the fact that they were goddamn cops.

The NAT was already in the elevator when I stepped in. He hadn’t even secured his choker properly. I could see the bright E markings peeking out. His i’ll-fitting jeans didn’t match his combat boots, and the outline of body armour was obvious under his polo.

How could they fail so badly at something so simple?

Still. They don’t make this any easier. They confirmed my suspicions, but it’s not like I’ve ever actually doubted Bren. They’ve had about 90 years to get it right.

It’s almost cartoonish. The elevator door opens and the man doesn’t move. He stares. I am tempted to stare back.

NATs may be stupid, but the one thing they know how to do is spot an Old One. Instead, I walked down the hall to the penthouse door.

It swings open seconds after I knock.

I hadn’t been expecting the woman inside.

She doesn’t look like her pictures. Not so composed, or well lit.

Her locked hair is tied up haphazardly, with more than one piece falling to her shoulders. Her eyes have dark circles under them. Her lips are dry, but her brown eyes are steady.

“Yes?”

“D-deliver for Ms. Holly Jacobs—“ I say.

Holly holds out her hand expectantly.

I glance back at the elevator doors. They’re closed, but I don’t take chances.

“I need your bio-sig.”

She sighs, and steps aside to let me in.

I wonder why she’s still here. Maybe it has to do with where she came from. I was on my fourth identity by thirty-five, but both my parents were faded. My mother was almost invisible, having gotten her marks when she was all of three years old. She used to tell me that by puberty they were stretched thin around her wrists like a piece of string. My dad hit eleven, but his whole family was like that, so no surprises there.

I used to get in scraps at school with kids who called her things like “leech” and “user”. Funny thing was, whenever one of those kids Activated early, they’d hide behind my unfortunate and unfair reputation. I let them, of course. There’s no use humiliating those who are already humbled.

But Ms. Jacob’s comes from a different world. You can tell because the clock is ticking, and the NATs are still dutifully waiting for it to hit twelve. I knew a kid snatched at twenty-eight. They’ll deny it of course, but demons will denounce their deeds.

Whatever this woman has, whatever money or power it is, has to be worth more to the Orgs than a few extra years of energy and experimentation. This will be a problem if she trusts the NATs enough to believe their lies.

I find my scanner and hold it out. Holly presses her thumb into it. The thing doesn’t work, but it lights up like it does.

Finally, I pull out the gift bag and hand it to her. She takes it carefully.

“Is this a joke?”

All of this is a joke, Ms. Jacobs. And every second closer we get, the funnier it becomes.

“I couldn’t tell you, ma’am,” I say. “It looks like a birthday gift.”

Ms. Jacobs stares at me, searching for something.

I’m better at hiding now. There are tricks to it, to mask your energy signature. Vibrations. Whatever it is that makes an Old One, or any Neutral, stand out. On top of it all, I used to have to wander around markless.

About a decade ago I was found by the Ordo Futurorum Antiquorum. They think we’re gods.

Or. No. They think I’m a god. Lex and Bren got demoted to mere saints post-Activation. And also I’m not really a god. I’m more of a god-caterpillar. I still have to pupate.

I’m the OFA’s last hope, but since they’ve been waiting for about a millenium, I’m about the twenty-seventh last hope, so they’re not that worried.

I don’t believe their prophesies, but they’ve been good to me, so I’d like to bring them another divinity-in-waiting. They look so happy when Bren gets a lead.

“A birthday gift.” Ms. Jacobs says.

I give my best clueless nod.

“It’s cruel.” Ms. Jacobs says, and tries to give it back.

I won’t take it.

“You haven’t even opened it yet,” I point out.

“I turn fifty the day after tomorrow,” Ms. Jacobs says, waiting for the truth to land.

“Happy early birthday,” I say, as it bounces off of me.

Doubting her own sanity, Ms. Jacobs checks her wrists, as if she might have Activated during the conversation.

“I hope you have a good one,” I say, “and remember to read the card first. It always bugs me when people don’t do that.”

I hesitate in front of the elevator before deciding to take the sky garden down. I should wear myself out; I need to sleep well tonight.

It’s always hard when it’s tight, and this one is tighter than most.

We don’t even know if she’ll follow the instructions. Her money has protected her until now, so she might think it will after they take her. It won’t. The only thing that beats money is fear.

That’s what we are to them. Fear. Nothing scares men like the Unknown.

There’s luck in being an Old One. We know so much that sometimes the Unknown comes as a relief.