The blood test was a symphony of quiet terror.
Astraea sat in the clinic's pale blue chair, her sleeve rolled up, as the phlebotomist tied the tourniquet. The woman's fingers were cool and professional. The needle gleamed under fluorescent lights.
The recalibrated System, now running quietly in the background of her mind, offered no cheerful commentary. Only data.
[Assistance Protocol: Blood Composition Manipulation]
[Current hemoglobin: Void-dragon crystalline matrix (silver-base, mana-conductive)]
[Target hemoglobin: Human Type O+ (iron-base, non-conductive)]
[Projected success rate: 99.8%]
[Note: Maintain concentration for 47 seconds post-draw for cellular reversion.]
Astraea focused. Deep within her veins, at a level no human instrument could detect, her blood changed. Silver-crystal structures dissolved into iron-rich cells. Mana pathways folded themselves into dormant patterns. It was like rewriting an entire library into a children's picture book—the information was still there, but hidden beneath simplified symbols.
The needle pierced her skin. A sharp pinch, human-scale. The vial filled with crimson that looked perfectly ordinary.
"You're doing great," the phlebotomist said, swapping vials. "Lots of kids are scared of needles."
"I've had worse," Astraea said, and immediately regretted it. The phlebotomist glanced at her, then smiled indulgently.
"I'm sure you have, sweetie. Maybe a big scrape on the playground?"
Four centuries ago, a void-wyrm's tail spike had gone through her wing membrane. The memory surfaced, crystalline and sharp. She pushed it down. "Something like that."
The X-ray was simpler. She stood against the cold plate, the technician adjusting the machine with practiced clicks. "Deep breath and hold still!"
She let her glamour extend outward, creating a phantom layer of "normal" bone superimposed over her reinforced dragon skeleton. The machine hummed, clicked, and beeped.
"All done! You can get dressed."
Dr. Evans reviewed the results that afternoon in her office, her brow furrowed in professional confusion. Mrs. Evans sat beside Astraea, clutching her hand.
"Well," Dr. Evans said, tapping her tablet. "This is... interesting. Blood work is completely normal. Hormone levels are within expected ranges. Bone density is high, but not impossibly so—just at the top of the curve." She looked at Astraea. "The dizziness you experienced this morning?"
"It passed," Astraea said. "Must have been... nerves."
"And the rapid growth? The hunger?"
Dr. Evans spread her hands. "Sometimes Awakened children experience growth spurts. Their bodies are processing mana in new ways. As long as she's eating nutritious foods and the blood work is clean..." She smiled at Mrs. Evans. "I think we just have a very fast-growing girl. Keep an eye on it, but I don't see any red flags."
The relief in Mrs. Evans' face was like sunrise after a long night. "So she's healthy?"
"As a horse. A very tall, hungry horse."
They left with a clean bill of health and instructions to return in three months "just to check progress." In the car, Mrs. Evans kept glancing at Astraea with tears in her eyes. "I was so worried," she whispered. "So worried."
The guilt returned, sharper than any needle.
At CYAP the next day, the "clean bill of health" became a problem.
Teacher Milly, relieved by the medical all-clear, became noticeably more attentive. During "Sparkle Story Circle," she had Astraea help hold the big picture book. During "Luminescent Math," she praised Astraea's "advanced counting." During juice break, she gave her an extra cookie "for all that growing."
And Chloe noticed.
Chloe, with her perfect blonde pigtails and Tier 1 classification (she could make six sparkles dance in formation), had been the undisputed star of the Sparkle Room since Astraea arrived. Teacher Milly's favorite. The other children's leader. The one who always got to demonstrate new sparkle techniques.
Now, as Astraea helped pass out glow-sticks for "Twilight Dance Time," Chloe watched from the art table, her blue eyes narrowed. Her sparkles, usually dancing cheerfully above her head, flickered in uneven patterns.
"Teacher Milly likes you now," Chloe said during free play, coming to stand by the block tower Astraea and Leo were building. Her voice was sweet, but her sparkles buzzed with agitation. "Because you got tall."
Astraea placed a block carefully. "She likes everyone."
"Not like you. She gave you two cookies. She only gives me one." Chloe's lower lip protruded in a practiced pout. "My sparkles are better. I'm Tier 1. You're still Tier 0."
Leo looked up from his blueprint notebook. "Tier doesn't matter for cookie distribution. It's a nutritional supplement based on—"
"I wasn't talking to you, green-finger," Chloe snapped. Her sparkles zipped around her head like angry fireflies. "I was talking to the copycat."
The word hung in the air. Copycat. In the Sparkle Room, where originality of sparkle expression was praised above all.
"I'm not copying anyone," Astraea said, keeping her voice calm. Inside, the ancient part of her marveled at the complexity of human social hierarchies, even at this scale. Empires had risen and fallen over similar dynamics—who received the king's favor, who sat closest to the throne.
"You're copying my sparkle-dance," Chloe insisted. "From yesterday. The spiral pattern."
"That's a basic luminary progression," Leo said, pushing his glasses up. "First documented in the Awakened Manual, page 47. It's public domain."
Chloe ignored him, her gaze locked on Astraea. "Just because you're growing fast doesn't mean you're special. My mom says fast growers burn out. Their sparkles fade by middle school." She took a small, sharp step closer. "Teacher Milly only has one favorite. And it was me first."
Astraea felt the wing buds between her shoulder blades twitch in response to the territorial challenge. The truth of Chloe's fear was suddenly clear: this wasn't about a spiral pattern. This was about a kingdom with only one throne. In Chloe's world, there wasn't room at the top for two stars. Astraea's rise could only mean Chloe's fall.
She's not afraid I'm a copycat, Astraea realized with ancient clarity. She's afraid I'm a replacement.
She took a slow breath, the kind she'd used to calm volcanic tempers in less civilized ages. "Your sparkles are very pretty, Chloe. The way you make them syncopate is advanced."
The compliment, genuine in its technical accuracy, seemed to startle Chloe. Her sparkles slowed their frantic dance. "Well. They are." She sniffed, turned, and flounced back to her friends at the art table.
Leo made a note. "Social dynamics observation: Praise disarms aggression more effectively than counter-argument. Hypothesis: Chloe's primary need is recognition, not conflict."
"She's scared," Astraea said softly, watching the girl now showing her friends a new sparkle pattern with renewed vigor.
"Of what?"
"That the world has room for only one special thing." Four centuries had taught her that scarcity thinking was universal, from dragon hoards to kindergarten thrones.
The rest of the day, Astraea felt the weight of watching eyes. Not just Chloe's, but other children's. Ben, who usually shared his crayons with everyone, "forgot" to offer them to her. Mia, sweet Mia, kept glancing between them with worried eyes.
During afternoon nap, as the children settled on their mats, Teacher Milly came to tuck Astraea in. "You've been such a good helper today, Raea," she whispered, smoothing her hair. "With all your growing, you're becoming such a big girl."
The kindness was genuine. And it was pouring gasoline on social flames Astraea hadn't intended to light.
[System Notification]
[Social Dynamics Analyzed]
[Situation: Peer jealousy detected]
[Primary Cause: Perceived favoritism from authority figure]
[Recommended Action: Distribute praise to peers. Share resources. Demonstrate humility.]
[Note: Friends are more important than being the teacher's favorite!]
For once, the System's advice wasn't entirely wrong. Just centuries too basic.
That evening, measuring her height (149.7 cm—another 1.4 cm gained, slower but steady), Astraea considered the problem. She needed to redirect attention. To become less interesting, not more.
But her body kept changing. Her glow during sparkle activities was naturally more controlled, more precise, because she was a dragon directing miniature stellar phenomena, not a child playing with magical matches. Her growth was visible. Her presence, however muted, affected the world around her—Mia's plants, the subtle mana flows in the room.
Hiding was becoming a full-time performance with an increasingly difficult script.
She looked at her reflection—taller now, features sharpening from round child toward something more defined. Still small. Still seemingly human. But the cracks were showing to those who looked closely enough.
And Chloe was looking.
The medical tests had seen nothing. The children, with their uncomplicated eyes, were starting to see something. Not the truth—but the shadow it cast.