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Life is strange.

I mean that in a literal sense. Living with Powers definitely makes life strange.

No one really knows exactly when the first Powers showed up. I resist the urge to tap my pencil on my desk as the old codger of a history teacher drones on and on about the significance of Powers. And even he, with a PhD in his field, doesn't know exactly when the first Power appeared. It was sudden: every child with a birthday on specific day just...grew Powers. Blooming, we call it.

Of course, scientists all around the world leapt on the new abilities. Categories--the word arbitrary flits through my mind--were assigned to different types of Powers. "Can you tell us what these categories are?" one of the students in the classroom calls.

"That is for your Science of Powers teacher to explain," the old wolfhound replies, before continuing.

Without really intending to, I begin to zone out, mind wandering. Most of this "Powers this, Powers that" stuff was taught to us in high school, so anything that goes on in this class (or in the aforementioned Science of Powers class) has already been talked about, in depth and length. Government tracking, "special" Powers, different things we could be good at--it was all already overdone at this point.

One of the students beside me hisses. I start, thinking for a moment that I'd begun tapping my pencil. I hadn't. My confused glance earns me an urgent nod to the front of the room, where the old wolfhound was looking directly at me. "Mr. Roberts, was it? Are you sleeping in my class?"

"No, sir, simply bored," I reply, to snickers around the room. "This has all already been taught to us."

"Then can you tell me what date Powers first app--"

"March fifteenth, twenty fifty-six," I interrupt.

The professor blinks. "Correct." He stammers for a moment, then clears his throat and continues. "Anyway, I was going to ask you to use your Power."

"Why is it always me?" I sigh, then flap a hand-paw at him. "Don't answer that, I know why. 'Astra is one of the strongest Powers known to living beings, and you've nearly mastered it according to your reports'. I know." I pause, then add, "Don't even try asking me to come down. I won't."

The last expression I see on the old wolfhound's face before I close my eyes could be something akin to shock. It feels like the whole room leans in as I start to focus, gathering up my energy. After a long minute, with a pulse I know from experience is almost tangible to those in the room, I Project. And my soul stands up from my body.

This part is always disorienting at first. I have to gather my bearings and get used to the new sensations, or lack thereof, before I can do my neat trick: speaking. Though it's even more disorienting, and I have to try a few times before I can get the words out. "What would you like me to witness?" The question comes from my physical mouth, my physical body, where it's still sat at my desk.

"Tell me what's going on in the next room over," the professor demands.

"Nothing more challenging?" I retort. "Can do."

Generally speaking, my Spirit can't phase through walls or doors, as most believe it can. Projecting isn't that strong, it's just rare enough that it's not well understood. For a moment, I watch, soul grinning as the entire room waits expectantly for my body to begin talking. Then I casually stroll down the steps and stand at the door. Now I actually need to focus. Slowly, carefully, I flatten myself, shrinking my soul down further and further, until I'm paper-thin. The only downside to this is that I'm also now incredibly long. I lay down, taking up nearly half the room, before slowly, carefully weaseling myself underneath the door.

I don't immediately inflate myself back to form, either, though, instead moving across the floor with snakelike movement, making it easy to squeeze myself under the door when I reach the next room over. Only then do I resume a more humanoid shape with my Spirit, and--with, again, some concentration--begin reciting what the teacher is saying with my physical mouth, in the previous classroom. "...and it was on that day that President Thompson decided we would declare Powers a national treasure, and began safeguarding them," Professor Elkheart explains, then turns directly toward where my spirit stands. "And Jensen, this is the third time this week. Do you mind?"

Through my soul's lips, I say, "Apologies, Professor Elkheart. My History of Powers professor requested a demonstration, and this is where he instructed me to go. I'll take my leave." And with a bow and a flourish, I let my Spirit dissolve into nothing, returning my awareness to my physical body. "Good enough, Professor?" I say, to the old wolfhound whose name I never bothered to learn, though my eyes remain closed.

Before I can really react, I feel something cold and round press against the back of my head, followed by a soft click. "You'll be lucky to make it out of somewhere alive if you don't keep your physical perceptions registered as well," the old codger's voice says--from behind me. My lips twitch downward in a brief frown. Then, again, I pulse, but this time, instead of throwing my spirit out, I simply rapidly inflate it.

See, what most don't realize about us Astras is that our Spirits can interact with those of others, pulling them free of their body, snapping something, cutting it, so on and so forth. My ballooning Spirit knocks against that of the Professor, and as I feel what could only be a gun fall away from the back of my head, I smoothly stand up, turn, knock the metal object out of the Professor's grip, and physically push my palm against his chest, sending him toppling backwards and sprawling on the ground, unable to even catch himself. He spends a moment wheezing on the floor, recovering from having his Spirit forcibly Projected, and I take that moment to take in what was actually pressed against the back of my head.

It was a pipe.

In his other hand, he holds a pen. That's where the clicking noise came from. I stuff my paws into my pockets with a scowl, turning halfway away, looking at him with the singular eye on that side of my wedge-shaped head. "Remember who you're dealing with, prof. I won't be so gentle next time." Then I turn fully and stalk out of the classroom, lashing my tail.

Once out of the classroom, I take a deep breath, pausing briefly just outside of the door as it closes. The cool, crisp, fresh air helps calm me down, my tail's lashing slowing to a soft sway. Eventually, I wander out from the arched, open-ended hallway into the soft afternoon sunlight of a Colorado fall day.

The leaves on the trees planted heavily throughout the campus are already turning vibrant reds, oranges, and golds, splashing the entire area in almost painting-like beauty. It's been a slightly colder year than normal, so while it's earlier than normal to see the gorgeous landscape turning colors, the sight remains unchanged. I pause for another moment to take it in with a slight smile, relaxing slightly further from the earlier stand-off, before turning up the path towards my dorm.

That journey only lasts a brief five minutes, but it takes me through the Commons, an almost naturally forested area on campus. I didn't pay enough attention during the tour my freshman year to remember if it was left undisturbed during the building of the campus, or if it was replanted afterwards. Either way, it has resulted in the mosaic of gorgeous colors presented to the students now.

By the time I step in the doors to my dorm building, I'm almost shivering. I hadn't brought my sweatshirt with me earlier, and the wind had picked up partway through the day. Thankfully, someone turned the heat on, so the lobby is toasty warm. I wander around for a moment, looking for any familiar faces in any of the public rooms before sidling back up toward my personal space.

I was lucky this year, and managed to get a single suite to myself. I drop my bag by the door, kick off my shoes, and drop onto the couch with a groan. I have homework to do, and I'll need to get to that sooner rather than later, but I still need to unwind.

After a long moment, I sit up straighter, relax back down into the couch, and release my Spirit, this time without that pulse of energy. Astras don't actually need as much energy as I used in class to Project; in fact, that's considered bad practice, including by myself. Most of us still do it when in public, to signal to those around us that we're Projecting. Of course, that's a trade secret, one we'll never divulge of our own free will. I don't Project myself to the real world this time, though; I instead send my Spirit to another dimension entirely, one every Astra can access once they learn how to Project.

We call it the Plane, sometimes the Astral Plane, as a nod to the practice we get our title from. It takes the plane a few moments to fully realize around my Spirit, but when it does, I'm able to vaguely figure out where I am. See, the Plane isn't necessarily a separate place, separate from the 'normal' world. It's a mirror plane of the physical world, simply...spiritual, instead of physical.

Of course, given the minimal number of Astras in the world as a whole, it's not as though I can randomly find one at will. We've figured out several tricks since Powers became a thing to be able to gather, things like instant transportation and soul flight. I use the latter of the two, as it's what my master used, and it's the easiest for me to control. So I squeeze my way out of the cracked window in the living room, left that way specifically for this purpose, and toss myself into the air, travelling at ridiculous speeds over the Plane.

So far, the most agreed-upon meeting pole for Astras is New York. Given the global distribution of Astras, and where they all currently live, the Big Apple is one of the most central locations for all of us, and one of the easiest to get to, as it's a globally agreed-upon neutral zone. And given the fact that one's Spirit directly identifies them, it's difficult if not impossible to commit a crime, war-related or otherwise, without a trace.

It takes only a few minutes for me to travel the full distance from my campus in Colorado to New York and alight on one of the streets rich with activity. Various stands litter the street, only visible in the Astral Plane, for all sorts of things: food, baubles, trinkets, pottery, newspapers, anything that can exist, there's probably a stand for it somewhere in New York. I sidle up to one of the food stands, one of my favorite in the city. "Jensen, Jensen, how many times does that make this?" the stall's Spiritkeeper, Jormund, chides.

"Too many, sir Jormund, too many," I reply with a chuckle.

"I take it you'll be having the normal?" he asks, raising a bushy Horned Owl brow at me.

"As per usual," I agree, extending my fingers toward him.

"You can't keep doing this, you know," he adds, starting to cook up his special recipe. "Fifty essence is nothing to laugh about."

"Come now, Jormund," I tease back, "do I look any worse for the wear?"

He glances up, runs his eyes up and down along my lithe body, and nods once. "Yes." The smile just barely touching his beak belies the tease.

"Oh, please," I complain. Before he can say anything else, I channel some energy, ever so carefully, and from my fingertips floats what could almost be described as sparkles. Think of the emoji on most platforms and cell phones. As soon as fifty have drifted out from my digits, I cut the energy and condense those floating stars into a neat, compact orb that floats above the back of my paw.

Jormund, when he finishes my food, trades me the food for the orb of sparkles, talon reaching out and...put simply, absorbing it into his own Spirit. "Enjoy your meal," he wishes, raising his talon as I turn. "See you around."

"Oh, you will. On both," I reply, grinning and raising a paw myself, the one not holding my food. It's a kebab-like sticker meal, with meat and veggies I can't quite name on it. I idly stroll the streets after that, chewing gently on the food. While able to interact with the physical Realm in spirit form, an Aster's Spirit doesn't actually need to eat, relying on energy gained from the physical body. However, food eaten in the Plane will provide energy and sustenance to whoever chooses to eat it. Considering I have no real friends in the Physical Realm, I have no reason to remain there to eat meals.

I settle down after a while of wandering, picking a nice park and finding a bench to relax on and finish my meal, gazing around at the scenery and the intriguing mix of folks therein. They all come from different backgrounds, different nations, but that doesn't matter in the Plane. We can all understand each other perfectly clear. And no, again contrary to popular beliefs, Spirits are not some ethereal blue color, semi-transparent, what-have-you, and neither is anything in the Plane. Of course, since we're not directly bound by the laws of Physical Realm, and our Spirits don't have to be mirror images of ourselves, we can be, and can create such objects. Most choose to not be that, however. Given the fact that the Astral Plane vaguely resembles virtual reality, most take advantage of the high customizability to create their ideal version of themselves.

Me? I'm happy with what I am. I didn't see a need to change myself when I first Bloomed, and I still don't today.

"Jensen!"

Before I can finish that train of thought, I hear a familiar voice call out to me and shift in my seat to greet the newcomer. "Master Makoto," I greet respectfully. "Good to see you."

"And you, as well," he replies. "How has school been? I know you started recently."

My lips turn down at the question from the older rabbit. "My History of Powers teacher made me think he'd pulled a gun on me after asking me to demonstrate Projection," I reply sourly. "Laid him out, came here to unwind."

"You've been here a lot recently," Makoto notes.

"School adds a lot of stress," I return. "Besides, I don't have many friends in my personal life. No real reason to stay out there, generally speaking."

"Have you not met anyone from your classes?"

A smile touches my lips now--whatever is being used to translate languages always makes Japanese sound so formal. "I have, but most of them have other friends they prefer to spend time with."

"Are you sure they do? Or is it simply because you refuse to reach out to them?" Master Makoto presses.

Now I hesitate. A bit of both, I want to say, but I just shake my head. "We talk rather consistently. They're usually just with other friends, so I don't push it."

The orange-tinged arctic hare rubs his chin slowly. "Perhaps you should ask if you could hang out with both of them, one day," he suggests. "See how they react."

"I doubt they'd want me to crash their party," I retort.

"You may be surprised," Makoto replies, but he knows when to let the subject drop with me. "Is there anything else new with you?"

"Not particularly," I admit. "Same old frustration with the education system in the States. Same old angst. You know the drill."

"Indeed I do." The hare taps his chin again, then glances at me. "Perhaps you should visit Japan soon. I believe you'd like it here."

"Oh, yeah?" My head cocks. "Why's that?"

"It is a much more friendly place than you make your home out to be," he replies easily. "Education is better, as well, so perhaps you could partake in a study abroad program, as you call it."

I nod slowly. "Maybe I should, then. I'll consider it, and see what my college has to offer in that regard. Thanks."

Makoto smiles and pats my shoulder lightly. "Of course, my dear student. Now, I must get going, but I wanted to say hello, since I felt you join."

"Hope your business goes well, Master Makoto." I give him a slight smile and a lifted paw as he walks away.

It doesn't take me much longer to grow bored of my people-watching, and I haven't felt any of those signature tugs that indicates one of my close friends joining. So, with a slow, gentle exhale, I slowly withdraw my Spirit back into my physical form. It takes much longer than it did earlier, as I'm much further away, but eventually, my entire soul returns to my body, and I'm able to open my eyes and fully reawaken.

Food sits on the counter, where I left it before class, and while I know I probably should eat it, to prevent it from going bad, I already ate in the Plane. So I nab some cling wrap and seal it over the top of the bowl before sliding it into the small fridge. Then I think for a moment, before ducking into the bathroom and taking care of my hygiene needs. After that, I collapse into bed, staring up at my ceiling, mind whirling as I consider the events that passed today. It's certainly not the first time I've been told to beware of my physical body while Projecting, but it is the first time I've been directly physically threatened. Whether that threat was real or not is irrelevant; the intent was there.

Eventually, my brows knit, and I force myself off of that train of thought before my emotions boil out of control. Instead, I start taking deep, slow breaths, letting the motion calm me down, soothing my heart rate, and eventually, my mind calms enough for me to fall asleep. And for a short time at least, I think no longer.