'No Two Can Exist'

‘Divergence must remain singular. Multiple expressions within close proximity increase instability’

— First Doctrine of Divergent Regulation

Shuck Freezer stared at his hands and did not recognize them.

Light fractured across his fingers. Shadows sharpening his features into something wrong, something cold, something solid. The chill crept into his bones, as if winter were in residence. He drew a shaky breath, smelling the frost as he pressed his thumb into his palm, a learned behavior to help suppress his anger. The memory of his mother’s voice, steady and calm, danced at the edge of his panic. Mist feathered his exhale. His fingertips prickled and then dulled, swallowed by the cold that crawled up his arms. The tightness in his chest refused to ease.

The cold came fast.

A flash.

Merciless and bright. It receded, making the room still. His friend stood frozen before him, lips still forming Shuck’s name. Mouth hanging open, eyes wide, Shuck couldn't move, mirroring Fletcher in the ice. He could only stare. A dull ache in his stomach followed, twisting it into knots, as his breath came in short, sharp bursts. Eyes flickering from the frost still clinging to his fingertips to the stunned faces around him. Gasping for breath, Shuck looked at Fletcher’s startled expression. Pressure built behind his ribs. Cold and sharp. As if the chill had claimed him.

Shuck watched frost creep, delicate as lace, and wondered where such coldness came from and why it felt so familiar as he stood watching the other children gather around. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his heartbeat to slow, repeating the mantra his parents taught him. You must stay calm. Don’t let it take over. But the trembling in his limbs wasn’t anger this time.

It was fear.

It made him feel as if the rules had changed.

Shuck was the boy who hovered at the edges of the playground, watching the others dart past, his hands tucked deep in his pockets. When someone glanced his way, a timid smile crossed his lips before dropping his chin and slumping his shoulders, trying to appear smaller. He just wanted to blend into the background and go unnoticed. When the cold came, it came quickly. Sharp as ice and heavy like a glacier. He heard his mother’s voice echo in his mind, soft and steady. “Inhale. Hold. Exhale.” Her hand warm on his back as she guided him through each breath. Shuck tried, placing his hand to his chest, but the memory slipped away, scattered by the icy surge he couldn’t contain. This time, he was pushed too far.

Fletcher was just mean.

Shuck was playing by himself, spinning stories that whisked him to distant worlds. The plane in his hand became a spaceship, circling him on a secret mission to steal the ‘Hexic’ from Earth. It swooped and soared in a perfect arc. As he spun, Fletcher crept up behind him and shouted his name.

“SHUCK!!”

The plane launched out of his hand. Muscles taut, his arm a sling-shot, as his body squeezed with fear. The thrumming of his chest and pounding in his ears matched the darkness spreading in his jeans as the plane arced in slow motion towards Fletcher’s face. Coldness seized him as he twisted. Fueled by embarrassment and fright, racing through his outstretched arm like a mighty ice floe, it smashed into Fletcher before he could finish saying Shuck’s name.

A metallic tang hung in the air as the sound of cracking ice splintered from his hand, accompanied by a flash like lightning in a snowstorm. A shriek pierced the air as a child popped like a bubble and disappeared. Laughter oozed from another boy as he melted to the floor, bubbles rising to the surface in time with each giggle. As Shuck stood watching the cascading horror around him, he heard a trickling sound. Quiet at first, then growing louder, as the cube of ice containing Fletcher started to sweat. Rivulets of icy water gushed forth like a spring thaw in fast-forward. With a sharp, sudden gasp, a crack appeared, then shattered to life, racing up the cube that contained Fletcher. Fletcher's face started moving, as if awakening. Furrows etched his forehead, jaw tightening, lips becoming a thin line, as the ice exploded in every direction. Shards whistled, becoming missiles, as screams filled the air and the thunder of footfalls echoed through the room.

Fletcher's Keds crunched through the slush as a chunk fell from his shoulder. Knuckles white from anger and the cold, his fists clenched tighter, he approached Shuck and glared down on him. A sneer chiseled his face. Eyes hooded, nostrils flaring, the heat radiated from his skin as if it were a furnace, turning his skin crimson. Small, guttering flames burst to life, dancing in spirals up his form. Steam swirled as everything evaporated, making him look like a living torch. His shadow loomed, towering over Shuck as if he were a teenager. But here, in the pre-Academy classroom, none of the children were older than eight. Every child buzzed with restless energy and hidden power. Here, before the Academy, they learned to wrangle their gifts, the air humming with possibility, learning what it meant to be ‘Hexic.’

Shuck gazed up into Fletcher’s fury and felt the chill settle, as Fletcher flamed anger down on him. Shuck flexed his chilly fingers as if preparing to unleash the frost once more. Lips a tremor, eyes soft, he hoped it might drop Fletcher’s temperature, as anxious thoughts darted behind his calm exterior. A sigh escaped through the cloud of worry and fear. Fletcher’s fire could withstand the cold. If it had been anyone else, the ice might have bitten deeper. He hadn’t meant to hurt Fletcher, but if the heat came for him, Shuck could feel the frost stirring at his fingertips, ready to answer.

“Boys—”

The loud voice cut through the air like a shock wave. It was Mr. Boom, the teacher here at the school. The air sizzled, then whooshed as Fletcher’s flame extinguished. They both turned as Shuck released his fists. The air crackled, then fell silent. Mr. Boom crossed the room as Shuck moved his hands to the front, hiding his embarrassment and shame.

The echoes of the shattering ice and the murmurs lingered, leaving a stutter in Shuck's chest. Every sound scraped against his ears. The crunch of gravel under tires. The distant drone of the engine. Shuck pressed his forehead to the cool window, letting the steady thrum wash over him, each vibration soothing his trembling as he was driven home. As the images blurred past, thoughts of his punishment hung over him like a cold front. Not only from the school, but also from his father. He placed his hand to the window, feeling the cold radiate onto the glass, glazing it with soft ice. Beyond the frost, the world seemed distant, blurred, and unreal. A place where someone like him might never belong. He traced his finger in the coldness, slowly drawing a snowflake, creases crossing his brow as his thoughts returned to his dad. Blinking, he blew onto the glass. The warmth bloomed into a circle, melting it away, leaving a faint shimmer behind. Fracturing crystals where his finger had traced.

He took a shaky breath, his thumb returning to his palm.

Far away, another boy was watching his world go by, the same ache settling deep inside.

* * *

Far from the Elemental’s Preschool, another boy pressed his face to a car window, an eerie silence surrounding him.

Fenton Snow stared, unblinking, as the world rushed by, the air soft and unmoving. Just as lost in thought as Shuck Freezer, miles away.

“What are you thinking about, son?” his mother asked from the front seat. Her words landed softly but measured, each syllable crisp, as if she weighed them before letting them settle in the quiet car.

Fenton blinked.

“Nothing, Mom.” His eyes had the same icy depth as Shuck’s.

“Then why is it snowing in here?”

It sparkled on the headliner, pushing like Spaetzle through a colander, then fell softly like memories and emotions. Each flake, small and perfect, fell in a gentle cascade. Fenton was in the back, strapped in his booster seat, staring at the rushing world through the window, his Oxfords in constant motion. His eyes, pale and unreadable as glacier ice, flickered beneath brows drawn tight with worry. Angles etched his cheeks and chin, shadows pooling beneath his hair of night.

Thoughts darted like snow in a gale, quick and impossible to catch. The crisp scent of the air freshener, mingled with a faint touch of leather, created a heady mix that clung to him. It wrapped him. Tightening like a vice. Sights, sounds, and smells tangled together, pressing in on all sides. Pressure built behind Fenton’s eyes, a prickling heat that had nothing to do with anger, just the dizzy chaos of too many feelings at once. All jostling for space. He brushed at his clothing, as if dust or the world were constantly on its surface, hoping to smooth things into order.

He was precise, and he wanted everything that way.

His eyes fluttered as he shifted away from the window. He watched the flakes drift down, then laughed out loud, cupping his hand to catch a tiny, perfect flake. He changed his thoughts. He closed his eyes and started brushing his sleeve, the leather hissing as he exhaled deeply.

“Sorry, Mom,” he said, a voice crisp like the ping of ice cracking.

"Remember what we learned?" she asked, looking in the mirror, making a circle with her lips. "And, blow." The air rushed out. "Then breathe." He inhaled, mirroring her, and closed his eyes, the coldness leaving his fingers. He felt warmth return to his face.

It stopped snowing.

“What’s bothering you, Fen?” she asked, eyes in the mirror studying her son, the scarf in her hair dancing in the breeze like her thoughts.

Fenton saw her eyes soften. He liked the warm sparkle that lived there. The way she tucked him in, pushed his hair from his forehead, and read stories to calm him. She seemed to know when he needed a gentle touch. Even when words didn't come, her small gestures made the world feel safer. Fenton drew a breath, small shudders rocked his shoulders as his eyes met the glass with a piercing glare, a scowl splitting his forehead like fissures. He glanced down at his hands encased in his black gloves.

Soft.

Smooth.

Leather stretched tight across the knuckles, keeping sensations at bay.

“Sometimes, I’m afraid,” he said, his voice soft like mist over a cool pond. He felt the tingle at his fingertips, the tang of ice in the air, as his thoughts turned back to the cold. “Sometimes, I think I might be too hard to deal with. What if I freeze the world by accident?”

He glanced up, returning to the mirror. Eyes that fractured into pools, then slowly started to freeze. Delicate webs of frost laced through the tear, then fell like snow. As Fenton’s emotions shifted, the snow pushed through the headliner once more. Their size fluctuated with his breath. Larger when distressed. Shrinking as he calmed. The cascade was a barometer, tracking the slow, steady return to his inner peace.

“Oh, honey,” his mom said as she navigated into the nearest parking spot, jamming the car into park as quickly as she could. She leaped from the car. Her Mary Janes cried out as she hurried around and flung open his door. Kneeling, she wrapped Fenton in a fierce embrace, pressing his face to her chest. The snowfall thickened as his sobs shook them both. The flakes grew larger.

“Oh, baby-boy, what is it?” she asked, rubbing him as if he were freezing.

Through sobs, he lifted his face towards her, eyes dark, shadows deep. “Why don’t people like me? Am I bad?” he asked, adjusting a gloved finger, its seam tightening.

It struck her in the face with the force of a cold front. Her breath caught as she stared at her beautiful little man. So intelligent. Always thinking. Always moving. She knew he struggled with the world around him, but did that make him difficult? Angry sometimes. Hard perhaps. Cold, maybe. But difficult? A sharp ache bloomed in her chest, her breath caught as she pulled Fenton closer, wishing she could shield him from every hurt. Releasing him from the booster seat, she squeezed him closer, removing his Homberg and running her fingers through his hair.

He leaned into her. The snow began to fall outside. It was smaller and more gentle than earlier in the car.

They stayed there.

She dropped to the ground, cradling Fenton. Her beautiful son. Placing him on her lap, she embraced him until the sobs stopped.

She rocked.

They breathed.

His cheek pressed to her blouse, catching the faint scent of her lavender perfume and the warmth of home. She felt his breathing slow, his body relaxing against hers, as peace settled.

He lifted his head, eyes bright again like fresh ice, and watched it snow. Laughter pushed through, the sound like cubes clinking in a glass.

“Oops,” he said softly, then laughed again.

His mother glanced up and let out a soft giggle.

She lifted her eyes as shoppers emerged, their expressions filled with wonder. Faces alight with smiles as hands caught flakes in delight. She inhaled deeply, feeling the same awe. Not just at the magic in the air, but at being the mother of such an extraordinary child. Hugging him closer, she kissed the top of his head, then smoothed the obsidian blades. His hat nestled again, as he leaned into her warmth once more.

The flakes returned to a powder-like size.

As she held him, a single, perfect snowflake lingered on Fenton’s sleeve.

Somewhere far away, Shuck stared at a similar flake, the same cold ache in his chest.

Neither of them could have known how close their worlds were, or how soon they would collide.

In a world that demanded only one, how do you choose?

* * *