When Dr. Zoë Kret arrived at the holo-chamber aboard Utopis, a place she had only visited once as a child, she found Celectra already there. The metallic tang of recycled air on Utopis, a sharp contrast to the arid breeze she remembered from Ares, hung heavy in the sterile space. Celectra was barefoot and pacing the corridor.

Celectra skipped toward her, her feet making soft, rhythmic slaps against the snow-white metal. Zoë dropped to her knees and gave her a warm hug. Celectra’s bare feet were a stark contrast to the sterile environment. “No shoes?” Zoë asked, her brow arched.

“Hardly anyone ever wears them up here,” Celectra giggled. “There’s no need—no dirt, no bad germs.”

Still kneeling, Zoë studied Celectra’s face, searching for signs of lasting trauma. It had only been three days, but the child seemed resilient, though Zoë knew apparent recovery could mask deeper wounds. Her father had taught her that lesson years ago—ironically, before he’d become the very thing she now feared.

“I should have protected you better,” Zoë said quietly. “I knew my father could be… intense about his research. I should have anticipated…”

“You couldn’t have known,” Celectra interrupted with surprising maturity. “Adults don’t always tell each other everything.”

The simple truth of it hit Zoë harder than she’d expected. How many times had she made excuses for her father’s methods, convinced herself his intentions justified his approach? Seeing Celectra’s fear yesterday had shattered something inside her—the last remnants of the little girl who’d once looked up to Dr. Kret as a hero.

Zoë replied, “I know. But I’m here now. We’ll get through this together.”

“Dr. Zoë, why can’t people—like the other kids—see I’m like Niamh and Ciara? They look like two stars, but really it’s the barycenter that’s in charge. That’s me—the in-between part. Not two stars, just one dance.”

“It’s wonderful that you know about barycenters. Most people only see two stars unless they’ve studied binary systems. How did you learn that our stars orbit a barycenter?”

“Utara taught me in science class.”

“Right. And have you tried explaining that about yourself to the other children?” Zoë asked.

Celectra’s shoulders slumped, and both her heads dipped low. “Well, no. I’m not sure I’m ready to tell them.”

Zoë smiled gently. “And that’s okay. But you can’t expect them to see something invisible.”

“Do you think I should tell them—all of them? I’m scared I won’t say it right, so they understand. Or, they’ll think I’m weird.”

“Only when you’re ready,” Zoë replied softly. “But you’ve explained yourself beautifully to your daddy, Dr. Cruiz, and to me. Remember how long it took him to fully understand, even with all your demonstrations? It’s a big concept, but you’ll find the right words and ‘show and tell’ them when the time is right.”

Celectra fidgeted, fingers knotting together, then slowly drew a deep breath. Her shoulders lifted, both chins rising in unison. “I really want everyone to know who I am. Someday… I will.”

Her two bodies straightened as if pulled upright by the same thread. With a small nod toward the holo-chamber door, she said more firmly, “But first—let’s do this.”

After instructing Utara to load the program, they stepped into the holo-chamber. Zoë slipped out of her one-piece jumpsuit, revealing a leather tunic and moccasins. Celectra, in turn, ordered holographic leafy dresses to cover her, then slipped out of her physical ones, then added iridescent wings to one body and furry legs with hooves to the other.

“I’m ready!” Celectra announced.

“Me too,” Zoë replied.

The countryside materialized around them with startling realism. Zoë felt the programmed warmth of sunlight on her face and caught the sweet, earthy scent of wildflowers that didn’t exist. The holographic grass bent convincingly under a breeze that touched nothing, and the chirping of unseen crickets filled the air. She could almost feel the humid air on her skin, a sharp contrast to the sterile, recycled atmosphere of Utopis.

Celectra’s her gaze—four eyes, one focus—locked on a flicker in the grass—a focus Zoë knew she could never match. She giggled, dropping to her knees to cup the holographic cricket between her palms. As her hands parted, the illusion sliced away, leaving twin voids of unlit gray on the chamber floor. The cricket pulsed faintly in the empty space, its edges shearing sharp against her skin.

For a moment, Zoë envied Celectra’s easy adaptation to this artificial world. The child moved through it as if it were completely real, her imagination effortlessly filling in the gaps. Zoë, however, remained acutely aware of the hard metal floor beneath her feet and the chamber walls just beyond the projected horizon. She felt like an intruder, a spectator in a world she couldn’t fully inhabit.

Maybe that’s exactly what she needs, Zoë thought. A place where the rules are different, where she can be powerful instead of vulnerable.

Celectra was the first to speak, her voice taking on the persona of Aquella.

Aquella: “We’ve been walking for two days. How are we ever going to find the Great Grand Stallion? He could be in any direction.”

Lolita: “I’m not sure. But they say the Stallion leaves signs for those he trusts. Hoofprints that never fade, even in rain.”

Aquella: “If we could just get to higher ground, maybe we could… Look! Over there!”

Zoë’s voice described what appeared next. “A shimmer in the air wavers over a patch of grass just ahead. As you approach, the shape of a hoofprint appears, pressed deep into the earth yet untouched by time. The print itself seems to shimmer, leaving a rainbow swirl of color in the grass.”

Aquella: “It’s his. I’m certain. But… it looks strange. The colors are muted, like the life has been pulled out of them.”

Zoë tilted her head slightly in her real body, watching Celectra’s expression. The phrasing was almost identical to how she had described the dragons’ fate before, a chilling echo in Celectra’s two faces—a flicker of the terror she’d felt in that lab.

Kylyn: “That’s the humans’ doing. They want the Stallion, but they’ll drain his mind like they did the dragons. He won’t even remember who he is.”

Aquella: “Then we have to find him first. Before they… take him apart inside.”

Lolita: “What will you do?” Zoë prompted from within the game.

Aquella: “I’ll follow this trail until my wings fall off if I have to. The Stallion’s not just a leader—he keeps the peace between all the creatures of these lands. If he’s gone, everything will fall apart.”

Zoë filed away the words as they moved on, wondering if Celectra realized just how much she was revealing about herself in these invented worlds.

Zoë’s voice continued the story. “They follow the glowing hoofprints across the rolling hills until the grass gives way to a swaying sea of golden reeds. The sound of the wind through them is like a thousand whispering voices.”

Lolita: “I don’t like this. Reeds this tall hide too many things.”

Aquella: “I’ll fly above. You and Kylyn follow below.”

Celectra’s eyes tracked the holographic sky. “From up here… I can see the hoofprints continue through the reeds and into a small clearing. But—wait—something’s moving ahead of us.”

Kylyn: “Something big.”

Zoë’s voice presented the next challenge. “The reeds shudder, and a hulking shape emerges—a boar the size of a cart, with tusks like curved scythes. Its eyes glow faintly, and its hooves make no sound on the earth.”

Lolita: “Is it real?”

Aquella: “Not exactly. It’s a shade-beast—a creature born from fear. They can smell doubt.”

Utara, listening in for prompts, provided the holographic beast.

Lolita: “And how do we defeat it?”

Celectra chewed her lip, her two faces drawn in concentration. She wasn’t just acting; she was thinking, truly considering the problem. Her hesitation was brief, but it spoke volumes of the real-world weight she was placing on this fantasy dilemma. “You can’t fight fear directly… You have to show it you’re not afraid.” She narrated the action as Aquella landed and walked directly toward the beast.

As Celectra walked toward the beast, her bare feet pressed flat against the chamber floor—instinctively grounding herself, the faint static beneath her skin settling as celectricity stabilized.

Zoë’s voice described the beast’s reaction. “The boar lowers its head, steam curling from its nostrils.”

Aquella: “We’re not your enemy. We’re on our way to the Great Grand Stallion, and we won’t harm you or your home.”

Celectra narrated the beast’s retreat. “The beast huffed, stomping once… then turned, melting back into the reeds without a sound.”

Lolita: “Remind me never to travel without you again!”

Aquella: “It wasn’t so bad. It just needed to be seen.”

Kylyn: “The trail’s clear now. Let’s go.”

As they walked through the holographic reeds, Zoë marveled at how naturally Celectra had chosen confrontation over avoidance. Most trauma victims, especially children, developed elaborate strategies to escape reminders of their pain. But Celectra had looked fear directly in the eye and spoken to it with compassion.

Is this resilience, Zoë wondered, or is she still processing what happened? The line between healthy coping and delayed reaction could be frighteningly thin, especially in someone so young. A child’s mind was a complex thing, capable of building walls just as quickly as it could build bridges. This boldness could be a sign of a breakthrough or a terrifying indicator that she was locking away her pain behind a facade of strength.

She made a mental note to discuss this pattern with Dr. Cruiz. Celectra’s approach to fear—both in the fantasy and in reality—suggested an unusual level of self-awareness. Whether that was a strength or a warning sign remained to be seen.

As they continued, Zoë seized the moment to delve deeper. “Celectra, how did you feel when you faced the shade-beast? Did it remind you of anything?”

Celectra paused, the question lingering. “It felt scary at first, like when Dr. Kret wanted to take me apart. I could almost hear his voice in the boar’s huffing.”

“And what changed? Why weren’t you afraid anymore?” asked Zoë.

“I just remembered that I’m strong. I’m not two people, and I can face scary things. I could just… talk to it, and it would go away.”

Zoë felt a spark of hope. “That’s a powerful realization. Facing fear is a big step forward. You’re showing me that you have the tools to handle things now.”

A soft chime rang overhead, and the golden reeds dissolved into bare white walls.

“Session time expired,” Utara’s voice announced.

Celectra turned to Zoë with a grin that still held a trace of the boar’s tension. “Next time, we’ll get even closer. I think the Stallion might be in trouble already.”

Zoë nodded, her mind racing. The “shade-beast” was a perfect manifestation of avoidance—Celectra hadn’t fought it but faced it head-on until it vanished. An unusual choice for a child… and possibly a revealing one.

“Celectra,” she said carefully as they gathered their discarded clothing, “when you faced that beast, you said you remembered you were strong. That’s not something most people your age would think to do.”

Celectra paused, arms halfway into her dresses. “Well, I had to get strong. If I wasn’t strong for myself, who would have been?”

The words struck Zoë like a physical blow. Of course. Celectra didn’t always have the same freedoms other seven-year-olds did. Where they could lean on parents, teachers, or friends, she had spent years holding up a truth only she could see.

“You shouldn’t have to carry that alone,” Zoë said softly.

Celectra tilted her heads, puzzled. “But I’m not alone. Not anymore. Daddy believes me now. Uncle Doc and Aunt Dee do too. And you. For a long time, it was just me who understood… but now I have people who do. Maybe more after Jaxon’s party next week.” Her small hands moved to her holopad, fingers tracing the edge of a holo-invite blinking with Jaxon’s name, her touch deliberate, as if sealing a decision.

Zoë’s breath caught at the cryptic remark. “Jaxon’s party?” she asked gently, leaning closer, her voice soft but probing. “What’s going to change there, sweetheart? What do you have planned?”

Celectra’s eyes—both sets—flickered with a mix of mischief and resolve, but she only smiled, one mouth quirking higher than the other. “Just… something,” she said, her fingers pausing on the holopad as if guarding a secret.

Zoë watched the gesture, a knot of unease tightening in her chest. That careful pause wasn’t just childish whimsy—it was purpose, a quiet resolve Zoë recognized from patients plotting their next move. Beyond the viewport, a faint shimmer of stellar dust swirled past Utopis, tinged with Niamh’s auroral glow, a restless beauty that mirrored the spark in Celectra’s gaze. The simple declaration squeezed Zoë’s chest—relief for Celectra mixed with a stab of guilt. How long had this child borne her burden in silence before anyone truly saw her?

As they left the holo-chamber together, Zoë found herself wondering which of them was learning more from these sessions. Celectra was teaching her about resilience—but also about loneliness, the kind that came not from being isolated, but from being so fundamentally different that even in a crowd, you remained utterly alone. I won’t let my father add to that loneliness, Zoë promised herself. Whatever it takes.