My vision is still fuzzy, my voice irreversibly changed as we approach the galaxy that they have affectionately named Siluastryx’s Folly. It has been long enough that even I can have a light heart, though the truth of it is, it does hurt my feelings sometimes when I’m sensitive. I still have aches and pains from my injuries, still wake dreaming of being suffocated by magma, still have a hitch in my wing when I fly, but I am healed. For the most part.

  The closer we get, the more Xy and my mother and Psy Dwok keep asking how I’m doing. They know I’m fragile. I know it too, though I hate the very thought of it. They learn to not ask directly after a time, but they still poke and prod all around the subject.

  School is what keeps me going. Drake Rov’s lessons since I returned to the classroom have been inspired. I think he likes working with the older hatchlings. Now that we’ve seen twenty sweeps or thereabouts, we’re considered juveniles. Drakeras Sporf and Jel have taken on the younger classes. It’s our custom that the drakeras are allowed to conceive every fifteen sweeps or so—to keep the population from growing too quickly—and it all happens in a two-sweep span. So the hatchlings in my class are between nineteen and twenty-one sweeps and the younger ones are between three and five. The class above my age recently graduated and began living their lives, though that class only had six hatchlings due to some issue I was never privy to.

  The four drakes got it in their heads that they would start their own colony. They left less than half a sweep ago. It was a somber time for their mothers, who held funerals for their sons. Whether or not they died, they would never be allowed reentry into the colony after rebuking our ways so publicly and so loudly. One of their drakera classmates said she would join them but chose not to, in the end. She now works with her aunt at the market. The other took on a position with Psy Dwok, so I get to spend a good deal of time with her, seeing as how I’ve probably spent half of the last sweep in Psy Dwok’s transtemporal.

  Ola is an awe-inspiring drakera and I try my hardest to be like her, though I’ll never be as debonair. She colors her scales white and red in mesmerizing patterns and she has the voice of a smooth gust of wind. She comes at me with all the coolest ideas and so many new words—words I wish I’d have invented. Spending most of her time in Psy Dwok’s learning to play some of the stringed instruments, she always takes a little while away to catch me up with a story about her old classmates or her time with Drakera Hyver. Apparently, Drake Rov returned too late to be a teacher for her, though I remember him being in the colony when I was very young.

  “That’s my favorite,” I say, dancing in my little corner of Psy Dwok’s transtemporal while Ola plays.

  “I know,” she says, repeating the bridge on the strings. “Why do you think I play it so much?”

  I’m flattered. I like the way she looks at me over her instrument, slitted eyes open just wide enough to see me, to watch me. I don’t know what I’ve done to merit such attention, but you’ll never, ever hear me complain.

  After she finishes the song Ola says, “Are you worried about returning?”

  She knows about Siluastryx’s Folly and my injuries. Everyone knows. It’s hard to avoid the attention of such a public failure in a small community. I don’t say anything, but I nod.

  “You know, when I was a few sweeps older than you, I made my own mistakes. Mine were in pursuit of something far more selfish than what you’re doing. Granted, the whole colony didn’t learn about me, so I can’t help you there. But you have to know that these things disappear over time. You made a mistake, but only because you cared so passionately about something other than yourself. In my view, that’s something to be proud of. Most of us only ever make mistakes about personal things. We’re not brave enough to care about something other than ourselves nearly as much. I think it’s really cool what you did. Whether or not it succeeds.”

  “Thanks,” I say, my lips peeling away from my teeth in an inevitable smile.

  “I mean it. I’m glad we’ve gotten the chance to spend so much time together lately.”

  “Me too.”

  She goes back to playing her instrument. Practicing my favorite song. She’s already flawless, but I think she likes making me feel good. And I can’t say I much mind.

  When I wake, it’s to the sound of my mother’s grating voice: “Siluastryx, you’re going to be late.”

  I know, mother.

  I roll out of my bed. My flank hurts today. I usually wake up with pain somewhere, but my flank, just under my injured wing, is the most likely culprit. I try to stretch it away with no success. My mother is talking with someone in the other room. I gather myself, and my things, and exit my room. Xy is there at the table, eating iron biscuits filled with ebony chips. Another of mother’s recipes she’s working on ever since we visited that forest world in the last galaxy.

  “Ready?” my mother asks.

  I snatch a few of the biscuits and toss them into my bag. “I’ll eat on the way.”

  “Alright, be good today. And you, too, Xyluexial.”

  “Always,” he replies.

  My mother kisses us both atop our skulls and tightens the straps on my bag as she sees us out the door. Just after I take flight I pluck one of her biscuits from my satchel and toss it into my mouth. It’s quite tasty.

  “She’s gotten pretty good with that new recipe,” Xy says. “Honestly, everything she cooks is amazing. I wish my mom could cook like yours.”

  I’m not sure what to say. He’s right, she is the best cook in the colony and I get the pleasure of eating her food at every meal. So I just eat another biscuit, letting the warm iron sit on my tongue before biting in. The ebony chunks add a nice, sweet flavor to the hearty, thick taste of iron. It’s a bit hard for my liking when compared to the softer metals, but her trick is to leave it in a bit longer, to soften the edges of the biscuits. It only works if you eat it while it’s hot.

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  When we get to school, we’re greeted by Drake Rov, as usual. And we’re the last ones to arrive. As usual. Only once we’re settled and class starts do I realize that we will be presenting our projects again. Or, in my case, for the first time. I reach into my bag for another of mom’s biscuits, but they’re gone and I panic a bit. I’m not sure I’m ready to relive what happened the last time we arrived at this galaxy. It was a long time ago, certainly, but not when I’ve had to experience my trauma again nearly every night since.

  Drakera Hyver pulls me into her office and says, “Are you well, Siluastryx?”

  “I just…” I begin, but where do I go from here? She waits for me to parse my feelings, giving me ample time to consider. “I’m just not sure I’m ready yet.”

  “I see,” she says, ponderous. “Would it help if you just talked? No visuals. Just tell us about your project in theory and not about your trip to the planet.”

  “I… maybe?” It’s not causing an immediate reaction in me. “I love the project. In theory. I just…”

  “I understand. It’s something Drake Rov and I have discussed at length. We thought it might be difficult for you.”

  “But it shouldn’t be. Should it?”

  “You nearly died, Siluastryx. Mortality is not an easy thing to contemplate. Whether your own or that of someone you love. I have had my own brush with our lady death and it was… life-changing.”

  “What happened?” I wonder.

  “That is a tale I share with hatchlings when they finally grow into their scales. I’d like for you to be there when I share it with your class.”

  “I’d like that, too.”

  “So what would you like for me to do, as regards your project?”

  “I will present. But maybe put me at the end.”

  “As you will.”

  We return to the classroom in the middle of Jade’s presentation. She decided to create a forest world, transplanting seeds from an arctic planet onto a planet with a more temperate clime. Her hope is to study the long-term effects on growth and adaptability, and also to see if, over time, the creatures that develop on this world are the same as those that developed on the arctic world, or if it will take too long and they will ultimately die off. Or, her greatest worry, that they will fail to take root and grow at all.

  Most of the presentations are the same. Uprooting life from one world and sending it to another. Logistically, trees are easier than other living creatures. Those who transport marine life from one world to another spend more of their time presenting the difficulties of the transportation than others. Terrestrial life is easy to capture and easy to transport, but difficult to sustain, usually. And aerial life is difficult to capture but easy to transport.

  In many cases, historically, these experiments work in the short run, but the inhabitants of the new world tend to die off after a few sweeps. Some succeed, even in the long run, but the results are rarely interesting. That’s why I ultimately decided to do my project differently. Not that it matters.

  A few of my classmates tried some different tactics: shooting a load of seeds onto a planet from space, burying seeds with precious metals or rare stones or dead creatures, transporting only predators or only prey animals. And then, of course, Xy takes his turn to tell us all his story. It’s done in Drakera Hyver’s new style. It’s personal, about his fight with his father, even though the story itself is about some distant planet and some unknowable creature. His imagination is incredible, just like Drakera Hyver.

  When it’s my turn I hesitate. I try, once more, to remind myself that I was hurt but I recovered. There is nothing here to fear any longer. It isn’t fear, though, that runs through my mind. It is pain. A pain that I still feel. A pain that I relive every night. A pain that I’m not sure I will ever escape.

  “Siluastryx?” Drake Rov prods.

  I step to the front of the classroom and clear my throat. My voice comes out deeper and raspier than even my new norm. I sound almost like Drake Rov. “My project…” I begin. “My idea was to give life a chance to grow from the beginning.”

  Most of the students already know about my idea. It’s hard to keep secrets in such a small community. As I recovered, they asked questions. Sometimes those questions were answered. Other times not. But the others put the pieces together over the course of the past sweep.

  I go through the many steps in implementing my project, from concept to execution. Though no one speaks, I feel the judgment. Whether real or imagined it matters little. Why would I try to be fancy? Why wouldn’t I just do something like everyone else? The only person clever enough to get away with changing the rules in my class is Xy. We all know it.

  When I finish, Drake Rov approaches me with a crooked smile. He’s so massive I scoot out of his way even though he is coming to place a comforting claw on my shoulder. Like me, he’s not very good with nonverbal communication.

  “Good job, Siluastryx,” he says, though his mouth doesn’t move.

  After I return to my seat, to the class he says, “As you all know, the project was to create life. But the truth of it is, none of us is capable of creating new life. We all keep hoping for one of you students to achieve the impossible by keeping this a secret, by acting under the shadow of imperfect knowledge. Inevitably, a few students in every class do surprise us with their ideas. I’ll not say anything about who because I don’t want anyone to feel as though they didn’t meet or exceed our expectations. So congratulations to you all. Enjoy this accomplishment. This is the third of the many steps you will need to shorten your name.”

  I don’t know what the first two were, but I’m glad to hear it isn’t all for naught.

  “Now,” Drake Rov continues. “After we all get some rest, we will be taking an extended trip. We have already planned this with your families, so there are no issues. The nineteen of us will be flying around the galaxy in order to visit all of your planets, to see the experiments up close. Or, in Howlaxyan’s case, to the star he is attempting to build. Drakera Hyver has a list of things that you will need. Your mothers will have already packed your bags, but make sure you double-check everything. It’s your own responsibility to make sure you have what you need. We will be gone for some time, so make certain you say your goodbyes. Any questions?”

  There are a few questions, but I finally took a moment to breathe. I felt as though I’d been holding my breath ever since I stepped up to the front of the class. Xy runs his tail down my spine and I feel the tension flooding out of my scales.

  A trip to visit all of our ‘creations.’ I wonder briefly why they say we are to create life if they know we cannot. Is laying an egg, hatching it, not creating life? It isn’t creating new life, certainly. But even what I did isn’t creating new life. It’s simply transplanting the simplest form of life I can imagine. Is the purpose of this assignment, then, to humble us? To prove that, no matter how powerful we may be, there are some tasks that are beyond our capabilities?

  By the time I am drawn out of my own contemplations, Drake Rov has retired to his office and most of the others have gone. Xy and Drakera Hyver are having a conversation in the corner. Jade and Howl and a few others are milling about, throwing answers and questions back and forth to a popular word game Jade’s mother developed a few sweeps ago. I provide my own question, but they make it clear to me with their sneers that I wasn’t invited this time. So I mosey in the direction of the door, packing my bag as I walk.

  It’s a long, lonely flight home. My mother is waiting for me there, though, to ask how it went and to feed me and show me the bag she’s packed. A few of her friends are inside, drinking their fermented berry juice and gossiping. I tell her briefly and say that I’ll check the bag when I wake. I’m suddenly very tired and ready to sleep. Not even my nerves about our trip nor my mother and her friends laughing loudly in the next room can keep me awake. I don’t even visit Psy Dwok’s transtemporal. I feel old and broken as I drift off into a fitful, restless sleep.