The itch started on Tuesday morning, two days after the 0.3cm milestone.
At first, Astraea thought it was psychosomatic—a phantom sensation born of anticipation. But by Wednesday's CYAP session, the itch had solidified into a persistent, maddening heat between her shoulder blades. Not on the skin. Deeper. In the muscle and bone where wings should be.
They were doing "Aquatic Luminescence" in the community center pool—a safety exercise about using powers near water. Teacher Milly, wearing a life vest over her rainbow polo, demonstrated how to make "sparkle-safe" lights that wouldn't electrocute anyone.
"Remember, friends! Water and electricity don't mix! But water and friendly light make beautiful rainbows!"
Astraea stood in the shallow end, the chlorine burning her nostrils. The water should have been cooling, but the heat between her shoulder blades only intensified. It felt like two hot coins pressed against her spine, radiating warmth through her back muscles.
Chloe splashed beside her, trying to make her rose glow reflect off the water's surface. "It keeps going out when it touches the water!"
"Surface tension disrupts the mana field," Astraea said automatically, then caught herself. "I mean… water is tricky."
Leo, floating on a noodle nearby, managed to keep his green finger glowing underwater. "Look! It makes the water green too!"
Astraea performed her usual minimalism—three silver sparkles that hovered just above the water's surface before winking out. But her mind was elsewhere, tracking the development in her back.
The wing buds weren't just theoretical anymore. She could feel them as distinct structures now—tiny nodules of specialized tissue differentiating from her scapulae. They itched with the furious energy of cells dividing after four centuries of dormancy.
Eight point two meters. The wingspan she'd had when the famine froze her. Not the hundred-plus meters she should have grown into, but a start. A beginning.
"Alright, Light-Bearers!" Milly called. "Time for the back float exercise! Everyone find a partner!"
Panic, cold and sudden, shot through Astraea. Back float. Her back in the water. Exposed.
Chloe immediately turned to her. "Partners?"
"Of course," Astraea said, forcing calm into her voice.
They moved to shallower water. "Okay," Milly instructed, "one person floats while the other supports their head! We're practicing trust and teamwork!"
Chloe went first, lying back in the water as Astraea supported her head. The girl's rose glow flickered nervously but stayed lit. "Your hands are really steady," Chloe murmured.
"I've had practice," Astraea said, which was true if one counted supporting celestial bodies in stable orbits.
Then it was her turn.
She lay back slowly, the water closing over her shoulders. The moment her back touched the surface, the wing buds screamed in protest. Not pain, but sensation—overwhelming, alien sensation. Water against developing wing tissue that had never known anything but void. The chlorine burned against the hyper-sensitive skin where feathers would emerge.
She had to get out. Now.
But she couldn't. Not without explanation.
"Just relax, Astraea," Chloe said, her small hands supporting Astraea's head. "I've got you."
Astraea closed her eyes. She focused on her breathing, on the ancient meditation techniques she'd learned when her species still flew between galaxies. She drew her awareness inward, building psychic insulation around the developing tissue. She forced the hypersensitivity down, layer by layer, until the burning became a dull ache.
"Good job!" Milly called. "Thirty seconds!"
Thirty seconds felt like thirty years. Every second, Astraea fought to maintain the insulation, to keep her body from reacting to the violation of chlorine against wing primordia. Her dragon instincts screamed at her to get out, to protect the vulnerable new growth.
Finally, Milly called time. Astraea sat up, the water sluicing off her back. The relief was immediate and profound.
"Are you okay?" Chloe asked, peering at her. "Your sparkles went all… shaky at the end."
Astraea looked down. She hadn't even noticed, but three of her silver sparkles had manifested erratically around her shoulders, flickering with her distress.
"Just… got water in my nose," she said, rubbing her face for effect.
That night in the bath, she examined her back in the foggy mirror. To human eyes, nothing. Just the smooth skin of a child's back. But to her dragon sight, she could see them—two faint, silver traceries just beneath the skin between her shoulder blades. They glowed with gentle bioluminescence, patterns like frozen lightning or the birth of constellations.
She touched the spot gently. The tissue beneath was denser, warmer. The wing buds.
She measured her height against the wall. 0.32 cm cumulative. The growth continued, steady as tide.
But the wing buds changed everything. They weren't just internal development anymore. Soon they'd be visible. She'd need to adjust her glamour, to create the illusion of unchanged skin over developing wings.
And swimming. She couldn't do that again. Not until the wings were fully formed and she could properly shield them. She'd need an excuse. A rash, perhaps. Chlorine allergy.
[System notification!]
[New quest available: 'Water worries!']
[Objective: Develop a convincing reason to avoid aquatic activities for the next two weeks!]
[Reward: 'Creative excuse maker' Title, +5 to Deception stat]
[Note: Sometimes our bodies need breaks! Listen to your inner glow!]
Astraea smiled faintly. The System, ever helpful in its misunderstanding.
She dressed for bed, the wing buds itching with gentle persistence. Not the maddening itch of earlier, but a familiar, almost comforting ache. The ache of growth. Of something long-awaited finally beginning.
Four hundred years ago, she'd felt this same itch. The first hint of her juvenile wings forming. Her father had noticed her scratching and rumbled with laughter that shook the void-dust around them. "The sky calls to you, little star. Soon you'll answer."
She hadn't answered. Not for four centuries.
But now, lying in bed, feeling the gentle thrum of cellular division in her back, she thought: Soon.
She closed her eyes, the itch a lullaby of long-delayed becoming.
Tomorrow: more kindergarten, more hiding. The day after: more growth, more itching. The great unfurling had begun in earnest, and she would need to be more careful than ever.