If there was one thing that set Quaxo apart from the other kittens (aside from…well, the magic), it would be the fact that he liked rules.
And not the arbitrary rules, such as no more food after dinner or only one pillow per kit at bedtime.
No.
Quaxo liked the rules that made the world work. The sun always rose in the east and set in the west. Water was wet and fire was hot. One plus one always equaled two.
It didn't matter how bad his day had been, because he knew that the sun will always rise again the next day. And this gave him some level of comfort, the constants. The strict adherence to the norm.
But life would not give him the easy route.
Because Quaxo was born with magic.
And magic had no rules.
Magic was finnicky. It was fickle. It never did what he wanted it to do. It followed no pattern, and it certainly didn't have any boundaries.
It...drove him mad.
Some days he would have a complete handle on his abilities and other days he would almost set himself on fire.
And it was just getting worse.
You see, he was changing as well. The humans called it p-u-b-e-r-t-y - he wasn't sure what cats called it, exactly - but for a kit that didn't like change, the process was horrendous to say the least. He was getting bigger and heavier and his limbs were just a bit too long and sometimes he would just get upset for no reason and...and...
He hated change.
It wasn't just him, either. All of the other kittens were acting strange as well. Pouncival couldn't keep talking about Bombalurina for some reason and Vicky got in trouble for k-i-s-s-i-n-g Plato behind the r-e-f-r-i-g-e-r-a-t-o-r. Jelly told him that this was the time when he might be looking at the queen kits a bit differently but Cettie and Electra and Vicky all looked the same to him. What was he supposed to be seeing exactly?
No, there had to be something wrong with him.
There were things about him that he couldn't quite explain to the other kits.
Quaxo couldn't explain to Pounce why his books needed to be in alphabetical order, they just had to be, okay?
He couldn't explain to Tumble why he didn't like it when other cats touched him - "no, Munkus and Tugger and Vicky and mother are allowed to but that's it" - and it didn't mean that he didn't like him but being touched by foreign paws made him uncomfortable.
He couldn't explain to Etcetera why loud noises bothered him so much, all he knew was that loudness made him anxious and when he was anxious then bad things would happen that he couldn't control. And he couldn't allow these bad things to happen because other cats would get hurt.
Quaxo didn't want to hurt his tribe mates, which was why Munkus said he should keep his powers a secret. But it was just so...hard. Especially now when he was having so little success in asserting any level of control over his abilities. It seemed like every step forward he took, he would be going two steps backward at the same time.
Today was no different. Munkus had set up private sessions with the mystic twins, Coricopat and Tantomile, to help him control his powers. Twice a week they would take him outside the junkyard and teach him...well, he wasn't sure.
How to be calm?
"Quaxo," Tantomile said softly, breaking him from his thoughts. "I would like you to keep trying."
Oh, right.
Today's lesson was simple, boiling a puddle of water.
Or, it was supposed to be simple, but Quaxo found that magic never really was. It had been almost an hour of standing and straining and thinking very warm thoughts, yet the water remained at a standstill.
"It's not working," he glowered.
Coricopat shot him a sympathetic smile.
"It isn't working because your mind is out of focus..."
"...you are troubled..."
"It is natural for kittens of your age..."
"...who are experiencing mood swings..."
"...to have difficulties..."
"I can't do it!" he cut in sharply.
The twins looked at each other briefly before turning back around, their icy blue gazes cutting through the small tux like a knife.
"If you do not believe you can do it, then you will never do it," Tantomile said simply.
Quaxo groaned, his exasperation reaching a breaking point.
"I can't measure belief. I can't weigh belief. I can't do anything with belief. I need a guideline or a specific spell, or a self-help book...I don't know!"
"Belief isn't tangible, child. It is something you feel..."
"But there is no logic in feeling!" Quaxo cried. "I can't control how I feel! I can't...I can't do..."
"Quaxo-"
"I give up!" he shouted angrily, clenching his paw.
Before he knew what was happening, Tantomile grabbed him as he heard the sound of what must have been a small explosion. Suddenly a stream of boiling water rained in-front of him, water that must have originated in the now-empty hole in the ground that the puddle once occupied.
"Cori are you okay?" he asked frantically, watching as the hot water pelted the brown tabby in the arm. He hissed in pain, wiping the liquid off with his paw.
"He'll live," Tantomile murmured, still clutching the tuxedo tom tightly.
"This is why," Cori grimaced, "you must learn to control your powers."
"I know, but..."
"What if you were around the other kittens when this happened, Quaxo? Your powers are directly connected to your emotional state."
He could feel the tears bubbling in his eyes.
"I know it is difficult," Tantomile interrupted gently. "Considering..."
"It's because there is something wrong with me, isn't there?" Quaxo said bitterly, wiping away a tear rolling down his cheek. "I'm different from them. I don't think the same way they do. I'm not...like them. Munkus won't say it. Mother won't say it. But I know."
Tantomile shot another brief glance at her twin, who was still rubbing his arm.
"Did I develop wrong?" Quaxo continued. "Is there something wrong with my brain? Is it because I was born too small?"
Is it because I'm a r-u-n-t?
He could feel the meltdown coming. He could feel the sparks underneath his fur, traveling up his spine. He could feel the uncomfortable warmth that was spreading from his chest. He clawed behind his ears.
"Deep breathes, little one," Munkus would tell him. "Don't focus on anything but yourself."
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control his breathing.
In and out. In and out. In and out.
"You aren't..."
Please don't explode. Please don't set things on fire. Please don't make lightning.
"There's nothing…"
In and out. In and out. In and out.
Taking another deep breath, he opened back up his eyes.
"Quaxo, it's not …"
"Please don't lie to me," he cut in, eyes locked on the mystic twins. "I know what I am. And someday someone is going to get hurt because of me."
In and out. In and out. In and out.
He wrenched his arm out of Tantomile's grasp.
"I'm going back to the junkyard," he mumbled, quickly turning around.
He didn't look back.
#
Quaxo always had the weirdest dreams. It seemed as though every night he was seeing fangs and ice and darkness and death.
Were they memories?
He remembered so little of the before-time, and what he did remember was becoming less and less clear to him every day. Old mother just seemed like a white blur now. And...and he swore there was someone else out there with him. Someone else in the cold. But again, his memories were fading.
There was, however, one thing that always stuck with him.
The eyes. Those red eyes that almost seemed as though they were floating in the dark.
He wasn't scared of them anymore, not really. He was...curious. He wanted to know where he came from. He wanted to know more about old-mother. Did she give him a name? Did he have any siblings? How did he get his magic?
But these were things that Quaxo would never get answers to. And the older he got, the worse his thirst for knowledge became.
He woke up with a start, still feeling very warm. It was late, he knew, and all of the other kittens were asleep.
But he couldn't go back to sleep. His mind was still reeling, his eyes...he could still see those red eyes. Who did they belong to?
The warmth continued to spread, and Quaxo suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He had luckily avoided any serious magical mishaps when he had left his training session today, but he still felt anxious, and he wasn't sure why. But it was this anxiety that was keeping him up. He tried to ignore it by organizing his books once again, filing through the d-i-c-t-i-o-n-a-r-y, counting the digits of pi, nothing was working.
He...he wanted to cry. He didn't quite understand what exactly was happening to him. Maybe it was the h-o-r-m-o-n-e-s messing with him, or maybe this would be what it was like for the rest of his life. The feeling that he was standing on an edge of a precipice, and one wrong step would spell doom for those around him.
Munkus wasn't making it any better of late. He always seemed on edge as well, making him and the other kittens help out with fortifying the junkyard. Were they in danger? It was almost impossible to leave now without someone noticing, and for someone like Quaxo, it was suffocating.
Everlasting, it's getting hot in here.
Was he sweating?
His eyes darted around to all of the sleeping kittens, and he could feel his stomach being tied up in knots. He didn't know what set it off this time, but he knew he needed to leave. He needed to leave now.
He could feel the sparks again, like little ants underneath his fur. Something bad was going to happen if he didn't calm down, and no amount of controlled breathing was going to help. He considered going to Munkus, but that would mean sneaking out and the nursery was guarded much more heavily now than it used to be.
Maybe...maybe he could t-e-l-e-p-o-r-t?
Quaxo knew that was a bad idea.
So, so many things could go wrong. He could end up ten meters in the air or halfway through the nursery wall. He could end up right in front of whoever was on night watch and give himself away. He could internally combust or...
He nearly gasped as he felt another spark traveling up his arm. He slammed his paw on the ground before it had time to escape, burning himself in the process.
Everything inside of him was wrong. He could feel the power building, power that simply wouldn't be contained. It was going to come out eventually, and when it did, he shouldn't be here.
T-e-l-e-p-o-r-t-a-t-i-o-n it was.
Closing his eyes, the adolescent tux tried to find his center. As a whole, this trick wasn't hard, just moving something from one place to another. But Quaxo wasn't something. He was living. And with how his spells were going lately, he might end up t-e-l-e-p-o-r-t-i-n-g his head one place and his body another.
Focus.
He shook his head, trying to envision the park that was close to the junkyard. It was dark now, and it should be closed. That meant no humans could see him.
...hopefully.
He could see the nets and the swings and the grassy fields. He could see the l-a-m-p-p-o-s-t-s and the slides and the benches. He could see the trees surrounding the perimeter. He could do this. He could do this. He could...
He flicked his wrists forward and felt the familiar rush of air in his ears. He must have been flying for a second, or, at least it felt like it. Like his body was being pulled in all different directions as he was being t-r-a-n-s-p-o-r-t-e-d across space. The moment ended quickly, however, when his face made contact with a patch of dirt on the ground.
"Ow."
He rose up, rubbing his cheek with his non burned paw.
He...he did it!
He could see the park between the tree line, swings and slides and all.
He wanted to rush back to the junkyard now, to tell Demeter, to tell mother, to tell Munkus - "see...I told you I could"...but felt another jolt run through his body.
Oh, right.
He was here for a reason.
Quaxo turned quickly, running deeper into the small area of trees, and focused his energy in his paws. This has happened before, the sparks, the energy buildup, and the twins were still in the process of teaching him how to release this energy safely. He would need to practice magic regularly to prevent this from happening again, but given his current situation, it wasn't possible.
He pointed his paws at a tree, a sturdy one it looked like, and he could feel it. The sparks, the power, it was building inside him, yearning to be released.
In and out. In and out. In and out.
He wasn't going to start a fire this time. One lightning bolt. That's all it was going to be. Just one.
Focus.
The pressure was growing exponentially in his paws, larger and larger until a bright flash of light nearly blinded him. The lightening was...was it blue?
How strange.
Large and static and blue, he forced the energy from his body onto the tree in front of him, and he could only watch as the tree was split open from the truck and crashed to the ground.
Quaxo almost collapsed, feeling entirely drained. His fur sparkled briefly, even as exhaustion seeped through him.
He succeeded. The poor tree didn't survive, but there were no casualties, no injuries, and no one was there to witness it.
Quaxo tried standing back up again, wincing at his now aching muscles. He needed to go back now, he knew. It was nighttime, but the sound was loud, perhaps loud enough for whomever was on the overnight watch to hear it.
He closed his eyes once more, focusing back on the nursery. It should be simple, really. If he could make it out here, then he could certainly make it back. There was no place in the world that Quaxo knew better than the Junkyard.
Flicking his wrists forward he once again experienced a floating sensation, the rushing of wind, the stretching of his bones and then….then….
Pain?
It felt as though he had slammed headfirst into a brick wall and was flung backwards.
He gasped, opening up his eyes.
No, he was not in camp. What happened? Was something blocking him from getting back? Where was he?
There were no more trees. No more swings and nets and benches. He wasn't in the park anymore.
Quaxo tried to remain calm. It was fine. He was fine. He would just try to t-e-l-e-p-o-r-t again, right?
He closed his eyes and felt…..nothing. It dawned on him, perhaps much later than it should have, that he simply didn't have enough power left in him to perform any magic. He had one chance to get back and he missed it.
It was cold outside, he realized. Cold and dark.
And he was lost.