I pushed open the front door quietly, hoping for another quiet evening. That hope was crushed the moment I stepped inside.
Mom's voice cut through the apartment like a whip. Another argument, another shouting match. A man I didn't know, or maybe I did but didn't want to, was pacing the living room, gesturing wildly.
I froze in the doorway. My chest tightened. The familiar mix of fear, anger, and frustration rushed in. My hands itched—not to repair something this time, but to do… something. Anything.
"Observe first," Notice whispered. "Your skills are tools. Your judgment will guide them. Choose carefully."
I took a deep breath and scanned the room. Nothing to weld, nothing to play… just people, emotions, chaos. My stomach turned. I had never been able to calm things down. I had always run, hid, or… broken.
Then I remembered the lessons. Small victories, hidden doubts, judgment, reflection. My skills weren't just for objects—they were for me. For control. For focus.
I stepped forward. "Hey," I said quietly but firmly. "Can we calm down for a second?"
Mom froze. The man blinked at me. Silence stretched. My heart raced. This was it—the test Notice had warned me about, though I hadn't realized it. Control, judgment, courage—all in one moment.
I focused. I imagined my words like threads weaving through the tension, pulling the anger back, steadying the room. I visualized the emotions, each one distinct, and slowly, carefully, I spoke, guiding them.
It worked. Not perfectly. Not completely. But the yelling slowed. Mom's shoulders relaxed slightly. The man stopped pacing. For a few moments, the room held its breath, then settled.
"Observation and judgment applied successfully," Notice said. "Your first personal test passed. Reflection will improve outcomes next time."
I exhaled slowly. My hands weren't shaking anymore. My heart still raced, but differently—lighter. I hadn't fixed everything. The chaos of my home would return. But I had acted. I had used my skills in a new way.
And for the first time, I felt like I was not just surviving my broken world. I was beginning to shape it—even if only a little.