“Splinter & Drift”

GET INTO THE RESISTANCE TO PEOPLE PUSHING THEIR WILL ON ME AND HOW THAT RELATED TO MY VIEW OF INFLUENCERS AND THE FIERY RESISTANCE

The Akashic Library pulsed softly with its eternal light, each glowing portal a window into the endless dance of lives and stories that wove the great tapestry of the Akasha. Peter Fae stood before one such portal, gazing into the swirling mists of memory. Calliope stood nearby, her quill poised above her parchment, ever the eager chronicler of his journey. She studied him closely, noting the faint tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze seemed to dive deeply into the portal, as if searching for something half-remembered yet still raw. The scene within was vivid—a younger version of himself moving through the world, his expression tense, his movements sharp and defensive, as though bracing against an invisible assault.

Calliope stood nearby, her quill poised above her parchment, ever the eager chronicler of his journey. She studied him closely, noting the faint tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze seemed to dive deeply into the portal, as if searching for something half-remembered yet still raw.

“What are you seeing?” she asked gently, tilting her head to follow his gaze.

Peter’s golden cloak rippled faintly as he exhaled. “I’m seeing what it was like,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with a weight that only memory could carry. “How the world felt like it was always pushing on me. People, their intentions, their emotions—it was like they were battering at me from every direction, all the time. I felt attacked, like I was constantly at war. And I didn’t even understand why.”

The portal shimmered, showing Peter as a boy, his face drawn with frustration as he turned away from a group of people, their voices indistinct but charged with an unspoken tension. His movements were abrupt, his shoulders hunched as though trying to shield himself from something unseen.

“It must have been exhausting,” she said, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, inviting him to speak. “To feel everything like that. The way the world seemed to press in on you from every direction.”

Peter nodded, his golden cloak rippling faintly as he turned to meet her gaze. “Exhausting doesn’t even begin to describe it,” he said. “It was like… living in a storm, where the wind was made of people’s thoughts and desires, constantly battering against me. I couldn’t make sense of it. Their intentions, their emotions, their attempts to bend the world—and me—into their shape. It was like being caught in an endless tide, with no anchor to hold me still.”

The portal shimmered, revealing scenes from his youth. A younger Peter moved through the world, his face tense, his eyes darting as though searching for unseen threats. The air around him seemed heavy, charged with unspoken vibrations.

Calliope tilted her head, her quill moving swiftly. “You’ve said before that it felt like war. But what exactly were you fighting against?”

Peter exhaled slowly, his expression both wistful and pained. “At the time, I didn’t even know. I only knew that the world was… assaultive. People’s very presence, their vibrations, felt like they were pushing into me, trying to rewrite me, trying to make me fit their version of reality. It wasn’t always intentional. Most of the time, it wasn’t. But that didn’t make it any less overwhelming. It was as if everyone I encountered was broadcasting their will, their desires, their unresolved traumas into the field around them. And I was just… absorbing it. I didn’t have a filter, no way to shield myself from the noise.”

The portal shifted, showing him as a boy, sitting alone in a room filled with books and comics. On the pages of an X-Men issue, the Danger Room came alive with holographic threats and challenges, a space designed to test the mutants’ abilities to their breaking points.

“I used to read about the X-Men,” Peter said, his voice carrying a note of bittersweet nostalgia. “They were mutants, outcasts, struggling to control their powers in a world that feared and misunderstood them. I identified with them so much. Especially the telepaths—the ones who couldn’t shut off the voices, the thoughts, the constant flow of input. That’s how I felt, like an ungrounded telepath. Perceiving everything, but unable to make sense of it. The world itself was my Danger Room, and I was failing every test.”

Calliope frowned slightly, her quill pausing as she looked at him. “Did you ever understand why it felt that way? Why the world was so… loud for you?”

Peter nodded, his gaze distant as he searched for the words. “Eventually. I came to see that it was just… life. People can’t help but emit vibrations. Their thoughts, their emotions, their very existence—it all radiates outward, like ripples in a pond. I was just sensitive to it. Too sensitive. And because I didn’t understand it, because I couldn’t filter it, I felt like I was at war. Like I had to defend myself against an invisible invasion.”

The portal shifted again, showing scenes of Peter as a young man, reacting sharply to those around him—sometimes with bursts of fiery intensity, sometimes with icy detachment.

“I tried everything to cope,” Peter continued, his voice tinged with regret. “I turned up the volume on my fire energies, pushed back as hard as I could. Sometimes I just ignored it, shut myself off, tried to be invulnerable. Like Superman, you know? I wanted to be untouchable, incapable of being bent or shaped by anyone. But the truth was, I wasn’t invulnerable. I was just overwhelmed, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Calliope’s quill resumed its dance across the parchment, her face thoughtful. “And over time? Did it change?”

Peter smiled faintly, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It did. Slowly. Painfully. I began to see that people’s vibrations weren’t something malicious, at least not most of the time. They were just… life expressing itself. People trying to survive, trying to make sense of their own worlds. Yes, some of them tried to manipulate me, to bend me to their will, but most of them didn’t even realize they were doing it. It’s just part of how humans interact. We influence each other, for better or worse. I had to learn to recognize that without losing myself in the process.”

The portal dimmed slightly, the scenes within fading back into the glow of the Library. Calliope looked up at Peter, her dark eyes filled with both wonder and sadness. “So it wasn’t really a war, was it? It just felt like one, because you didn’t understand what was happening.”

Peter nodded slowly, his gaze still lingering on the fading portal. “Exactly,” he said, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of the revelation. “At the time, it felt like a war. No, it was a war—a constant battle against what I saw as an invasion of my personal space, my very self. People weren’t just radiating their vibrations passively; they were actively trying to manipulate me, to shape my thoughts, my actions, my reality to fit their will. That kind of intent—it wasn’t just noise. It was like a spear aimed directly at me, and I had no shield.”

Calliope’s quill paused mid-word, her expression thoughtful but somber. “And you had to defend yourself,” she said softly.

“Yes,” Peter said, his tone sharpening as he looked down, his hands clenching slightly at his sides. “I felt like I was constantly under siege. Their intent to influence me, to bend me to their patterns, felt like an attack on my very being. And those patterns…” He paused, exhaling deeply, as though even speaking of it carried a burden. “They felt… wrong. Disturbed, selfish, disgusting. They weren’t clean, Calliope. They were warped by desires and traumas, by half-seen motivations. I couldn’t trust them. I didn’t want to trust them.”

He turned to face her fully, his golden cloak catching the soft light of the Library. “It made me question everything. The right use of power. The right use of influence. Because I could see it—how people’s will, their intentions, shaped the world. Influence wasn’t just a thing people did; it was how reality itself was created. Every word, every action, every thought—it carried a vibration that rippled out into the field, changing it. And when that influence came from a place of selfishness or confusion, it distorted the world.”

Calliope tilted her head, her quill hovering as she listened intently. “That must have made it hard to trust anyone.”

“It did,” Peter admitted, his voice quieter now. “But it wasn’t just people. It was systems. The structures of authority, the hierarchies, the institutions—they all felt like they were built on these same disturbed patterns. I couldn’t look at them without questioning their clarity, their coherence, their motivations. And because I didn’t trust the systems, I couldn’t trust anyone who operated within them. It felt like the entire world was designed to bend me, to make me submit to something I couldn’t believe in.”

The portal shifted, briefly flashing scenes of Peter’s younger self reacting with bursts of fiery defiance or cold detachment, his face set with determination as he resisted the currents around him.

“I couldn’t let them in,” Peter said, his voice firm but tinged with pain. “I couldn’t let them manipulate me, twist me into what they wanted me to be. So I fought back. I used what fire I could muster, pushed them away, turned up my volume until they couldn’t drown me out. Or I shut down completely, cut them off, ignored them. Anything to keep my sovereignty intact. But it wasn’t a solution. It was survival. And it came at a cost.”

Calliope’s quill stilled, her hand resting lightly on the parchment as she looked up at him. “And now?” she asked softly. “Do you still see it as a war?”

Peter was silent for a moment, his gaze distant, as though weighing her question against the years of struggle it had taken to reach this point. Finally, he spoke, his voice steadier now, carrying the weight of hard-won understanding. “I’ve come to see that most people aren’t trying to hurt you. They’re just… expressing what’s inside them. Their vibrations, their patterns, their wills—they’re part of life itself. But intent, Calliope—that’s different. When someone tries to manipulate you, to impose their will on yours, that’s an attack. And that hasn’t changed. What’s changed is how I respond to it. I don’t fight every ripple in the pond anymore. But when someone throws a stone, I see it for what it is.”

Calliope nodded slowly, her quill beginning to move again, capturing his words. “So it’s not about fighting the world,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “It’s about understanding it. And knowing when to stand your ground.”

Peter smiled faintly, though the shadows of the past still lingered in his eyes. “Exactly. It’s about sovereignty. About holding your center in the midst of all the noise, all the chaos. Recognizing what’s yours and what isn’t. And knowing when to let the vibrations pass, and when to push back.”

The portal dimmed as the memory faded, its light dissolving back into the infinite glow of the Library. Peter and Calliope turned away, their footsteps echoing softly in the vast, starlit halls.

“I’m still finding that balance,” Peter admitted, his voice quieter now. “But I’ve learned this much—sovereignty isn’t about shutting the world out. It’s about standing firm in the truth of who you are, even when the world tries to rewrite you.”

Calliope glanced at him, her dark eyes filled with quiet admiration. “And you’ve held onto that truth,” she said, her voice certain.

Peter nodded, a faint but genuine smile touching his lips. “I have. And I always will.”

Together, they continued deeper into the Library, the hum of the Akasha surrounding them—a constant reminder of the endless stories woven into the fabric of existence, and the strength it took to hold one’s own thread.