Banished Divinity: Learning to be Human

The family hug lasted approximately four minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

This was not an estimate. I counted. Each second was a distinct experience—Dad's arm tightening around my shoulders, Mum's fingers tracing small circles on my back, the warmth of two bodies pressed against mine like they were trying to absorb whatever energy I was carrying and make it their own.

It was, I had to admit, not entirely unpleasant.

But when Dad's stomach began to growl—loud enough to echo off the kitchen walls—the moment broke. Mum pulled back first, her eyes suspiciously bright, her hands lingering on my arms like she wasn't quite ready to let go.

"Right," she said, her voice brisk in a way that told me she was pretending not to be emotional. "Sera. We need to talk about tomorrow."

I braced myself. More lectures about school? More reminders to "nod along and pretend"? More discussions about the scholarship that was apparently the only thing standing between me and existential ruin?

"We're taking you to see Doctor Kim again."

I blinked. "What?"

"Your head," Mum said, gesturing at my face with a hand that was definitely not trembling. "It's been bashed up. Again. The incident was less than a month ago, and now you show up looking like you went ten rounds with a punching bag. We need to make sure you're okay."

Dad nodded vigorously from behind her. "Brain injuries are no joke, Sera. You could have internal swelling. Bleeding. Your personality could change."

Mum turned to look at him. "Her personality already changed, Daniel."

"More than it already changed. It could change again. She could become—" He paused, considering. "—cheerful."

Mum stared at him.

"A cheerful Sera," she said slowly.

"A terrifying prospect," I agreed.

Dad opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. Then opened it again. "I was going to say 'outgoing,' actually."

"Sera being outgoing," Mum said. "She would talk to strangers. Voluntarily. She would make small talk."

"Okay, when you put it like that—"

"Small talk, Daniel. About the weather."

They both shuddered in unison.

I watched this exchange with the detached fascination of a naturalist observing a particularly strange species of birds. These people had just discovered their daughter had been physically assaulted, and they were making jokes about her becoming cheerful.

Humans were incomprehensible.

But there was something underneath the jokes. Something that flickered in Mum's eyes when she looked at my bruised face. Something that made Dad's hands clench at his sides when he thought I wasn't looking. They were worried. They were scared. And they were trying very hard not to show it.

I should have argued. I should have told them I didn't need a doctor, that I was a celestial being, that I had survived the fall from the heavens and a whirlwind and a demon bull with eyes like fire, and a few bruises from some mortal girls were nothing.

But then I thought about the hospital.

The waiting room. The fluorescent lights. The chairs that were too hard and the air that smelled like antiseptic and fear.

I would not have to go to class.

The thought bloomed in my chest like a flower opening to the sun. No economics. No sociology. No curves that refused to curve in ways that made sense. No Professor Kang looking at me with Doctor Kim's face, waiting for me to understand something I had never learned.

"Yes," I said quickly. Perhaps too quickly. "I agree. We should see Doctor Kim. Immediately. First thing tomorrow. No need to go to school at all. Definitely not. School is—" I waved a hand vaguely. "—unimportant. Compared to my celestial brain. Which is very important. And needs checking. Thoroughly. Perhaps all day. My celestial brain is very important."

Mum and Dad exchanged a look.

"She's excited about the hospital," Mum said.

"She hates the hospital," Dad said.

"She's excited about the hospital."

They both turned to look at me.

I arranged my face into an expression of appropriate concern for my own well-being. It was, I thought, quite convincing. The human Sera's face was not designed for subtlety, but I was doing my best.

"I am very concerned about my very good brain," I said. "It is the only brain I have. In this body. Which is mine. For now."

The look between Mum and Dad became more pointed.

"Well," Mum said slowly, "as long as you're concerned about your brain."

"Very concerned," I said.

"Concerned enough to miss school?"

"Absolutely devastated to miss school," I said. "Heartbroken. Crushed. But one must prioritize one's health."

Dad made a sound that might have been a cough or might have been a laugh. "Right. Health. Very important."

"So, we'll go tomorrow?" I asked. "Early? Before classes start? So, I don't miss anything important?" I paused. "The early bird catches the worm, as you mortals say."

"As we what?" Mum said.

"As you say. The early bird. Catches the worm. It's a saying. I heard it somewhere." I had not heard it anywhere. I had no idea where it came from. It had simply appeared in my mouth, like the human Sera's memories sometimes did, unbidden and unwelcome.

Mum stared at me for a long moment. Then she shook her head slowly. "Yes. Tomorrow. Early. We'll take you to see Doctor Kim."

I nodded. I did not smile. I was a celestial being, and celestial beings did not smile about avoiding school.

But inside, where no one could see, something very much like a smile was happening.