TE MĀRAMATANGA

I turned twelve with everyone I loved in one place.

That should have felt safe.

Instead it made me count exits.

Mum noticed.

“Stop scanning the room.”

“I'm not.”

“You looked at three doors while saying that.”

She was right.

My birthday was held at the Earth Sanctuary so Rose, Krish, Hui, Ahi and Wai could all come without crossing into Te Waka Tōhorā.

Grog brought enough food for thirty people and ate enough for twelve.

Reweti came late because he claimed birthdays started too early.

Erik arrived through the Accord gate carrying a Vardheim cake that looked like a brick and tasted much better.

Hemi and Moemoeā arrived together.

Very together.

Hemi was thirteen now.

Moemoeā leaned into him without thinking. He watched her whenever she spoke. The softness between them was real.

So was everything else.

Open Roads had grown across several sanctuaries.

Project Aurora was months from full activation.

The Accord protected more people than last year and still not enough.

We were eating cake in the middle of an argument about the future of Mīharo.

Ahi, now nine, did not care.

He had discovered Erik could carve small wooden boats.

Wai, five, followed Kiki around calling her Bug Sister.

Dad tried to teach Grog a Hindi card game.

Nan accused both of cheating.

For ten minutes I let myself be twelve.

Then Hemi found me outside.

“Happy birthday.”

“You already said that.”

“This one's serious.”

He handed me a small piece of charred wood.

I recognised it from the Northland forest story.

“From the fire?”

He nodded.

“Grog kept some.”

I stared at him.

“Why give it to me?”

“Because you keep acting like I forgot what can go wrong.”

His voice was quiet.

“I didn't forget.”

I closed my hand around the wood.

Rose had also made a rule for my twelfth year: one day a week with no sanctuary work unless someone was actually dying. She said I was becoming the kind of child who scheduled rest as if rest were another assignment.

I argued that the crisis did not respect weekends.

Mum replied that neither did burnout.

Reweti backed her, which felt like betrayal. Even Grog agreed.

So I put one empty square into every week. The fact that protecting my future required protecting ordinary time felt embarrassingly obvious once everyone else said it.

“Then don't make me watch it happen again.”

Hemi looked away.

“I can't promise that.”

It was the most honest birthday gift I received.

Open Roads stopped being Hemi's group.

It became a movement.

That made everything harder.

Some members wanted exactly what I wanted: emergency links, shared knowledge, fewer families cut off from whakapapa and sanctuary support.

Some wanted every closed route reviewed.

Some wanted all routes opened.

A few had started saying ordinary Earth governments had no right to control anything connected to Mīharo.

Hemi did not agree with the worst voices.

He also did not remove them.

“If I start deciding who gets to speak, I'm doing the same thing as the council,” he argued.

“No,” I said. “Choosing not to give somebody your platform is still a choice.”

“And who decides what's too extreme?”

“You do. It's your movement.”

He hated that answer.

Responsibility was easier when you could blame a system.

Moemoeā tried another approach.

She organised listening meetings where people had to describe what they wanted changed before proposing solutions.

Those meetings went better.

Hemi loved her for it.

I could see that too.

One night after a meeting, I found them sitting by the harbour.

Hemi's head rested against hers.

Moemoeā looked peaceful.

For one sharp second I wished the whole conflict would disappear so they could simply be two kids who liked each other.

Then a message bell rang.

Aurora had completed another regional test.

Three Accord sanctuaries recorded sudden Mīharo loss.

An Earth-born teenager near one test site had collapsed after a strong ability disappeared mid-use.

Nobody died.

Again.

Hemi stood.

Open Roads had newsletters now. Proper ones. Some articles were thoughtful. One explained how families could document Mīharo experiences without publishing identifying details. Another argued that Accord councils still gave too much power to older gatekeepers. I agreed with parts of both.

Then one anonymous piece called people who preferred closed sanctuaries collaborators with erasure.

Hemi did not write it. He did publish it.

I asked why.

“Because people need to hear anger too.”

“They can hear anger without you giving cruelty your letterhead.”

He hated that phrasing enough to remember it.

The peaceful boy vanished.

“How many warnings does he get?”

I had no answer he would accept.

Honestly, I did not have one I fully accepted either.

Hemi and Moemoeā became official because Piripi got tired of pretending not to know.

“Are you two together or are we all supposed to keep being stupid?” he asked at lunch.

Moemoeā said, “Together.”

Hemi choked on his drink.

Apparently nobody had told him they were announcing it.

I laughed until my voice cracked.

They were good together.

That was what made what came later hurt.

Moemoeā knew when Hemi was spiralling into anger and could bring him back without making him feel controlled.

Hemi made her feel listened to in a way people sometimes forgot to do because she was easygoing.

He remembered small things.

She challenged big things.

Their love was not fake because it did not save him.

One afternoon Moemoeā asked me to walk with her.

“He's getting worse.”

There it was.

No pretending.

“Open Roads?”

She nodded.

“He hears every delay as proof. Every closed gate. Every Aurora test. Every person who says wait.”

“Have you told him?”

“Yes.”

“Does he listen?”

“Sometimes.”

Sometimes was not enough.

Moemoeā stared at the river below.

“I keep thinking if I understand him enough, I'll know what to say.”

I stopped walking.

“You are not a cure.”

She flinched.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

She looked at me.

I softened my voice.

“You can love him. You can help him. You cannot become responsible for the choice he makes after you tell him the truth.”

Moemoeā nodded slowly.

“That's horrible.”

“Yes.”

We kept walking.

Behind us, Hemi was teaching a younger child how to warm their hands without burning anything.

Moemoeā's relationship with Hemi also had ordinary bits nobody saw from outside. He remembered how she took tea. She stole the blankets. He hated when she borrowed his pencils because she chewed the ends. She loved listening to him talk about the Dutch couple even when the story was one she had heard before.

That ordinariness mattered. Later, people would reduce them to the boy who went too far and the girl who stopped him.

They had been more than the ending. Love deserves the truth about its good parts too.

Kind.

Patient.

Dangerous ideas did not erase every good thing in a person.

Good things did not make dangerous ideas safe.

Erik was supposed to return to Vardheim permanently after one year.

He didn't.

Not because Vardheim was still failing.

It was stable now.

Not because his family wanted him gone.

His mother sent messages every week explaining the opposite.

Erik stayed because the Accord needed people who understood more than one sanctuary system.

And because, he said, Te Waka Tōhorā had become part of his life.

“That sounds suspiciously emotional,” I told him.

“Do not tell anyone.”

He spent part of each term at Vardheim and part with us.

No one demanded he become less Vardheim to belong here.

That mattered to both of us.

One evening we worked late in the archive comparing Aurora signals against sanctuary maps.

Erik rubbed his eyes.

“You know, normal twelve-year-olds probably do not spend evenings mapping magical extraction networks.”

“Normal thirteen-year-olds?”

“Definitely not.”

“Maybe we're extremely boring.”

“You have a glowing cicada.”

Kiki clicked.

“Fair.”

We laughed.

Then stopped at the same time.

Something had changed between us over the last year.

Not suddenly.

Not lightning.

More like noticing a path had formed because you had walked it many times.

Erik looked at me for half a second too long.

I looked away first.

My face felt hot.

This was ridiculous.

I had helped stabilize a world-sized whale.

I had confronted Dave.

I could not look at a boy.

Erik cleared his throat.

“Aurora map.”

Erik and I had started swapping parts of our worlds on purpose. I learned more about Vardheim's ordinary school life, not only its runes and gates. He learned that kapa haka was not one generic performance and stopped asking questions the second he realised a topic needed someone more knowledgeable than me.

“I thought being your friend meant you knew everything Māori,” he admitted once.

“Absolutely not.”

That conversation made me trust him more. Respect was not pretending difference did not exist. Sometimes it was knowing when not to make one person explain an entire culture.

“Yes. Important.”

We both stared at the map like it had personally rescued us.

No romance happened that night.

But for the first time, I knew it might.

The first missing voice belonged to a girl named Mereana.

Not our healer Mere.

A twelve-year-old living near one of Rangi Energy's newest test regions.

She had a small Mīharo ability connected to birdsong.

Nothing dramatic.

Birds calmed when she sang.

During an Aurora test, she opened her mouth and no sound came out.

My body remembered before my mind did.

Cold throat.

Silent scream.

Doctors finding nothing.

Adults saying stress.

I had to leave the room.

Erik followed but did not speak.

Good.

After a few minutes, I said, “He's doing it again.”

“Not exactly the same.”

I glared at him.

“I mean the mechanism may be different. The harm is real.”

I knew.

I appreciated him being precise even when I hated precision.

More reports arrived.

A man who could sense underground water lost the ability for hours.

A child who made plants bloom suddenly could not keep a seedling alive.

An elder in another sanctuary lost access to a memory path.

Most recovered after the tests ended.

Some did not fully.

Aurora was teaching itself what to take.

My original mesh had taught Dave that voice could be a doorway.

Now his network was finding other doors.

Hemi stood in the council chamber listening to every report.

When the meeting ended, he said nothing.

That scared me.

Moemoeā reached for him.

He let her hold his hand.

But his eyes were somewhere else.

Mereana wanted to help the investigation but refused to become a symbol. “I don't want every newspaper calling me the girl who lost her song,” she said.

I understood immediately.

We used her measurements without her name. She decided which recordings could be shared. Her experience mattered as evidence, but she still owned her story.

Dave had once treated my voice as a resource. I was not going to repeat that by treating Mereana's pain as public property just because it helped our case.

That night Open Roads announced a new campaign.

RETURN WHAT WAS TAKEN.

I agreed with the words.

I was afraid of what Hemi meant by them.

Dave invited me to Rangi Energy.

Nobody liked that.

Mum said no before I finished reading the message.

Dad said several things in Hindi that I did not need translated.

Hui wanted to burn the letter.

Grog asked to see the envelope.

Reweti asked what Dave wanted.

That was the useful question.

The letter said he would show me Aurora before activation.

No tricks.

No extraction.

Neutral observers allowed.

He wanted me to understand what he believed he was preventing.

Hemi wanted me to go and destroy the system.

That was immediately removed from the list of sensible options.

Erik said, “He wants something.”

“Obviously.”

“Maybe your agreement.”

“Never.”

“Maybe your fear.”

That was more likely.

Dave still believed if I truly understood the danger of uncontrolled Mīharo, I would choose his side.

Part of me wanted to refuse simply because he wanted me there.

Another part wanted evidence.

Real evidence.

Aurora was being built on Earth. We could not understand it only through stolen documents and sanctuary readings.

Mum finally agreed to a supervised visit.

Conditions: Rose, Krish, Grog, Mere and an independent engineer came with me. No private rooms. No medical equipment. No contact with my throat.

Dave accepted everything.

That worried me too.

Before we left, Moemoeā found me.

“Hemi thinks this is a trap.”

“Do you?”

“I think Hemi sees traps everywhere now.”

She looked tired.

“Be careful anyway.”

I promised.

Erik walked me to the Earth gate.

“Come back.”

Mum had said the same words years ago.

Before we answered Dave, Dad made us write down what information we wanted from the visit. Aurora architecture. Shutdown controls. Safety assumptions. Who could authorise changes. What happened to converted Mīharo after storage.

“Otherwise he'll control the tour and you'll leave knowing what he wanted you to know,” Krish said.

That was a very Dad kind of wisdom: practical, unmagical and exactly right.

I added one more question at the bottom.

What does Dave think success looks like if the people being protected never agreed they needed saving?

From Erik they felt different.

I looked at him.

“I will.”

I hoped that was a promise I could keep.

Rangi Energy did not look evil.

I hated that.

The main facility was glass, steel and bright offices.

People carried coffee.

Engineers argued over diagrams.

A receptionist gave Wai a sticker because Mum had accidentally brought all of us to the first security checkpoint before Dad took the boys elsewhere.

Normal.

That was the point.

Dave met us in a conference room.

No guards.

No dramatic speech.

He showed us energy output charts.

Aurora had already produced enough power in tests to supply thousands of homes.

He showed us modelling of uncontrolled Mīharo events.

Fires.

Storm surges.

Infrastructure failures.

Some examples were real.

Hemi's Northland fire appeared without his name.

My stomach twisted.

Dave watched my face.

“This is what I am trying to prevent.”

“By taking from everyone.”

“By stabilising dangerous energy.”

“Mereana lost her voice.”

Dave's jaw tightened.

“Temporary side effect.”

I nearly left.

Mum grabbed my hand.

Dave took us to the Aurora control level.

The central system used a mesh architecture I recognised immediately.

Bigger than buildings.

Silver geometry repeated through the entire network.

At the centre stood a command console.

Dave touched his own throat.

A tiny silver line glinted beneath the skin.

I froze.

“You put one in yourself.”

“A control interface. Voice-authenticated.”

He sounded proud.

He had built his own version of the thing he put in me.

“Does it take your voice?”

I also noticed how many good people worked there. One engineer proudly explained a battery system that had nothing to do with Mīharo. A technician had photos of her children taped above a desk. Another worker told Mum the company paid for his training.

That complicated my anger without reducing it.

Destroying Rangi Energy carelessly would hurt people who had never seen the hidden extraction layer. Dave had wrapped harm inside a real workplace with real useful technology.

The final solution would have to separate the system from the people trapped inside it.

“No. I perfected it.”

I stared at the mesh.

Dave believed control made him safe from the harm he imposed on others.

That belief had never looked more fragile.

Dave asked to speak to me in front of everyone.

No secret meeting.

He had learned at least one lesson.

“Aurora activates in six months,” he said.

“We know.”

“The Accord gates will resist it.”

“We know.”

“For a while.”

Grog shifted behind me.

Dave continued.

“Your World-Shaping ability could help me separate harmful Mīharo from harmless forms.”

I almost laughed.

“You want me to help Aurora choose what people get to keep?”

“I want you to help prevent damage.”

“Who decides harmful?”

“We build criteria.”

“Who is we?”

Dave hesitated.

That was enough.

“You,” I said.

“Experts.”

“People who built the machine.”

“People who understand risk.”

I thought of Pania.

Ru.

Hemi.

Mereana.

Every person whose life did not fit Dave's categories.

“No.”

Dave's expression barely changed.

“You haven't seen what unrestricted Mīharo can do.”

“I've seen a wildfire. I've seen failing sanctuaries. I've seen my own power nearly hurt me.”

“Then you understand.”

“I understand danger. I don't agree that danger gives you ownership.”

Dave looked tired.

“Aroha, one day someone with more power than Hemi will not stop.”

The use of Hemi's name shocked me.

“You've been watching him.”

“I watch threats to the network.”

Anger flashed through me.

Dave smiled sadly.

“There. That feeling. Imagine it with enough power to burn a city.”

I stood.

On the drive away, Mum asked whether any part of Dave's offer tempted me.

I wanted to say no immediately.

Instead I told the truth.

“The part where he says we could stop dangerous Mīharo before somebody gets hurt.”

Mum nodded.

“That's the dangerous bit, isn't it?”

She was right. Manipulation works better when it touches a fear you already carry. I had seen what uncontrolled power could do. Refusing Dave did not require pretending that danger was imaginary. It required refusing his claim that only control could answer it.

“Imagine fear with enough money to build Aurora.”

We left.

On the way out I looked back at the silver control mesh.

For the first time, I knew exactly where Dave had tied himself to his own machine.

I returned to Te Waka Tōhorā exhausted.

Erik was waiting at the gate.

He did not ask about Aurora first.

He hugged me.

That was new.

I hugged him back.

Also new.

For a few seconds, the entire year disappeared.

Then Hemi arrived and ruined it.

“Are you two—”

Moemoeā covered his mouth.

“Leave.”

Hemi tried to speak through her hand.

She dragged him away.

Erik's face had gone red.

Mine probably matched.

“So,” he said.

“Aurora.”

“Yes. Safe topic.”

We walked to the ridge.

I told him about Dave's control mesh and his offer.

Erik listened.

When I finished, he said, “You did not come back because you promised.”

I looked at him.

“I came back because I wanted to.”

“Good.”

The word was quiet.

We sat with our shoulders touching.

Neither moved away.

“Aroha?”

“Yeah?”

He turned toward me.

I knew what was happening.

My heart did something ridiculous.

Then Kiki landed directly between our faces.

Erik closed his eyes.

I started laughing.

Kiki clicked proudly.

“Your insect hates me,” Erik said.

“She's protective.”

“She has terrible timing.”

Later I told Hui about the almost-kiss. This was a mistake.

Nan became unbearable.

“Erik, is it?” she said, as though she had never heard his name before despite meeting him dozens of times.

I threatened to leave.

She laughed until she cried.

The teasing was annoying and also strangely comforting. My family could make room for a first crush beside Aurora, missing voices and sanctuary politics. The world had not become so serious that every ordinary part of being twelve had to disappear.

We did not kiss.

Not then.

But when Erik took my hand on the walk back, I held on.

For the first time in years, something new in my life was frightening in a good way.