[ WP ] You live in a world where people receive a super power based on or related to the opposite of their greatest fear .

I pulled my son aside, brushing his hair again and smoothing out imaginary creases. He gave me an unappreciative stare as he shook off my touches and moved nearer to the other children. His induction was today, the first of May. As the laws required, every child who reached the age of ten in the month of April would need to attend their induction today. He looked so mature but small with his hair combed and wearing his suit fresh from the cleaners. I could n't help but frown and smile at the same time, imagining his entry into the sanctum. My own ascendance was fifteen years ago, but the preparation and threats from my parents seared the entire experience into my mind. 
 
 Fear drove the ascendance. Your greatest fear became your greatest power, either the power to stop your fear, or the power to expand your fear, usually to inflict it on others. I supposed both were able to help you overcome your fear, but preventers were looked upon more kindly than enablers. Preventers built cities, stopped plagues, saved lives. Enablers, well they did the opposite of preventers. 
 
 My parents pushed for my greatest fear to be great and terrible. They tried to tell me of stories about fallen kingdoms, entire peoples subjected to ruin and death. As a young girl I just could n't understand what was so terrible. It sounded awful, it frightened me a little, but spiders and wetting the bed were much more terrible in my little mind. Eventually they found the only thing that could drive fear into my heart was death. My father, realizing this could lead to great power for his daughter and thus himself, would beat me several times a week. After beating me he would talk about how a few more hits from his club would kill me, that maybe next time he would try another hit and see if my ribs cracked. At first, it worked. My nightmares were constantly centered on my father's club, on seeing my spirit leave my poor broken body and watching him hit it for hours after I was dead. I would count the bruises over my body and cry into my bed every night. But he started too early. I was seven when he started, and though he continued until my ascendance, my fear turned to shame and hate. I eventually stopped being afraid. I knew he would n't kill me, but I never stopped hating him. When the time finally came and I met the old man in the chamber of ascendance, he showed me what my real fear was. Mother had begun asking me to help her cook and bake over the last year, and when I failed and burnt food or added too much spice to her casserole she seemed so sad. While I hated my father and eventually realized my mother had always been silently supportive of my father's actions, I loved her at that time and I was always afraid of displeasing her. The man told me that my fear was of ruining food. This old man, with a long scraggly beard and thin arms and legs told me that my power was to always be able to cook a wonderful meal and save a bad one. He told me I was one of the lucky ones, and that my power would manifest the next day. 
 
 When I went home, not much was said. Oh, I was asked how it went, what my power was, whether I was an enabler or preventer, but I just waited in silence. I was n't sure what to think, but I believed I was a failure. A small part of me, however, believed that since my greatest fear would never be a problem again, the worst of life was over. The next morning, I woke up early and started a complex breakfast my mother had only made once before. Whenever I was about to add a spice or add heat to the stove, I could hear my mother's voice guiding me, giving me an idea of how much spice to add, or reminding me when to lower the heat. That morning, my parents and I ate a perfect breakfast, then lunch, then dinner. My father was quite impressed, and for the first time in years, I went a week without a beating. 
 
 The beatings returned when Godric, a boy down the street, was discovered to be able to turn regular items into gold. His family went from one of the poorest to richest in our entire country from what I understood, and everyone in town wanted to know how he developed this power. My father took me into his special room the night that we all found out about Godric's family's wealth, and he beat me. This time, however, I noticed something was missing from his strikes. Before, though it never seemed like it, he had had love in his hits. Disgusting, warped love expecting too much of a little girl, but love and hope nonetheless. This time, he did n't hold back. His breath stank like it did when he had been at the tavern too late at night, though he had never beaten me those nights. Every strike came with an insult, and after he hit me three times more than he had ever hit me, the fear returned. Too late, of course to be useful, but it was real: he was going to kill me. He had a worthless daughter who would at best be some servant to a rich family, a family like Godric's. When he finally stopped and undid my hands and feet, I could move. I could barely breathe, each intake of breath burned my lungs, and each outing of breath invited me to stop taking more air in. He left the room with me like that, fighting for every breath, too pained to even cry or talk. 
 
 When I could move again, several hours later, I knew I could n't stay. It was a blur, but I moved as fast as I could away from my house, anywhere. I stayed with a family in town for a day or two, and then I left everything I knew. Not much to say after that, lots of traveling, lots of work, lots of excellent meals giving me a place to stay or money to make my own food. I met my husband in another town like my own, and we had a lovely baby boy. 
 
 When we discussed hazing, or deliberately giving a child a fear intended to make him powerful and great, I refused. I promised my husband any such idea would result in him having no son nor wife. As a man who's power was to prevent crops from dying to blight, he had always wished he had the power to shake mountains or unite cities. I told him we had happiness, we had calm, and that was good for me. 
 
 Today, he was out in the fields while I was with Geoff, our little boy. I had a guess of his greatest fear. He led such a simple life his power would likely be unusable, like the power to stop snails from being crushed or the power to keep spiders outside of a home. I could n't wait to hear what it was and make him proud of it. 
 
 Eventually, he came out of the room, smiling. That was always a good sign, to see a ten year old leave the room of ascendance with a smile. As we walked home, I asked what his power was. He shrugged and said nothing, a strange response I thought. I prodded him a little further, asking what his power was. He said that the man had frowned when he walked in, and told him he was sorry. 
 
 That night I told my husband, and he just smiled. He said tomorrow we would know what great power our son had, that he could n't bear to see our son not have a place of respect in honor in the world. What a fool. I left that night, knowing that when the old man frowned, bad was to be had, not good. I wept the day I heard about my son. After five years, Geoff had killed over a third of the country, able to kill a man by just speaking to him. My husband would spend some time with my son every night, and I would check for bruises on my small boy. My husband never beat my son, but he did whisper threats to him at night. The night I left, it seems my son finally whispered threats back to my husband.
