5 years later.
The courtyard of Neoterra Prime Middle School buzzed with chatter and the clang of lockers.
Elion, now twelve, towered a little over most kids his age, his black hair falling messily into his eyes. His uniform jacket hung open, tie loose. He leaned against the wall while Elara—nine years old, hair neatly tied back—stood beside him clutching her backpack straps.
Elion: "You don't have to wait for me after class, you know."
Elara: "If I don't, you'll just get into trouble again."
Elion smirked but didn't argue.
Elion: "You heard about what happened the other day?"
Elara: "Who hasn't? Everyone is talking about it."
Elion: "They got what they deserved, picking up on another boy."
Elara shook her head.
Elion: "You know, you aren't allowed to enter that building as an elementary student."
Elara simply shrugged her shoulders.
The bell rang. Classes went by in a blur—math, literature, and the awkward lunch where Elion traded his sandwich for extra juice while Elara shared her fruit with a friend.
When the final bell rang, the two of them walked the few blocks together, weaving through the bright neon streets as the evening rush began.
The Treatment House for Mental Care sat just outside the main city bustle, a clean, quiet building surrounded by a small garden. Inside, the air smelled faintly of flowers and soap.
Their mother sat at a table near the window, sunlight framing her like a painting. She looked healthier than she had years ago—hair brushed, eyes alert—but there was still a distant haze in her gaze.
Mother (smiling warmly): "There's my Elion… and my little Elara."
Elara hurried forward and hugged her tightly. Elion followed, pulling out the small paper bag from his backpack.
Mother: "How is Ronnie? Still hung up in his work?"
Elara (laughing): "He can't think about anything else except cookies."
Elion: "Yeah, we even brought those cookies you like."
Mother: "Oh, you spoil me."
They talked for almost an hour—Elion telling her about school, Elara about the stray cat she'd seen on the way home. Their mother laughed, nodded, and even teased Elion for his messy handwriting when he showed her a homework page.
As visiting hours ended, she squeezed both of their hands.
Mother: "I'm so proud of you two. I'm glad… I get to see you every day, even if I can't be with you all the time."
Elara's voice was soft.
Elara: "We'll be back tomorrow."
Elion didn't say anything, but he gave a small nod before leading his sister out into the fading light of evening.
Behind them, their mother watched through the window, smiling—the kind of smile that was both happy and aching.
Elara: "Have you seen Mother? She looks way better than yesterday, and yesterday she looked better than a week ago."
Elion (distracted): "Yeah, I've seen it."
Elara: "With that tempo, she might come and live with us. We could be one big family."
Elion hesitated but nodded—he knew that his mother would never be able to be completely healthy. Her trauma and mental impairments could never make her raise a child.
But that wasn't a problem at all. He could see her every day and talk to her anytime as if she were a completely healthy mother.
Life for Elion and Elara in those five years became predictable in the best way possible.
Ronnie made sure of it.
He left early most mornings for his duties as High Authority, but he was always there at breakfast—coffee in hand, reviewing files while Elion wolfed down toast and Elara carefully spread jam without spilling.
After school, they had a choice: come straight home to the penthouse or visit their mother at the treatment house. More often than not, they chose the second option.
Ronnie never stopped them—he'd even assign a driver when his work kept him too late to take them himself.
The treatment house became a second home. The staff greeted the kids like family, and their mother always had the same table by the window.
Some days she was sharper, asking about their classes and Ronnie's work. Other days she drifted into stories about her own childhood, mixing memories with dreams.
Even on those off days, Elion and Elara stayed. They learned to play along, to make her laugh, and to keep her comfortable.
Ronnie made sure their home life was more than just safe—he made it nurturing.
He enrolled Elara in art classes when she showed interest in drawing. He found a private martial arts tutor for Elion after work couldn't give him the time to do it himself, knowing the boy still had to learn discipline with his Fire Awakening.
And every few weeks, he joined them for the visit to their mother—standing quietly in the corner while the kids talked, letting them have that space.
One rainy night, after a visit, the three of them rode home in the car. Elara leaned against Ronnie's arm, half-asleep, while Elion stared out the window at the city lights.
Elion: "You didn't have to do all this for us, you know."
Ronnie glanced at him, then looked forward again.
Ronnie: "I know. But I wanted to."
There was no more conversation after that. But from that night on, Elion stopped calling him "Ronnie" and started calling him "Dad."
Elara followed soon after.
In school, everyone respected Elion as the kindhearted guy that could be friends with anyone.
He loved comics and sports and was one of the smartest and most athletic students.
But he always would be near Elara in the breaks.
Elion: "Elara, you have to stop giving away your fruits."
Elara: "But I don't want to eat them."
Elion: "Then why are you asking Dad to pack you some fruits?"
Elara: "Because the other kids don't have them at home."
That moment, Elion knew how kindhearted his sister was, someone who always would look out for others.
Elion: "No, but seriously, stop giving them out. We don't have much at home since you always give them out."