How did this all happen?
Well… it was around a month ago.
Back when life still felt normal.
Back when blood and screams were just something you saw on television.
Back when I still thought I was just a tall kid with weird ears stuck in classrooms that felt too small for me — not whatever the hell I am now.
Who knew my life would become so shitty?
---
The classroom buzzed with the usual nonsense — murmurs, pens scratching, someone trying (and failing) to stifle a yawn. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting golden streaks on the tiled floor.
And there I was, slouched in the very back, crammed into a desk designed for someone at least a foot shorter than me. At 6'5", I was too tall for my age, too big for this class, too noticeable for my liking.
My hair — black with streaks of green — fell lazily over my forehead, half-hiding my emerald eyes from the teacher. I stared out the window, letting the sky take me somewhere better.
And then—
"Valerius Delindor."
Her voice cut through my little escape like a scalpel.
I blinked, sat up. "Uh, yes?"
She folded her arms, giving me the kind of smug smile that said, Finally, I can humble this kid in front of everyone.
"Perhaps," she said sweetly — the kind of sweet you get before poison — "you'd like to explain the reaction we just discussed."
Of course. Embarrass the tall kid in the back.
A few snickers from the class. I could practically hear their thoughts: Let's finaly watch Lerius choke.
I didn't.
"Sure," I said, leaning back like I had all the time in the world. "That's a classic acid-base neutralization."
The room went quiet.
"When hydrochloric acid, HCl, reacts with sodium hydroxide, NaOH," I continued, "the hydrogen ion from the acid combines with the hydroxide ion from the base to form water. The leftover sodium and chloride ions? They become sodium chloride. Table salt."
I glanced at her. Her smile had already started to falter.
"On a molecular level," I added, leaning forward slightly, "it's just proton transfer. The acid donates an H⁺ ion, the base accepts it, and boom — charges are neutralized. You get water."
Silence. A couple of kids even stopped pretending to take notes.
But I wasn't done.
"It's also exothermic," I said, because why not twist the knife. "It releases heat. You'd feel the beaker warm up if you mixed them in a lab. Elegant balance of forces. Simple chemistry."
She blinked. Probably rethinking her whole life at this point.
"This reaction," I added casually, "also showcases stoichiometry. One molecule of HCl for one molecule of NaOH. One-to-one molar ratio. Any extra? The solution's no longer neutral. It's either acidic or basic depending on what's left."
Now the room was dead quiet.
Even the teacher.
I leaned back, crossing my arms. "Neutralization. Simple stuff."
---
That's how it was back then.
Me being a smartass. She knew I was the smartest but she kept trying to make an example of me.
The teacher's expression faltered.
Her smug little "gotcha" smile melted off her face as her lips parted slightly. She blinked at me like I'd just recited the periodic table backward while juggling flaming swords.
"That's…" she hesitated. "Correct."
Oh, she hated that.
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, brow furrowed like she was trying to solve the mystery of how some lanky, daydreaming kid in the back row had just schooled her. "But that level of understanding — stoichiometry, proton transfer, molar ratios — none of that is in the curriculum for this grade. You're only in tenth grade, Delindor. How… how do you even know this?"
I shrugged. "What can I say? I like to read ahead. Chemistry's not exactly rocket science."
A ripple of murmurs swept through the room. Half the class looked impressed. The other half looked like they wanted to throw their textbooks at my head.
The teacher cleared her throat sharply, regaining what little dignity she had left. "Well… as impressive as that was, let's try to keep the discussion grounded in what's actually on your syllabus, shall we?"
She turned back to the board, muttering something under her breath that sounded a lot like, That explanation was far beyond what you should know at this level…
I leaned back in my seat, smirking. Victory.
Ryan, my best friend and occasional voice of reason, nudged me. "Show-off."
"What can I say?" I smirked. "Genius can't be hidden."
---
The bell rang, and suddenly the classroom turned into a stampede.
Ryan and I strolled toward the gates, our conversation as pointless as usual, until a commotion ahead caught our attention.
"What's going on?" Ryan asked, craning his neck.
My gut tightened. "Let's find out."
We pushed through the crowd — and there he was.
And now him. That ridiculously tall, handsome bastard. My brother. The elegant ass. His meticulous nature always pisses me off. He thinks he's better than everyone. And maybe he is.
Eryndor Delindor.
Towering above the sea of students at an obnoxious 8'4", wearing his perfectly tailored black jacket like he owned the place. Skin glowing like sunlight had been painted onto him. Black hair streaked with that same ridiculous green as mine. And those piercing emerald eyes — same as mine, but somehow more… smug.
I'm big… but at least I'm not that big.
I groaned. "Of course. It's him."
The whispers started immediately.
"Who is that?"
"Is he famous?"
"Look at him. He's gorgeous!"
Eryndor's gaze found mine, and with all the grace of a Shakespearean king, he raised a hand in the universal gesture for: Come here, peasant.
"Valerius, is that your brother?" a girl asked, eyes wide.
"You look just like him!" another chimed in.
Before I could even answer, Ryan yanked me away from the circle. "Let's go, you ridiculously photogenic bastard."
I laughed. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Ryan."
"Just go home with your perfect brother already."
---
This dude was Shakespeare incarnate. Every time he talked, I wanted to smash his head into a wall.
The ride home on his sleek black motorcycle was silent, save for the smooth purr of the engine. I clung to his back as we wove through traffic, drawing stares from pedestrians.
"Do they always have to stare?" I muttered.
"They are marveling," Eryndor replied smoothly. "Let them. It is all they can do."
I groaned. "You could at least pretend to be normal."
He smirked. "Would you have me lower myself to mediocrity? Perish the thought."
I rolled my eyes. "That's why you don't have a girlfriend. Eighteen year old virgin."
He actually laughed at that. "Valerius, have you gazed upon my visage? You're well aware my countenance is unparalleled."
Of course he said visage. Who even talks like that?
---
The Delindor estate was a sleek, modern marvel of architecture. A sprawling structure of glass, steel, and sharp angles that screamed, "Yes, we're rich, thanks for noticing."
Floor-to-ceiling windows drank in the sunlight, while a seamless blend of concrete and polished wood gave it that "wealthy but humble" vibe only billionaires pull off. A pristine driveway cut through manicured lawns and minimalist landscaping, leading to an entrance framed by subtle, recessed lighting. A crystal-clear infinity pool sprawled across the side yard like a liquid jewel.
In short: we're rich.
As soon as we stepped inside, chaos.
"Val!"
Of course. Only two people yell my name like that: my mother… and that little twirp Ziraiah.
Her voice was a war cry as she stormed into the hallway, all 5'9" of fury wrapped in long black hair streaked with vivid green and emerald-green eyes that could cut glass. Her honey-brown skin glowed like she'd been kissed by the sun itself. She held a hairbrush like it was a dagger.
"You used my brush to clean your shoes, didn't you?"
My eyes widened. "What? No!"
I was lying. Tormenting her gives me this weird, brotherly joy.
"Don't lie to me! Eryndor wouldn't do something so gross, so it had to be you!"
Before I could even defend myself, she launched at me. Flying kick to the face. I stumbled back nearly twenty meters, clutching my now-bleeding nose.
Like me, she's ridiculously strong. But she knows she'll never beat me.
"Ziraiah!" I yelled, voice muffled through my hands. "Are you insane?!"
Eryndor, of course, stepped in like some serene monk in leather shoes, catching her mid-charge. He lifted her effortlessly, sighing like the very concept of sibling drama offended him.
"Control yourself, Ziraiah. This outburst is unbecoming."
"Put me down!" she shrieked, wriggling like a cat in a bath. "He deserves it!"
And then—
"All three of you. My room. Now."
Lyriana.
My mother.
The goddess, as Ryan calls her. And honestly? He's not wrong.
---
Lyriana stood by the window, the dying light of the sun painting molten gold across her sculpted frame.
Thirteen feet and four inches tall. Yes. Thirteen feet.
She wasn't beautiful. She was transcendent.
Her warm honey-brown skin shimmered as though the gods had blessed it. Raven-black hair streaked with vivid green cascaded down her back like a living river of silk, framing a face that could make kings weep and saints commit sins.
According to Ryan, her body was… unfair. A slender waist leading to generous hips, a flawless chest carried with effortless grace, thighs that looked both elegant and terrifyingly powerful. She didn't look born. She looked carved — every curve and line precisely where it needed to be. If he wasn't my friend, I would have knocked his teeth out.
Clad in robes stitched with the Delindor family crest, she wore her majesty as naturally as she breathed. People often mistook her for our older sister. She'd stopped taking us to school because it drew too much attention. When she walked through the halls, conversation faltered. Even the most disciplined men couldn't help but gawk like idiots.
I can't even count how many guys I've had to beat up for looking at her with their disgusting eyes.
"You three are utterly insufferable," she said, voice sharp enough to cut steel.
She didn't yell. Lyriana didn't need to.
"You've always known you were different, but I've never told you why," she continued.
"Of course," I said, crossing my arms. "I've asked you a million times, but you always say, 'I'll tell you when I feel like it.'"
Her gaze flicked to me, but she didn't answer.
Instead, I asked the real question. "Then can we start with why I still have to go to school? I already know everything they're teaching. By rights, I should be a professor."
Ziraiah smirked. Lyriana raised a single eyebrow. That was enough to shut her up.
"Education isn't just about acquiring knowledge, Val," my mother said, tone calm but pointed. "It's about learning to interact with people."
"I can interact just fine," I countered.
"Is that so?" she asked, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Because from what I hear, your interactions mostly consist of sarcasm and showing off."
Ziraiah snorted. "She's not wrong."
I shot her a glare. "I'm just saying," she added innocently.
Lyriana turned to her instead. "Speaking of which, Ziraiah, did you finish the books I gave you two days ago?"
Ziraiah straightened proudly. "Yes. All of them."
I frowned, glancing between my mother and Ziraiah. "Why do we have to learn so much anyway? Half the stuff we read has nothing to do with real life."
Lyriana stepped forward, her towering frame somehow making the room feel smaller. Her hand rested on my shoulder, warm and grounding.
"Because knowledge, Val," she said, her voice softer now, "is the key to power. Strength alone won't carry you far. It's understanding, strategy, and wisdom that make the difference between those who lead… and those who follow."
Her words hung there, heavy. The kind of words you don't argue with.
I sighed, frustration bleeding out. "Fine. I get it."
She gave a small, satisfied nod, but then her gaze sharpened. My mom isn't just tall, terrifying, and unfairly beautiful — she's a genius. And that's honestly an understatement. She makes things no one else even dreams are possible.
"Now," she continued, her tone shifting, "there's something more important I need to tell you."
Eryndor straightened, his posture immaculate, his tone measured and expectant.
"Is the time upon us," he inquired, "to be instructed in the art of Bravo?"
My ears perked up. "Bravo? What's that?"
Lyriana shook her head. "Not yet, Eryndor. First, you must understand who you are."
She stepped closer, kneeling slightly so her sharp emerald gaze met ours. "Do you remember our true family name?"
"In full," we all answered automatically.
She nodded. "Our family carries a legacy unlike any other. Bravo is a power fueled by will and forged through discipline. It strengthens the body, sharpens the mind… but it is more than that."
Her voice dropped, almost reverent. "It is a derivative of something greater."
Ziraiah tilted her head, curiosity dancing in her emerald eyes. "So… we can use it too?"
"In time," Lyriana said. "I will teach you. But first, you must understand the weight of your legacy. That knowledge will shape the strength you gain. Tomorrow, we'll discuss it further."
As we turned to leave, her voice cut through the silence:
"When you master Bravo, I'll tell you about your father."
I paused mid-step. "Daniel?"
CRACK.
Eryndor's elbow met my face with the elegance of a man swatting a fly.
"You fool," he said, perfectly calm. "Our real father."
I grumbled, rubbing my nose. Could've just said that without breaking my face.
---
That night, the house went still.
Ziraiah's room was silent, her breathing soft and steady as she slept.
I crept in like a thief, marker in hand, my grin already forming. With slow, deliberate strokes, I decorated her face with the finest doodles the world had ever seen.
"Revenge is sweet," I whispered, chuckling as I snuck back to my room and collapsed into bed.
---
I couldn't sleep.
I just lay there staring at the ceiling, my mind running in circles around everything Mother had said earlier. Bravo. Special. Powerful.
That's when the ground trembled beneath me.
My heart nearly stopped.
A dull thrum vibrated through the house, and a faint red glow seeped in through the window, washing the room in a bloody light.
"What the hell…?" I muttered, bolting upright.
I threw open my door and found Eryndor and Ziraiah already in the hallway. They were tense, silent, but their eyes said everything: This isn't normal.
Together, we ran.
Mom's door was ajar.
She stood by the window.
"It's happening," she said, voice low and steady. "Sooner than I expected."
"What's happening?" Ziraiah's voice trembled as she clung to Mother's arm.
Mom finally turned to us, her eyes fierce, almost… desperate.
"You must leave. Now."
"What do you mean, leave?!" I snapped. "We're not leaving you!"
She pulled us in close, her hug tighter than it had ever been.
"You must survive," she said, her voice breaking for just a moment. "Together. Don't forget who you are. Don't let anyone look down on you."
The house shook violently. The floor cracked beneath us.
Then came the light.
Blinding, searing red, filling every corner of the room.
And then that feeling—like my body was being torn apart and sewn back together in the same instant.
Her voice was the last thing I heard as the world slipped away:
"Live."
---
To Be Continued...