The late morning sun filtered lazily through the windows as the household settled into a calm, post-recovery silence. Liam was halfway through a bowl of cereal, still in his hoodie and socks, while Kaela sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through her phone with half-lidded eyes.
A knock echoed through the house.
Dreck stood from his seat, setting his mug down. He moved toward the front door with a quiet confidence, every step measured. When he opened it, the man standing on the other side met his gaze without flinching.
He was young—maybe early twenties—wearing a long black coat that didn't quite match the sunny weather. His eyes were sharp, calculating, but not hostile. A familiar faint signature of disciplined energy lingered around him like a tight coil.
"Are you kaelas brother?" Dreck asked, his voice flat but heavy.
"Yes," the man replied simply.
They shook hands.
The moment their palms met, both men's expressions shifted slightly—just enough for a trained observer to notice. Dreck's brow furrowed. The contact wasn't normal. The air between them suddenly felt denser, as if gravity briefly adjusted itself.
Dreck narrowed his eyes. "You're the one teaching Kaela Aether Combat, aren't you?"
Lucas nodded. "That's right."
Dreck let go of his hand, then took a half-step back, still studying the younger man. "I could tell. The pressure around you—it's too precise. Like a storm bottled just enough not to break."
Lucas offered a faint smile. "I could say the same. Your aura... it's steady, but not still. Like it's waiting."
They stood in silence for a moment longer, the quiet tension not born of threat—but mutual recognition.
"You're stronger than you let on," Dreck said.
Lucas's eyes glinted. "And you're hiding more than you show."
Dreck grunted, nodding with a touch of approval. "Good. Kaela's in better hands than I thought."
Lucas glanced inside. "Is she ready?"
"She's recovering.
From inside, Kaela called out, "Is that my brother?"
"Yeah, get your shoes. You've got a visitor," Dreck called back.
She came running around the corner a second later, already with her backpack over one shoulder. She skidded to a halt when she saw Lucas, blinking. "You came late, brother
Lucas smirked. "You didn't answer your phone. I figured you either forgot it… or passed out."
Kaela rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "Bit of both."
Kaela slung her bag fully onto her back. "I'll be back later for training, right?"Tell that loser that next time we spar, he won't be landing a single blow at me.
Dreck gave her a nod. "Rest first. Then we see about that, you have to prove it with your fist and not with your mouth.
Yeah of course. kaela said
By the way where's Liam, he was with you right? Dreck asked
Yeah, he was he said he should take care of the dishes kaela replied
Ok, take care okay?
Lucas gave a final nod and stepped away with Kaela. Dreck exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing the edge of his beard.
The tension hadn't lifted.
As the front door clicked shut behind Lucas and Kaela, Dreck stood in still silence. The brief encounter still echoed in his mind—Lucas's words, that subtle shift in the aether… something was stirring.
He exhaled slowly and walked back into the living room. The sunlight filtering through the curtains had a heavier tone now. He reached for the remote and turned on the TV without much thought.
The screen came to life with a soft flicker, revealing a grim-looking news anchor.
"BREAKING NEWS – FAMILY FOUND DEAD IN WESTVALE HOME. AUTHORITIES INVESTIGATING POSSIBLE HOMICIDE."
Dreck's eyes locked onto the headline.
The reporter continued, "The bodies of a man, woman, and their young daughter were discovered early this morning. Neighbors reported a series of strange, explosive sounds around 3 AM. Investigators have yet to release the names of the victims, but sources say the inside of the house looked like it had been torn apart by an unknown force…"
A wide shot of the house played on the screen—blasted walls, burn marks along the edges of shattered windows, yellow tape fluttering in the wind. In a brief overlay, a family photo appeared—smiling faces now lost to silence.
Dreck leaned forward, his jaw tightening.
"I warned him," he muttered under his breath. "Told him the Syndicate was moving again."
He crushed the remote slightly in his palm as his voice deepened with frustration. "But what could he have done? Powerless or not, once you're marked, you're done…"
Just then, footsteps padded past the hallway.
Liam.
He glanced sideways and caught a glimpse of the screen—just enough to see the wreckage, the scattered bodies blurred out by the media, the bright yellow crime scene barriers. His feet froze in place.
His eyes widened.
But it wasn't the people on the screen that made his heart clench.
It was the scene—the chaos, the darkness, the feeling of something sacred being ripped apart.
A scream that wasn't heard echoed through his mind.
The blood on the kitchen floor.
His father's lifeless hand.
His mother's broken frame.
The static buzz of the television faded from his ears. The living room vanished. He was back there—home, the night it all ended.
The rage came fast.
Sudden. Absolute.
The air around Liam shivered. His knees buckled slightly, but he stayed standing. His breathing sharpened into violent gasps. An unseen pressure expanded from his body in every direction.
The windows trembled.
The walls creaked.
And then—an eruption.
A blast of invisible force exploded outward from Liam, surging like a wave of primal fury. His bloodlust ignited like a torch, thick and suffocating, casting a red hue that shimmered faintly across his skin.
Outside, a strong unnatural wind whipped through the neighborhood. Leaves swirled violently, trash cans toppled, a parked bicycle skidded across the pavement. Pedestrians shielded their faces, startled by the sudden gust.
"What the hell is that…?" someone muttered from across the street.
Inside the house, Dreck's head snapped toward the hallway.
His eyes flared.
"Liam!"
The pressure increased. A picture frame burst off the wall. Books flew from a nearby shelf.
Dreck was moving before the next shockwave hit, boots striking the floor in three long strides. Liam stood near the hallway, fists clenched, teeth bared, his aura lashing outward in wild, furious pulses.
His pupils were dilated. He wasn't here.
He was back there—the kitchen, the blood, the pain. The last time he saw his father breathing.
"Liam!" Dreck shouted, grabbing him by the shoulders.
No response.
"Liam! Snap out of it!"
The wind howled outside.
Dreck gritted his teeth, slamming his palm against Liam's chest and channeling a controlled wave of calming aether directly into his core.
"You're not there anymore, Liam! They're gone! You survived! Focus!"
A ripple of red energy surged from Liam's chest.
Then—a crack in the storm.
Liam's eyes flickered. His breathing faltered.
The pressure began to collapse in on itself.
The wind slowed.
The bloodlust dimmed to a whisper.
Liam stumbled forward, falling into Dreck's arms.
"I—I saw it again," he gasped, voice trembling. "The kitchen. The blood. My dad... lying there. I couldn't stop it. I—"
Dreck knelt with him, holding the boy steady, grounding him in the present.
"You don't need to stop the memory," Dreck said quietly. "You need to master the power it gives you. That pain is your fire. But fire, left wild, burns down everything."
Liam shook, eyes wide, breathing heavy. "It's too much."
"It isn't," Dreck said firmly. "Not if you learn to carry it. Not if you keep control."
Liam said nothing, just nodded shakily, letting the tension bleed from his limbs.
The street outside went quiet again, but the air still tasted like aftermath. Neighbors stared from windows, whispering behind curtains.
And far away—on the other side of the city—something had noticed.
It had felt that surge.