Ten Years Ago
The world ended for Grady Corals not with a bang, but with the sickening crunch of his father's fist against his mother's jaw.
It was a sound he knew as well as his own heartbeat. The soundtrack of his life. He was ten years old, huddled in a closet that reeked of mothballs and fear, his arms wrapped tightly around his six-year-old sister, Lily. Her small body trembled against his, a silent earthquake of terror.
"Shhh, Lily-bug," he whispered into her hair, the nickname a fragile shield. "It'll be over soon."
He was a liar. He knew it would never be over. Not as long as Marcus Corals drew breath. His father, a hulking silhouette of rage and cheap whiskey, saw the world in colors Grady couldn't understand—colors of dominance and pain. His mother, Eleanor, a pale ghost of the woman she once was, and little Lily with her wide, pink eyes, were his favorite canvases. Grady, with his light brown skin and defiant gaze, was the stubborn stain he couldn't wash out.
They were a patchwork family, a failed experiment. A black man, a white woman, and two children who didn't quite fit anywhere, least of all in their own home.
The shouting in the next room escalated. A bottle shattered. Lily flinched, burying her face deeper into Grady's threadbare shirt.
Something cold and hard settled in Grady's chest. It was a familiar feeling—a coiled spring of fury he'd learned to keep locked down. To show anger was to invite it. But tonight was different. The air itself felt thick, charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.
He peeked through the slats of the closet door. His father had his mother by the hair, his face a mask of ugly triumph. "Worthless," he spat. "All of you. A Sparkless bitch and her defective pups."
Sparkless. The ultimate insult in a world where over two-thirds of humanity had awakened to something extraordinary. The Inhumans. The ones with Sparks. Grady's family had none. They were the mundane, the left-behind, the easy targets.
His father, of course, had a Spark. A minor Alter-Type that hardened his skin like rough granite. It didn't make him a hero; it just made him a harder fist to bleed against.
"Please, Marcus," his mother sobbed, the sound scraping against Grady's soul. "Not in front of the children."
"They need to learn their place!" Marcus roared, shoving her to the floor.
That was the moment the spring snapped.
Grady didn't remember pushing the closet door open. He didn't remember crossing the room. He was just there, standing between his father and his mother, his small frame trembling not with fear, but with a rage so pure it felt holy.
"Get away from her," he said, his voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the storm inside him.
Marcus Corals looked down at his son, a slow, ugly smile spreading across his face. "Look who's grown a spine. The little mutt finally barks."
He backhanded Grady.
The world exploded in white pain. Grady stumbled back, his vision swimming. But the cold, hard thing in his chest didn't break. It expanded. The air in the room began to hum, a high-frequency whine that only he could hear. The lights flickered.
"Grady…" Lily whispered from the closet doorway, her pink eyes wide not with fear, but with a strange, dawning awareness.
Marcus raised his fist again, the skin on his knuckles taking on a rough, stony texture. "I'll teach you respect, boy."
Crunch. Scream. Tremble. The sounds of his life. The colors of his world. Gray. Red. Black.
No more.
As his father's fist descended, Grady didn't duck. He didn't plead. He looked into the eyes of the man who had been his monster for ten long years, and he let the coiled thing in his chest unleash.
It wasn't a thought. It was an instinct. A final, desperate command from the very core of his being.
Stop.
The world bloomed.
A flash of incandescent pink light erupted from Grady, silent and absolute. It wasn't a wave of force; it was a sphere of pure, unformed Aether, a pressure bubble of raw creation energy responding to a child's terminal anguish. The furniture in the room didn't shatter; it disintegrated at a molecular level. The windows didn't break; they vaporized.
Marcus Corals was thrown back against the far wall. There was no dramatic crash. There was the sound of a sack of wet grain hitting concrete. The rough, stone-like texture of his skin flickered and died, leaving behind soft, vulnerable flesh. He slid to the floor, his eyes wide with shock, a trickle of blood tracing a path from his temple. He did not move again.
The humming stopped. The light vanished.
Silence.
The only sound was the ragged gasp of his mother, scrambling away from the epicenter, her face a mask of primal terror—terror of him.
Grady stood in the center of the room, his small fists clenched. The air around him shimmered with heat haze. The smell of ozone and something else, something ancient and electric, like the air after a thunderstorm, filled the void. He looked at his own hands. They were normal. But for a single, fleeting second, he had felt… infinite. Like a god who had forgotten his name.
Then, the feeling was gone, leaving a cavernous, icy emptiness behind.
He turned. Lily was still standing in the doorway, untouched by the energy that had annihilated everything else. She wasn't looking at their father. She was looking at Grady, her expression not of fear, but of a profound, heartbreaking understanding. She held out her small hand.
"Grady," she said, her voice clear and calm. "We have to go."
He didn't look back at his mother. He couldn't bear to see the fear in her eyes. He had become the monster to slay the monster, and there was no coming back from that.
He took his sister's hand.
At the age of ten, Grady Corals, a boy believed to be Sparkless, had awakened to a power that could unmake reality. And his first act with this divine gift was to commit a patricide.
He led his sister out of the broken house and into the cold, uncaring night. He didn't know what his Spark was. He didn't know its name was Aetherion Physiology: Raijin Genesis. He only knew two things with a certainty that would shape the rest of his life:
He had saved them.
And he was utterly, completely damned.