A sudden ripple at the back seat made Leon jump. As he tilted his head, he saw a man shrouded in a dark hoodie, seeming to have materialized from the shadows.
"This is my nephew, Wang," Mr. Lee said, noticing Leon's alarm. "He's catching a ride."
Wang leaned forward, his presence imposing despite the confines of the car. His eyes, what little Leon could see of them in the rearview mirror, seemed to hold a strange, faint light.
They scanned him, assessing and judging like a hungry lion.
"So, this is the boy?" Wang's voice was a low rumble. "He looks… frail."
The words that weren't meant as an insult but just a flat judgement landed on Leon's raw nerves like a whip. 'Frail.' 'Weak.'
"We're here," Leon whispered as Mr. Lee began to slow near the outskirts of the Dusthollow.
"Here?" Mr. Lee and Wang said in unison, their heads pivoting to take in the squalor.
"I… I didn't want to say I lived in the Dusthollow," Leon admitted, his face burning with humiliation.
Mr. Lee's face softened with a pain deeper than pity. "This is where they dump the wretched," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.
Wang just grunted. "Let's hope the boy has some fight left in him."
Leon got out, the weight of their stares heavier than the basket an old woman handed him to carry to her door.
"Thank you, son." She hissed and untied her cloth as she pulled out her key. "Don't be too generous; people aren't what they seem. Remember."
The woman's voice cut so deep, Leon's nails raked against his palms.
He turned whenever his mind told him to, but to his surprise, she stood there watching with a grin.
But as he repeated the same action the third time, no sign or sight of the woman or her house was visible; only a single, piercing sound lanced through the humid air.
It came soft and distant at first, yet as he walked away, increasing the gap, it wrapped itself around him like the wind before a storm.
A few meters away from his house, a sound lanced through the air, causing his jaw to tighten.
It was his mother's wailing.
The cry shattered the little composure he had. His legs moved only on instinct, sprinting down the narrow street.
He barely registered his sister. Lily curled on the doorstep and racked with sobs as he reached.
As he entered, he heard his mother's grief pouring out in a raw and endless tone. Seeing them alone broke him. Whatever thin wall he had built to hold himself together crumbled completely.
Memories of his father surged—his paint-stained hands tossing Leon into the air when he was younger, his rough laugh filling their home.
But now everything, including the laughter, was gone. Sleep did not come to him that night, nor the night after.
Leon moved like a ghost, brewing tea his mother wouldn't drink and holding Lily when her sobs ran dry.
As he returned to school on the next day, whispers trailed him like smoke. He slipped through the halls unseen, except for Zoe.
Whereverhe turned, he saw her watching him with that same steady gaze. Her lips parted slightly, but she refused to let it out.
Then, on the second evening, Mr. Lee came by. He didn't offer comfort. He simply sat in their one good chair and handed Leon a thick, black envelope sealed with wax the color of clotted blood.
"The results from your first exam came back," Mr. Lee said quietly. "You didn't qualify for the standard scholarship track."
Leon's heart, already leaden, sank further. Of course. He'd failed. Nothing would change.
"But," Mr. Lee continued, his voice intensifying, "your written score was off the charts. It flagged you for this." He tapped the envelope. "A second exam. A different kind of test. Leon, this exam isn't about grades—it's about your awakening."
Leon took the envelope, his fingers trembling. 'A second exam? My awakening?'
As he held it, a memory surfaced, vivid and sudden—a flashback to his father's hand, heavy and paint-stained, gripping his shoulder.
"You're meant for more than this, son. Don't let this place decide who you are. Your strength will show itself when the time is right."
At the time, Leon had thought it was just a father's hopeful lie. Now, holding this black envelope, it felt like a prophecy.
The next day, walking home from school, the world seemed sharper, more menacing. Tiger's gang had trailed him for a block, throwing taunts and stones, before veering off, laughing.
Leon's new, fragile resolve hardened. He would take this exam. He would change this.
His route took him past an overflowing trash bin, the stench thick in the air. A scuffle sounded from a side alley. Instinctively, Leon shrank back behind a collapsed wall, peering over the rubble.
A well-dressed man wearing a suit worth more than everything in Leon's home stood over a crumpled figure in Dusthollow rags. Each strike landed slow and deliberate.
"Please… no more…" the poor man begged, his voice a wet gurgle.
"You don't need it," the elite sneered. "A waste of a decent telekinetic flicker on garbage like you."
Leon froze. 'Ability-stealing.' Mr. Lee's words weren't just a theory; they were a horror happening ten feet away.
The elite placed a ring on his finger, its gemstone glowing a sickly green. He pressed it to the poor man's forehead.
The man's scream was of pain but also of something deeper being torn away. A visible wisp of light, like a trapped will-o'-the-wisp, was sucked from his body and into the ring.
The light died. The elite man stood up, brushing dust from his immaculate trousers. "You should be grateful I let you live," he said, and spat on the now-motionless man.
As the elite strode away, Leon's fear was incinerated by a pure, white-hot fury. This was the world's truth. This was what power did. His father's words echoed in his skull: 'Your strength will show itself.'
Unconsciously, Leon's hands clenched into fists. A low crackle of energy, unseen but felt, whispered around him.
The rubble at his feet shifted, a tiny fissure snaking through the concrete. His eyes, for a split second, flashed with a golden light he couldn't see.
The fury vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a terrifying confusion. 'What was that?'
He looked at his hands, then back at the man left broken in the alley. He turned and ran, sprinting the rest of the way home, his heart hammering with a terror that was now mixed with something else—something unknown.
He burst onto his street, needing the safety of his walls, needing to see his family. He scrambled up to his door, hands outstretched.