Wynne Xevoz POV
From the third floor where I stood, the school grounds looked orderly—students playing in the field, laughter rising and fading like background noise. Routine. Normal. Then I received a message.
It was from my son, Nick.
Dad, I'm skipping school today. I'll be going to the address you gave me.
According to Mr. Topaz, something happened to his son earlier. That's probably the reason why he chose to skip the afternoon class.
I replied, Take care. I'll handle the rest.
I lingered longer than I intended. Soon I saw him.
He walked alone, his bag slung too low on one shoulder, his steps a little too measured for a boy his age. He didn't look back at the building. He passed through the gate as if the place had already let go of him.
I exhaled slowly and turned away from the window.
The phone on my desk felt heavier than it should have. I picked it up and dialed an internal number from memory.
It rang once.
"Principal Xevoz," Mr. Topaz answered, professional as always. "Is there any problem?"
"None at all," I said. My voice came out calm—too calm. "I just wanted to confirm who's handling Class 3-A this afternoon."
There was a pause, papers shifting on the other end. "First period will be Miss Snow."
"Good," I said. "Please inform her that my son has an urgent matter to attend to. He won't be present."
"Understood. I'll notify the rest of the faculty as well."
"Thank you, Mr. Topaz."
"My pleasure, sir."
The line clicked dead.
I set the receiver down carefully, aligning it with the base. Small habits, ingrained over years—things I did when my mind refused to slow down.
Then I reached for my personal phone.
This number, at least, I didn't call lightly.
It rang longer than I liked.
Finally, a familiar, rough voice answered. "You bastard. Still alive, huh? I figured you'd be dead by now. How long's it been since you last called?"
"Two years," I said.
"Wrong," he scoffed. "Two years and ten months. I keep track. So what do you want? I don't have any performance enhancers right now."
I almost smiled. Almost.
"I don't need those," I said. "Chloe and I have no plans for a second child."
He laughed, loud and unfiltered. "Poor Nick. Growing up without a sibling to mess him up."
"It's too late for us," I replied evenly. "And the age gap would be ridiculous. He'd never really have a playmate."
"Right," he said, his tone shifting. "High school already, yeah?"
"College next year."
There was a sharp inhale. "Damn. Time really doesn't wait. Feels like yesterday you were standing at the altar, trying not to pass out."
"And you were crying," I reminded him. "In the church."
"Don't start."
I let the silence stretch before steering us back where it needed to go. "I'm sending Nick to you. I think he might be in trouble."
That got his attention.
"Oh?" he said. "What kind of trouble?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "That's the problem. He's hiding something, and he's always been terrible at lying—but this time, he's trying anyway."
A low hum came through the line as he thought. "So what do you want me to give him? A gun?"
"This isn't America," I said dryly. "No. Something defensive. Something that can stop a bullet."
He chuckled. "Lucky timing. I just got new stock."
"Thank you."
"Should I loop in your father-in-law?" he asked casually. Too casually. "That old man's still got reach."
"No," I said immediately. "There's no need to escalate things yet. Nick can handle this."
Another pause. Then, quieter, "You trust him that much?"
"Yes," I said. The answer came without hesitation. "I do."
"Huh." A beat. "Anything else?"
"Yes." I straightened in my chair. "I need everything you have on Nihilkin."
The silence on the other end stretched longer this time.
"Oh," he finally said. "That."
"You have it."
"I do. Incomplete, but real. Someone paid me a small fortune to dig into police databases. I kept a copy—just in case." He laughed under his breath. "Didn't think you'd be the one asking."
"Send it to me."
"Before I do," he said carefully, "is this about Nick?"
"I don't know," I said, and hated myself for it.
Another long pause. "Alright. I'll forward it. But just so you know—if Chloe's father starts asking questions about his grandson, I won't lie to him."
"I wouldn't expect you to," I said. "Thank you."
The call ended.
A second later, my phone vibrated.
I opened the file.
And felt the ground shift beneath my feet.
For a moment, I just stared at the header, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less horrifying if I gave them time. They didn't.
NIHILKIN — CONFIDENTIAL DOSSIER
Access Level: Black
Source: Internal / Police / Military Joint Taskforce
Status: Ongoing Investigation
My thumb scrolled slowly, deliberately. I forced myself to read every line, no matter how much my chest tightened.
Subject 001
Name: Jake Zuloski
Codename:Hephaestus
Description:
Male, mid-thirties. Former industrial engineer. Disappeared a day after the full planetary alignment. Reappeared during a warehouse fire incident with no accelerants detected.
Manifested Ability:
Subject can generate and manipulate fire without any observable ignition source. Flames manifest directly from the subject's body or surrounding air. Temperature output exceeds standard combustion models. Fire does not require oxygen in enclosed spaces.
Additional Notes:
-Subject exhibits resistance to extreme heat.
-Thermal weapons proved ineffective.
-Displays signs of heightened aggression and detachment from human empathy during manifestation.
Risk Classification:HIGHLY DANGEROUS
Status: At large.
I stopped scrolling.
Fire from nothing. No fuel. No logic.
My mind supplied images I didn't want—streets burning, buildings collapsing, people screaming while someone stood at the center of it all, untouched.
I swallowed and continued.
Subject 002
Name: Emily Myer
Codename:Ah Muzen Cab
Description:
Female, late twenties. Former entomology graduate student. Reported missing. First confirmed Nihilkin captured alive.
Manifested Ability:
Subject demonstrates absolute control over insects within a wide radius, primarily bees, wasps, ants, and beetles. Swarms respond instantly to mental commands.
Subject can also manifest a hardened exoskeletal armor composed of chitin-like material, capable of withstanding high-caliber rounds and blunt force trauma.
Additional Notes:
-Armor manifestation appears instinctive when subject perceives danger.
-Pain response significantly dulled.
-Highly cooperative in the experiment.
-Willing to provide information for the sake of science.
Risk Classification:Medium Threat
Status: Contained (Location Redacted).
My jaw tightened.
A student. Someone who had probably worried about exams and deadlines and rent—now reduced to a codename and a threat level.
I scrolled further.
General Observations:
-Nihilkin emergence correlates directly with the full planetary alignment.
-Subjects often report "voices," intrusive thoughts, or secondary consciousness prior to manifestation.
-Psychological profile frequently includes dissociation, identity fracture, or accelerated dual-personality development.
-Nihilkin manifestations were random.
My grip on the phone tightened.
Voices.
I thought of Nick. His silences. His evasions. The way he looked this morning—present, yet somewhere else entirely. His face shows how he fare on his invisible fight yet I failed to notice.
Dietary Findings (Unconfirmed, Under Review):
While Nihilkin subjects can sustain themselves on normal human food, multiple cases indicate an increased physiological response after consumption of human tissue.
Effect includes rapid regeneration, power amplification, and stabilization of secondary consciousness.
I stopped reading.
My vision blurred—not from tears, but from the sheer force of the questions slamming into my head.
Had my son encountered something like this?
Had he been forced into it?
Or worse—Was he one of them?
I locked the screen again, slower this time, as if sealing the file might seal the truth with it.
The office felt smaller. The walls too close. The silence oppressive.
I leaned back and covered my face with one hand.
If Nick was anywhere on this spectrum—between Hephaestus and Ah Muzen Cab—then the world he was stepping into was not one I could protect him from with authority or discipline or reason.
Only preparation.
Only trust.
I lowered my hand and stared at the door of my office, imagining my son walking through it, shoulders squared, eyes guarded, carrying burdens no boy his age should ever have to bear.
"Please," I murmured under my breath, unsure who I was praying to. "Whatever you've become… remember who you are."
And hoped—desperately—that my intuition about my son is wrong. And he's just an ordinary child.