The funeral ended three days later.
Leo remembered almost none of it.
He remembered the rain.
He remembered the sound of the mourners speaking.
He remembered the two coffins sitting beneath the clan’s ceremonial pavilion.
He remembered Lance standing at the front.
He remembered everyone calling his parents heroes.
But most of all, he remembered the empty space beside him.
For thirteen years, Leo had never attended a meal without one of his parents nearby.
He had never gone to sleep without knowing they were somewhere in the same house.
He had never woken up without hearing his mother’s voice or his father’s footsteps.
Now there was nothing.
The house was silent.
The first night after the funeral, Leo sat at the dining table until morning.
There were three bowls on the table.
One for him.
One for his mother.
One for his father.
He had set them out without thinking.
Eventually, Corrine’s bowl became cold.
Lawrence’s bowl became cold.
Leo’s food remained untouched.
At sunrise, a servant came to collect them.
She stopped when she saw the table.
Leo looked up.
“Leave them.”
The servant hesitated.
“They’re going to get cold.”
“They’re already cold.”
He stared at the two bowls.
“Just leave them.”
The servant quietly obeyed.
For several days, Leo continued setting three places.
Eventually, someone removed the extra dishes.
Leo didn’t protest.
He simply stopped eating with anyone else.
The clan mourned Lawrence.
It mourned Corrine.
Then it moved on.
That was the part Leo couldn’t understand.
How could the world continue?
How could people laugh?
How could children train?
How could the sun rise every morning when his parents were gone?
The answer, of course, was simple.
The world didn’t care.
It continued because that was what the world did.
And four years later, Leo had learned to continue with it.
He was seventeen now.
The boy who had once destroyed training dummies with careless bursts of lightning had become a quiet young man.
He was thinner.
Much thinner.
His shoulders lacked the strength they should have had at his age.
His clothes were older than most of the other young warriors’.
His weapons were worn.
His training equipment was worse.
But the most noticeable change was his eyes.
They were tired.
Not sad.
Not angry.
Just tired.
Leo stood in the clan training yard holding a wooden sword.
Across from him stood one of Lance’s sons.
“Again.”
Leo raised the sword.
His opponent attacked.
Leo blocked.
The impact drove him backward.
His feet scraped against the dirt.
He countered.
His opponent twisted aside and struck Leo across the ribs.
Leo stumbled.
“You’re too slow.”
Leo steadied himself.
“Again.”
The other boy smiled.
“You really think you can beat me?”
Leo said nothing.
They attacked again.
Leo blocked three strikes.
The fourth hit his shoulder.
The fifth knocked the sword from his hand.
The wooden blade landed several feet away.
A few of the watching clan members laughed.
Leo looked at his empty hand.
Then at the sword.
He walked over and picked it up.
“Again.”
His opponent sighed.
“What’s the point?”
Leo looked at him.
“I want to train.”
“You’ve been training for years.”
“I know.”
“And you’re still weak.”
Leo didn’t respond.
The instructor finally stepped forward.
“That’s enough.”
Leo lowered his sword.
“Can I continue?”
“No.”
Leo nodded.
He turned away.
The instructor watched him leave.
There was pity in his eyes.
But even pity had become something Leo disliked.
He didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him.
He wanted to become strong.
His father had told him that strength wasn’t everything.
But his father had also been strong enough to protect an entire town.
Leo had failed to understand the lesson.
All he remembered was the promise he had made beside his parents’ bodies.
I will never forget you.
And beneath that promise was another thought he had never spoken aloud.
I should have been strong enough to save you.
He knew it wasn’t rational.
He knew he hadn’t been strong enough.
He had been thirteen.
But grief wasn’t rational.
It didn’t care about age.
It didn’t care about logic.
It simply remained.
And Leo carried it every day.
Celine watched from the edge of the training grounds.
She had changed too.
Four years had passed, and she was now seventeen as well.
She was still beautiful.
Still energetic.
Still one of the most talented young people in the world.
But her expression had hardened whenever she looked at Leo.
She hated what the clan had done to him.
She hated watching him train with broken equipment.
She hated seeing him skip meals because he didn’t have enough food.
And she hated herself for being unable to change it.
Catherine stood beside her.
“You should talk to him.”
“I have.”
“Talk again.”
“He won’t listen.”
“Then make him listen.”
Celine sighed.
“You make everything sound easy.”
“No.”
Catherine looked at Leo.
“I simply don’t like watching people I care about suffer.”
Celine smiled faintly.
“You’ve always been better at saying things than I am.”
“I doubt that.”
“You don’t.”
Catherine smiled.
“Perhaps.”
The twins had changed as well.
Their abilities had grown.
Celine’s spatial affinity had become more precise.
Catherine’s temporal affinity had become more powerful.
They were considered prodigies.
But the attention had begun to change them.
People no longer treated them as children.
They were political assets.
Their parents had begun receiving offers from powerful families.
Their futures were being discussed.
Their marriage prospects were being discussed.
Their eventual leadership positions were being discussed.
Celine hated it.
The only part she cared about was Leo.
She walked toward him.
Leo had just finished training.
“Leo.”
He turned.
“Hi.”
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“You always say that.”
“Because I am.”
Celine looked at him.
He was lying.
She knew it.
He knew she knew it.
Neither said anything.
Finally, Celine held out a small package.
“What’s that?”
“Food.”
“I don’t need it.”
“You do.”
“I’m fine.”
“You haven’t eaten.”
Leo looked away.
Celine sighed.
“Please.”
He accepted the package.
“Thank you.”
She smiled.
“You’re welcome.”
Leo hesitated.
“Celine?”
“Yes?”
“How’s your training?”
“Good.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
He smiled.
“I’m glad.”
She studied him.
“Do you remember what your father told you?”
Leo’s expression changed.
“Which thing?”
“About strength.”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Leo thought for several seconds.
“That the strongest person isn’t the one who can destroy the most.”
“And?”
“The strongest person is the one who can carry the most responsibility without letting power change who they are.”
Celine smiled.
“Do you believe him?”
Leo looked toward the training grounds.
“I want to.”
She wanted to say more.
Instead, she simply touched his shoulder.
“You will.”
Then she left.
Leo watched her go.
For a brief moment, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Hope.
It disappeared quickly.
But it had been there.
The following morning, Leo received his monthly resources.
The amount was laughable.
He stared at the small pouch of coins in his hand.
“This is all?”
The clan administrator nodded.
“Your allocation.”
“It’s less than last month.”
“You’ve used too many training resources.”
“I barely receive any.”
The administrator shrugged.
“Your performance doesn’t justify more.”
Leo stared at him.
“Understood.”
He took the pouch.
Then he walked away.
Behind him, two clan members laughed.
“Look at him.”
“Once the genius of the generation.”
“Now look.”
Leo kept walking.
He had learned not to react.
Reaction gave people power.
Silence took it away.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
That evening, Leo returned to his room.
It was small.
Much smaller than the room he had once shared with his parents.
He opened the pouch.
He counted the coins.
Then counted them again.
Food.
Training materials.
Clothing.
Medical supplies.
He couldn’t afford all of them.
He sighed.
There was a small wooden box beneath his bed.
Leo pulled it out.
Inside were the few things he had kept from his childhood.
A piece of his father’s old training glove.
A ribbon from his mother’s hair.
A broken training crystal.
And a small photograph of the three of them.
Leo picked it up.
His fingers trembled.
He remembered that day.
He had been nine.
His father had been trying to teach him how to control lightning.
His mother had interrupted because she thought Lawrence was being too serious.
They had argued.
Leo had laughed.
It had been a perfect day.
Leo pressed the photograph against his chest.
“I miss you.”
The words came quietly.
He looked at his father’s face.
“Did I disappoint you?”
Silence.
Leo looked at his mother.
“Am I supposed to keep trying?”
Silence.
His eyes burned.
He wiped them.
“I’m trying.”
He put the photograph away.
Then he opened the window.
The night air entered.
Leo looked toward the mountains.
His father had once told him that strength was not everything.
But perhaps he had misunderstood.
Perhaps being strong wasn’t about protecting everyone.
Perhaps it was simply about making sure nobody could ever take anything from him again.
He closed his eyes.
Lightning sparked around his fingers.
It was weak.
Barely enough to illuminate his hand.
Leo stared at it.
Then he tried again.
Nothing.
Again.
A spark.
Again.
A flicker.
His jaw tightened.
Again.
The lightning appeared.
Then vanished.
Leo lowered his hand.
He was exhausted.
But he wasn’t finished.
He went to bed.
Four years after Lawrence and Corrine’s deaths, Leo still dreamed about them.
Sometimes they were alive.
Sometimes they were sitting at the dinner table.
Sometimes his father was training him.
Sometimes his mother was laughing.
Sometimes Leo knew they were dead.
Those dreams were the worst.
Because waking up meant losing them twice.
That night was no different.
Leo dreamed he was thirteen again.
He stood at the gate.
His parents were preparing to leave.
His mother hugged him.
“We’ll be back soon.”
His father placed a hand on his head.
“Take care of yourself.”
Leo reached for them.
“Wait.”
They walked away.
Leo ran after them.
“Father!”
They didn’t stop.
“Mother!”
They disappeared.
Leo kept running.
Then the ground beneath him collapsed.
He fell.
And woke up.
Leo sat upright.
His room was dark.
His breathing was heavy.
For several seconds, he didn’t know where he was.
Then he remembered.
Four years.
Four years without them.
He wiped his face.
His pillow was wet.
Leo stared at the wall.
He didn’t cry often anymore.
But sometimes the grief found him when he wasn’t prepared.
He got out of bed.
The moon was still visible through the window.
He walked outside.
The training grounds were empty.
Leo stood in the center.
He remembered his father standing there.
He remembered the lightning.
He remembered being told that he was special.
He raised his hand.
Lightning appeared.
Weak.
Then stronger.
Leo stared.
He tried fire.
A flame formed.
Small.
But stable.
He brought the two together.
The flame twisted around the lightning.
The air became hot.
Leo’s eyes widened.
The two elements began merging.
For an instant, a brilliant white-blue glow appeared between his hands.
Plasma.
Then it collapsed.
Leo stumbled backward.
His heart raced.
He stared at his hands.
It had worked.
After four years.
It had finally worked.
Leo smiled.
It was the first genuine smile he had given himself in a very long time.
He tried again.
The same thing happened.
Lightning.
Fire.
Plasma.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Every attempt became slightly more stable.
Leo finally understood something.
His power hadn’t disappeared.
It had been buried.
Buried beneath hunger.
Neglect.
Grief.
And four years of being told that he wasn’t good enough.
He looked toward the sky.
“Father…”
A tear rolled down his cheek.
“Mom…”
He smiled through it.
“I’m still trying.”
Behind him, someone was watching.
Celine stood at the edge of the training grounds.
She had seen everything.
She smiled.
Not because Leo was becoming powerful again.
But because, for the first time in four years, he looked alive.
And somewhere within the darkness beyond the clan walls, another person had begun to notice.
The boy everyone had forgotten was starting to awaken.
Lance would eventually notice too.
And when he did, the fragile peace that had existed since Lawrence’s death would begin to crumble.
Because Lance had spent four years believing that Leo’s fall was permanent.
He had been wrong.
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