The streetlights flickered to life as the last traces of sunlight faded from the horizon. The three of them left the park together, their footsteps slow and unhurried on the cracked pavement. The conversation had shifted to quieter tones, the earlier banter giving way to a comfortable silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence, though—just the kind that came from knowing each other long enough not to need to fill every moment with words.
“I hate this part of the day,” Rhea said suddenly, breaking the quiet. She was walking a few steps ahead of them, her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. “It’s too quiet. Makes me feel like I’m supposed to be thinking about something important.”
“You mean like your Trials strategy?” Nate asked, his tone light but teasing.
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Rhea groaned, spinning on her heel to walk backward so she could face them. “I’ll figure it out later. Procrastination builds character.”
“That’s definitely not how it works,” Darius said, shaking his head.
“Says you,” she shot back, smirking. “Anyway, you’re the one who should be figuring out your strategy. Unless you’re planning to wing it.”
Darius didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking to the sidewalk ahead. The Trials were the last thing he wanted to think about right now, but avoiding the subject didn’t make it go away. “I’ll manage,” he said finally. It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was the best he could manage without lying.
Rhea seemed to accept it, for now. “Well, don’t stress too much about it. You’re not Zeke. You’ve actually got brains.”
“High bar,” Nate muttered, earning a laugh from Rhea.
They reached her street a few minutes later, her small house standing out with its bright porch light and neatly kept yard. Rhea paused at the gate, turning back to face them with a grin.
“Alright,” she said, hoisting her bag higher on her shoulder. “Try not to overthink yourselves to death tonight. And don’t let Darius turn into a full-blown pessimist while I’m not looking.”
“Too late,” Nate said, raising his drink in mock toast.
Rhea rolled her eyes. “Goodnight, geniuses.” She turned toward the house, pausing briefly to wave before disappearing inside.
Darius and Nate continued on in companionable silence, the sounds of the city fading into the background as they moved further into quieter streets. Nate didn’t speak much unless he had something to say, but Darius had learned to appreciate the quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt steadier than most things in his life.
“You know,” Nate said eventually, his tone thoughtful, “she’s not wrong.”
“About what?” Darius asked.
“About you,” Nate replied, glancing at him. “You don’t have to be flashy to stand out. People like Zeke are all noise. You’ve got something more than that.”
Darius didn’t respond immediately. He wasn’t sure how to. Compliments like that didn’t come often, and when they did, they always felt a little off-balance, like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“I’m not trying to stand out,” he said finally.
“Maybe not,” Nate said, smirking faintly. “But it’s going to happen whether you like it or not.”
They reached Nate’s street soon after, the houses here older, their lights dimmer. Nate stopped at the corner, giving Darius his usual lazy wave as he turned toward his house.
“See you tomorrow,” Nate said, his tone as easygoing as always.
“Yeah,” Darius replied. “See you.”
----------------------------------------
The air grew colder as Darius approached his house, his pace slowing with each step. The porch light flickered weakly, illuminating the peeling paint and the screen door hanging slightly off its hinges. He could already hear the muffled sound of the television from outside—a harsh, grating noise that mixed with the low hum of the city.
When he pushed the door open, the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hit him immediately. His father was awake, slouched on the couch with a half-empty bottle dangling from one hand. The light of the television bathed his face in a pale glow, accentuating the deep lines carved into his skin.
“Darius,” his father slurred, his voice thick and uneven. He didn’t look up from the screen. “What the hell time do you call this?”
Darius sighed, setting his bag down carefully by the door. “It’s not late, Dad.”
“Not late?” His father barked out a sharp laugh, taking a swig from the bottle before slamming it down on the coffee table. “You think you can just come and go whenever you feel like it? Like this is your damn hotel?”
“I’m just trying to go to bed,” Darius said, keeping his tone as neutral as he could.
“Bed?” His father finally turned, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as he stared at Darius. “You don’t get to sleep under my roof if you’re gonna keep disrespecting me. Think you’re better than me, huh? With your big plans and your little... Trials?”
“Dad, I’m not—” Darius began, but his father cut him off.
“Don’t lie to me!” he roared, standing unsteadily and pointing a shaking finger at him. “You’ve always thought you were better. Like you’re some... some big-shot. Well, guess what, kid? You’re nothing. You’re never gonna be anything. So get the hell out of my house.”
Darius froze, his breath catching in his throat. He’d seen his father like this before—drunk, angry, lashing out at anything within reach. But this time, there was a finality in his words that hit harder than any slap ever could.
“Are you serious?” Darius asked, his voice low but trembling with disbelief.
“Dead serious,” his father spat. “Pack your crap and get out. I’m done with you.”
Darius stood there for a moment, staring at the man who was supposed to be his family. Then, without another word, he turned, grabbed his bag, and walked out the door. The cold night air hit him like a slap as he stepped onto the porch, the door slamming shut behind him.
He wandered the streets for a while, the weight of the encounter pressing heavily on his chest. When his legs finally carried him to Nate’s neighborhood, he hesitated only briefly before making his way up the path to the Carter house. The lights were on inside, a warm glow spilling out onto the street.
He knocked softly at first, then a little louder when no one answered. After a moment, the door opened, and Nate stood there, his expression instantly shifting from surprise to concern when he saw Darius’s face.
“Darius? What’s going on?” Nate asked, stepping aside to let him in.
“It’s... my dad,” Darius said, his voice tight. “He kicked me out.”
Nate’s expression darkened, but he didn’t ask for details. Instead, he motioned toward the living room. “Come on. You can crash here.”
But before Darius could step inside, a voice called from the kitchen. “Nate? Who’s at the door?”
It was Captain Garrick Carter, Nate’s father, his tone sharp and commanding. When he appeared in the doorway, his stern gaze landed on Darius, softening only slightly when he took in the situation.
“Darius,” Garrick said, folding his arms. “It’s late. What’s going on?”
“He needs a place to stay,” Nate said quickly. “Just for the night.”
Garrick frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked between the two boys. “You know I can’t allow that, Nate. It’s not a hotel.”
“Dad—” Nate began, but Garrick cut him off.
“I’m sorry,” Garrick said, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve got to figure something else out, Darius.”
The words stung, but Darius wasn’t surprised. He nodded stiffly, stepping back onto the porch. “Thanks anyway,” he said quietly.
Nate looked furious. “This is—”
“It’s fine,” Darius interrupted, forcing a faint smile. “I’ll figure something out.”
Nate hesitated, his jaw clenching, but he didn’t argue further. “If you need anything, call me,” he said. “Seriously.”
Darius nodded and turned away, the cool night air biting at his skin as he walked back down the path.
By the time Darius reached Rhea’s house, the exhaustion was setting in. The warm glow of the porch light illuminated the neatly kept yard, a comforting beacon in the chilly evening. He hesitated at the gate, his fingers brushing the latch as doubt clawed at him. Should he even bother? But before he could decide, the front door creaked open, and Rhea stepped out, her eyes widening when she saw him standing there.
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“Darius?” she said, her voice a mix of surprise and concern. “What are you doing here?”
He swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. “I... my dad. He kicked me out.”
Her expression softened immediately, and she stepped aside, holding the door open. “Come in.”
Darius entered, the warmth of the house wrapping around him like a protective blanket. The familiar hum of the heater filled the air, accompanied by the faint sounds of laughter and clinking dishes coming from deeper inside.
“Are you hungry? Do you need anything?” Rhea asked, watching him carefully.
He shook his head, his shoulders slumping. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”
Before either of them could say more, Elijah Calloway’s booming voice called from the dining room. “Rhea! Who’s at the door? Your secret boyfriend finally showing up?”
Rhea rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “Dad, stop being weird!” she yelled back, though her cheeks turned a faint shade of pink.
She shot Darius an apologetic look and motioned for him to follow her. As they stepped into the dining room, the chaotic warmth of the Calloway family hit him in full force.
“Darius!” Elijah exclaimed, his sharp blue eyes lighting up as he gestured toward an empty seat at the crowded table. “Well, look who it is! Come on, sit down. We’ve got plenty of food.”
“Hi, Mr. Calloway,” Darius said quietly, glancing around the table. Marianne Calloway offered him a warm smile from her seat beside her husband, while Rhea’s siblings—Ethan, Fiona, and Caleb—looked up with varying degrees of interest and amusement.
“You don’t have to sit if you’re not hungry,” Rhea murmured, but before Darius could answer, Marianne chimed in.
“Of course he’s sitting. There’s no sense in letting him stand around like a stranger.” She patted the seat next to Rhea. “Come on, dear.”
Reluctantly, Darius slid into the chair, the scent of roasted chicken and buttered rolls teasing his senses.
“So, Darius,” Elijah said as he carved into the chicken with a flourish, “ten years of being friends with my daughter, huh? You’ve got the patience of a saint.”
“Dad,” Rhea groaned, glaring at him across the table.
“What? It’s impressive!” Elijah said innocently, slicing another piece of chicken. “You must have the endurance of a Guardian to deal with her experiments all the time.”
“She’s not that bad,” Darius said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Not that bad?” Ethan echoed, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “Come on, man. Be honest. How many times has she nearly blown something up?”
“Once or twice,” Darius admitted, his tone dry, which earned a round of laughter from everyone except Rhea.
“Hey!” she protested, tossing a piece of bread at Ethan, who caught it with ease.
“Don’t mind them, Darius,” Marianne said, her voice soothing. “We’ve always thought of you as part of the family. It’s lovely having you here.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Calloway,” Darius said quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Marianne,” Marianne corrected gently, glancing at her husband with an amused look. “He insists on keeping it casual around here.”
“Exactly,” Elijah said with a grin, raising his glass. “None of that ‘Mrs.’ or ‘Mr.’ business. Just Marianne and Elijah—unless you want to make me feel old.”
Darius chuckled softly. “Alright... Marianne. Elijah.”
“There you go!” Elijah said, pointing his fork at him approvingly. “See? He’s already one of us.”
“Anyway,” Elijah said with mock exasperation. He slid a plate of chicken toward Darius. “Eat up before Caleb cleans out the rolls.”
“I wasn’t gonna eat them all!” Caleb protested, though his hand was already reaching for another.
“Sure you weren’t,” Rhea said, swatting his hand away.
Darius couldn’t help but laugh quietly as the family bantered around him.
“So, Darius,” Marianne said, her tone gentle but curious, “how are you feeling about the Trials? Rhea tells us you’ve been working hard.”
Darius hesitated, glancing at Rhea for reassurance. She gave him a subtle nod, and he sighed. “I’ve been practicing, but... I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“You’ll do great,” Elijah said, pointing a fork at him. “If Rhea’s willing to put up with you, you must have some grit.”
“Dad, that’s not how friendships work,” Rhea said with a groan.
“It does in this house,” Elijah replied with a grin. “Right, Ethan?”
“Oh, totally,” Ethan said, smirking. “That’s why Mom’s the only one who can handle Dad.”
Marianne smiled, her eyes sparkling. “And don’t you forget it.”
Elijah chuckled and leaned forward, his tone softening. “Listen, kid. You don’t need to be the flashiest. Sometimes it’s the ones who don’t make a lot of noise who end up surprising everyone.”
“That’s true,” Fiona added, glancing at Darius. “The Trials aren’t just about strength. They’re about showing what makes you unique.”
“And if that doesn’t work,” Ethan added with a grin, “just trip Zeke and make a run for it.”
“Because that’s worked so well for you,” Fiona said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Hey, it’s called strategy,” Ethan shot back, earning more laughter around the table.
As the meal wound down, Darius found himself relaxing more than he had in weeks. The Calloways’ teasing and warmth, their easy way of including him in their rhythm—it was everything his own home lacked.
“Alright,” Elijah said, pushing back his chair and clapping his hands together. “Who’s on cleanup duty? Not it!”
“Not it!” Caleb echoed, earning a glare from Fiona.
Marianne smiled and waved them off. “You all go. I’ll handle it tonight.”
Rhea stood and grabbed Darius’s arm, dragging him toward the stairs. “Come on. You’ve had enough teasing for one night.”
“You’re not escaping that easily, Darius!” Elijah called after him. “Next time, we’re grilling you about your favorite foods!”
Darius glanced back with a small smile. “I’ll be ready.”
As they reached the guest room, Rhea set his bag down near the bed and turned to him. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Thanks, Rhea. And... your family. They’re amazing.”
She smiled, her expression soft. “They like you, you know. And so do I. You’re always welcome here.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, Darius felt the weight on his chest lighten. As Rhea left and he settled into the quiet room.
As he sat on the edge of the guest bed, the soft hum of conversation from the Calloways downstairs faded into the background. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and the screen lit up with a string of missed notifications.
The first was a message from Nate, sent about fifteen minutes ago:
Nate: Yo, you good? Heard from Rhea you’re crashing there tonight. Everything cool?
Darius stared at the message for a moment before typing a quick response.
Darius: Yeah, all good. Thanks for checking in.
Almost immediately, the little dots indicating Nate was typing popped up.
Nate: Alright. But if Rhea starts building one of her gadgets in her sleep, you better make a run for it.
Darius smiled faintly, shaking his head as he typed back.
Darius: I’ll keep that in mind.
Nate’s reply was instant.
Nate: Cool. Don’t be a stranger, bro. Catch you tomorrow.
Darius put the phone down on the nightstand, but the screen caught his eye, still displaying an open browser tab from earlier. The title of the video read, “Aetherion Chronicles: The Legend of Adrian Starfire,” accompanied by a thumbnail of a man mid-leap, golden flames erupting from his hands.
He tapped the video and leaned back against the pillows as it played. The familiar sound of an announcer’s voice filled the room, narrating over clips of Adrian Starfire—one of the most renowned Guardians in the world—performing feats of heroism.
The footage showed Adrian soaring through the air, his Fire Affinity blazing in radiant arcs as he shielded civilians from falling debris. In another clip, he disarmed a group of armed attackers with calculated precision, his flames controlled and precise. The final segment was of Adrian extinguishing a raging wildfire, his flames turning a destructive inferno into a controlled burn that saved an entire village.
Adrian stood in the aftermath of his heroics, his figure illuminated by the setting sun. His presence was magnetic, a blend of strength and compassion that made him seem untouchable yet relatable.
The video cut to an interview.
"Adrian, what motivates you to keep going even when the odds are stacked against you?"
The hero smiled, his expression calm but resolute.
"I was once just a kid with a dream. I didn’t have much—just this fire inside me that wouldn’t go out. If I can use that fire to help people, to protect what matters, then it’s all worth it."
Darius paused the video, his gaze lingering on Adrian’s determined expression.
Closing his eyes, Darius let his mind drift. He pictured himself in Adrian’s place, standing tall as a crowd cheered. His hands glowed with Etherion—not plain, raw energy, but something special, something awe-inspiring. Maybe fire like Adrian’s, or a unique power that no one had ever seen before.
In his imagination, he leaped into action, darting through a crumbling building to rescue a trapped family. He could almost feel the rush of wind against his face as he sprinted past flames, his movements graceful and precise. The weight of the world didn’t feel heavy in this daydream—it felt manageable, like he could hold it all on his shoulders and still stand tall.
Darius imagined the gratitude in their eyes as he pulled them to safety, imagined the quiet nod of thanks from someone who had been moments from despair. He saw himself stepping into a Guardian’s role, not just surviving but thriving—making a difference, proving that even without an Affinity, he could shine.
The scene shifted. He was standing on a grand stage, facing a sea of faces. Reporters asked questions, students looked up to him in awe, and for the first time, Darius didn’t feel invisible.
"What motivates you?" a voice asked, echoing Adrian’s interview.
He imagined himself smiling, the kind of easy, self-assured grin he wished he could manage in real life.
"I was once just a kid without an Affinity," he would say. "But I had something more—a drive to prove that anyone can rise above their limits."
The sound of footsteps outside the door brought Darius back to reality. The vision faded, leaving only the soft glow of his phone screen illuminating the dim room.
He sighed, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. The weight of the Trials settled back on his chest like a familiar companion, but for a moment, that daydream had made it all feel possible.
He glanced back at his phone, watching the video resume automatically. Adrian Starfire was speaking again, his voice steady and full of conviction.
"Anyone can burn bright. You just have to find what fuels your fire."
Darius locked the screen and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. He wasn’t Adrian Starfire. He didn’t have an Affinity, didn’t have fame or glory or cheering crowds. But he did have a spark—small, faint, but there.