Axka walked through the hospital corridor, his thoughts far from the present. Memories of another life—one filled with pain and harsh commands—pulled at him like an undertow.

“Shut up! Do your fucking work!”

The voice cut through his recollections, sharp and brutal, like the blows he remembered all too well. Cruelty was woven into every syllable, each word echoing in his mind with the same sting as the old wounds.

“Your kind is not welcome here.”

That sentence hung in the air, a stark reminder of the prejudice he'd faced even in land meant for healing and safety.

Every time something happened to his brother Mika, it was like a trigger, sending Axka's mind spiraling back into those dark recesses. But he couldn't afford to get lost in the past. I can’t let myself to dwell on it. I need to stay focus.

Mika is all I have left, and his well-being is my only concern, Axka’s footsteps quickened, the rest—those haunting memories—were just shadows, fading into the background.

A week ago, Mika was injured in a school football game. The doctor said it was just a soft tissue injury, but the news weighed heavily on Axka’s mind.

As he approached the hospital doors, his heart pounded with a relentless rhythm of fear and determination. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever awaited inside. No matter what happens, I must keep my promise. For Mika’s sake.

His eyes scanned the rows of hospital beds, searching for the one face that mattered most. Relief washed over him when he finally spotted Mika lying in a bed, his face pale but calm, with a nurse tending to him. She noticed Axka and directed his attention to a nearby doctor overseeing Mika’s condition.

The doctor approached with a clipboard in hand, his expression professional but not unkind. “Your brother will fully recover within a week, and he can be discharged today.”

His words were a balm to Axka’s frayed nerves. Relief surged through him, momentarily pushing aside the constant worry. Knowing that Mika would be alright was a comfort he desperately needed.

But then the doctor continued, “However, I suggest that your brother stays here until he can fully walk again. It would be safer if the hospital taking care of this matter.”

Axka smiled, but it was tinged with the bitterness of reality. “Thank you, doctor, but we'll manage at home.” He knew that staying longer are yet another hospital bill.

My pockets were already worn thin from previous bills—might as well create a hole out of them if I stayed any longer.

As he spoke with the doctor, Axka added, “I’d like to rent a wheelchair for Mika for the day. It’ll make things more comfortable for him.” The doctor nodded, sensing Axka’s unspoken concerns. “We’ll add the rental fee to your bill.”

The doctor then handed Axka a prescription for Mika’s medication, directing them to the hospital’s counter for payment, his eyes lingering for a moment, as if offering silent understanding. Axka appreciated it, even if it did little to ease the burden on his shoulders.

At the counter, Axka pulled out his wallet—a thin, worn-out piece of cheap leather that had seen better days. It held the sum of his hard-earned money, every bill and coin carefully counted and rationed. His fingers hesitated for a moment, the weight of the decision heavy. The funds were just enough to cover the bill, leaving his wallet empty and his heart heavier.

Axka glanced at Mika, trying to hide his worry behind a smile. Mika watched him, his eyes filled with concern that made Axka's chest ache. Mika knew about the bills. I can’t let him carry that burden too.

“Don’t worry about that, okay? Your health comes first,” he said firmly, though his voice cracked a little inside. Axka handed over the money without another thought, pushing down the anxiety that threatened to bubble up.

Mika’s well-being was worth every penny, every sacrifice.

With the bill settled, Axka turned back to Mika, who was now sitting in a wheelchair. Mika looked up at him, his thoughts still clouded with worry, but Axka wouldn’t let that linger. He was determined to ease his mind, even if it meant shouldering the weight alone.

As they made their way out of the hospital, Axka decided they needed a moment of fun—a break from the constant strain that had become their lives. With a playful grin, he gave the wheelchair a push, sending them speeding outside the hospital doors into the open air.

An idea struck Axka like a firework.

“Look, Mika, you’re like a rally racer, and I’m your car!” he exclaimed, imitating the sound of a car accelerating. The noise echoed off the hospital walls as they zoomed along, the wind catching in their hair.

Mika’s laughter filled Axka with happiness. His face, often shadowed by worry, lit up with pure, unfiltered joy. It was in moments like these—brief, fleeting, but so full of life—that Axka was reminded there was more to the world than just struggle. There was laughter, light, and love. And for now, that was enough.

The orphaned brothers almost blended into the surroundings as they moved, the world around them a blur. Their path was suddenly blocked by a sea of pigeons crowding the sidewalk. Mika held his breath for a moment, watching the birds with wide eyes, but Axka didn’t pause. He navigated right through them, and Mika couldn’t help but laugh as the pigeons took flight in a fluttering frenzy, their wings flapping wildly against the backdrop of the setting sun.

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The scene felt almost unreal, like something out of a dream. The pigeons scattered in every direction, their dark silhouettes contrasting with the warm golden light bathing the city. Axka caught sight of Mika, his face determined but calm and realized how different this moment was from their usual reality. For once, they weren’t rushing or worrying; they were just living. And Axka felt something warm in his chest.

His laughter mingled with the sound of wings, and a genuine smile spread across his face—one not weighed down by the troubles they usually carried.

It felt great to smile and relax, even if just for a bit.

As the orphaned brothers continued down the street, the golden hour wrapped around them like a warm blanket. The light was soft, transforming everything it touched into something almost magical. Axka wanted to remember this moment forever.

This is different. This is precious. Moments like these don’t come often for us, and when they do, they feel like little miracles. Axka glanced at his brother, then took in his surroundings, savoring the moment.

For now, this is enough. We’re enough.

As they moved along, Mika’s eyes were drawn to a TV inside an electronics store. "Axka, look," he urged, pointing toward the television. Deciding to take a break, Axka guided Mika’s wheelchair to face the TV, and they watched side by side. The setting sun reflected off the screen, blurring the moment into something almost surreal.

On the screen was a familiar face—the retired Exemplar of Paragon, a revered figure in the world. He was promoting a competition for individuals with Anomalies to become the next 'Exemplar.' To most people, the Exemplar of Paragon was not just a title; he symbolized hope. Raised from nothing by the Federation, the Exemplar had become a beacon of light, showing that anyone, no matter their past, could achieve greatness.

With his potent Anomaly, ‘Inertia,’ the Exemplar ensured safety and led a team of Paragons, each contributing their unique powers and skills. To Axka, watching the Exemplar was like watching any other artist or celebrity, but for Mika, he was an inspiration.

As they continued watching the advertisement, Mika broke the silence with words Axka would never forget. “You know, seeing him makes me dream bigger. Imagine if you had the chance to be like the Exemplar. Wouldn't that be something?”

Axka chuckled, trying to match his enthusiasm with a touch of reality, “Me become like the Exemplar? That's way too high, Mika.”

“Why not?” Mika insisted. “You never give up, and you're strong, too. I believe in you.”

His words warmed Axka's heart. As he turned gently to face Mika while keeping an eye on the screen, a smile crept onto his face. “Really?” he replied softly.

“I’d be so proud if you became one,” Mika continued, his confidence unwavering. “You’d save a lot of people, you know.”

Energized by their conversation, Axka struck a heroic pose, hands on hips, playfully declaring, “Then I’ll be the one who falls from the sky to save everyone like a shooting star!”

Mika’s face lit up with excitement. “You promise?” he asked eagerly.

Without hesitation, Axka knelt to his level, making a solemn vow—a sacred oath to the person he loved most. “Yes, I promise.” As they prepared to head home, he gently reminded him, “We should be home before it gets dark.” He adjusted their path toward their apartment, where comfort awaited.

As Axka pushed the wheelchair, he mentioned casually, “I've marinated something special for dinner tonight. Chicken chop with mushroom sauce—your favorite.” He watched Mika’s face brighten, though his eyes held a mixture of gratitude and concern. “You’ve already done so much.”

Axka paused, remembering that the cost of the meal would leave him with barely enough for instant noodles after the hospital bill.

Fuck, who would’ve thought that the rental wheelchair would leave my wallet empty.

“I want to make sure you recover quickly,” he said firmly. “You need your strength.”

Mika nodded, and their journey home was quiet but filled with a comfortable silence of understanding. Axka glanced at Mika, noting the weariness that seemed to cling to him despite his recovery.

***

Back home, Axka donned his apron and moved around the kitchen, taking on the role of chef with practiced ease. After preparing the meal, he placed the plate on the table and watched as Mika sat, his expression puzzled. “You’re not eating?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“I already ate before I picked you up,” Axka lied smoothly, hiding his own hunger to make sure Mika was comfortable. But he knew his little brother wasn’t easily fooled.

“We should share the meal like we used to,” Mika suggested. At first, Axka protested, “No, no, this is for you. You need to eat.”

Mika’s response was immediate, a playful yet stubborn challenge. “If you don’t eat with me, I won’t eat at all.” For a moment, Axka stood there, the weight of their shared hardships hanging in the air—the memories of splitting meals, rationing portions, always ensuring Mika had enough—flashed in his mind. Axka couldn’t help but chuckle softly, breaking the tension.

“Alright, we’ll share,” he conceded, setting aside his stubbornness for his brother's sake.

After dinner, Axka, with a gentle but firm tone, reminded Mika of the night’s necessities. “Make sure to rest up and take your medicine,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of concern and authority—a balance he always tried to maintain between caring and ensuring Mika’s compliance with his recovery routine.

Mika, although tired, nodded in agreement, understanding the importance of following through for both his and Axka’s sake. “I will. Thanks for taking care of everything… as always,” he replied, gratitude showing in his tired eyes. Despite his hesitance to be a burden, Mika recognized Axka’s efforts as acts of love, not obligation.

Assured that Mika was settled in for the night, Axka quietly prepared to leave. He moved through the small space they called home, each step measured, ensuring nothing disturbed Mika’s rest.

Stepping out into the cool night air, Axka allowed himself a moment to feel the weight of his responsibilities. Working as a janitor at the nearby elementary school wasn’t what he had imagined for himself, but it was honest work, and it paid the bills. He had to beg for this opportunity, much like he had done in his previous job.

Initially, the position was reserved for those who were in appropriate age to work, and the shifts were only during the day, not at night. His persistence and determination, reminiscent of his previous struggles, eventually won him the job. It allowed him to care for Mika and provide for them in their time of need.

Throughout the night, as Axka swept the halls and cleaned the classrooms, his thoughts often drifted back to Mika, asleep and recovering.

The silence of the school at night was his only companion; every sweep of the broom, every trash bin emptied, was a step toward a future where they both lived a better life.