The gray light of early dawn crept into the room, filtered through the thin curtains that Rhea had probably picked out herself—bright patterns of geometric shapes clashing in a way only she would find appealing. Darius stirred, groaning softly as a knock sounded at the door, soft but insistent.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” came Rhea’s voice from the other side, slightly muffled but unmistakably cheerful. “Time to get up. You’re not getting out of breakfast duty.”
Darius blinked at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar room. The events of the previous night came rushing back—the dinner, the teasing, the warmth of a family that wasn’t his own. For the first time in months, he felt rested, truly rested. His body wasn’t weighed down by exhaustion, his mind wasn’t fogged with unrest. He had slept deeply, undisturbed by the usual churn of thoughts that kept him in a restless haze.
“Alright, I’m up,” he called, his voice raspier than he intended. He cleared his throat and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet meeting the cool floor.
The door creaked open, and Rhea stepped inside without hesitation, a smirk on her face and a mop of fiery red hair that seemed to catch the faint morning light like a halo of copper. Her oversized hoodie—a hand-me-down from her older brother, judging by its loose fit—was emblazoned with the logo of some obscure band she’d insisted Darius listen to last year.
“Good, because if you didn’t get up, I was going to use the bucket,” she said, holding up an empty water glass for emphasis.
Darius gave her a flat look. “That’s not a bucket.”
“It would’ve worked just fine,” she replied breezily, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms. Her pale complexion was speckled with a few freckles she’d long since stopped trying to hide, and her sharp green eyes glinted with amusement.
“I’ll be down in a second,” Darius said, rubbing a hand through his disheveled black hair. It was longer than he preferred, curling slightly at the ends, and his shirt was wrinkled from a night of tossing and turning in unfamiliar surroundings.
“Don’t take too long,” Rhea warned, turning to leave but pausing halfway out the door. “Oh, and brush your hair. You look like you got dragged through a hedge.”
He muttered something under his breath as she disappeared down the hallway, her laughter echoing faintly behind her.
Darius stood and stretched, the stiffness in his shoulders easing as he moved. A small mirror hung on the wall across the room, and he caught his reflection in it—a boy who looked older than his sixteen years. The shadows under his dark brown eyes had faded, but the weariness in them lingered, as if it was etched too deeply to be erased by one good night’s rest. His frame was lean but wiry, a result of constant training rather than proper nutrition, and he tugged at his shirt self-consciously before turning away.
He grabbed his bag, rummaging through it for a clean shirt, and made a mental note to thank Rhea again for letting him stay. Her family hadn’t just been kind; they’d been... normal. Loud and teasing and chaotic in ways that felt foreign but oddly comforting.
The kitchen was a flurry of activity by the time Darius made his way downstairs. The smell of coffee and frying eggs filled the air, and Elijah Calloway stood at the stove, wielding a spatula like it was a weapon. “Morning, sunshine!” he called over his shoulder, flipping a pancake with theatrical flair. “We saved you a plate, but you’re on dish duty.”
“I thought I was on breakfast duty,” Darius replied, leaning against the doorway.
“Both,” Fiona said from the kitchen table, her sleek black hair pulled back into a neat braid. She was dressed impeccably, as always, in a fitted blazer and jeans that somehow looked both casual and professional. “It builds character.”
“Morning, Darius!” Caleb chimed in, his face already sticky with syrup. The youngest Calloway was perched on his chair like he might launch himself across the table at any moment, his blond hair sticking up at odd angles.
Rhea was at the counter, pouring coffee into mismatched mugs. She handed one to Darius with a raised brow. “You look better,” she said, her tone lighter now, less teasing.
“Thanks,” he said, taking a sip. The coffee was strong, bitter in a way that jolted him fully awake.
“Hey, no time for small talk,” Ethan called from where he was slicing fruit, his broad frame blocking half the counter. “Dad’s on a roll this morning, and we’ve got ten minutes before chaos spills onto the table.”
Darius raised an eyebrow at Rhea. “Chaos?”
She gestured toward Caleb, who was currently engaged in an elaborate attempt to stack three pancakes into what he called “the ultimate tower of power.”
“Oh,” Darius said simply, taking another sip of coffee.
“Get in here and help,” Marianne called from the sink, her tone cheerful but firm. “If you’re staying with us, you’re part of the crew now.”
Darius hesitated for a moment before stepping into the kitchen, the warmth of the Calloways’ morning routine pulling him into their rhythm. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he belonged—not as a guest, but as part of something bigger, messier, and undeniably real.
Darius found himself swept into the bustling energy of the Calloway kitchen, the hum of activity infectious. Elijah handed him a spatula with all the pomp and ceremony of a king bestowing a sword.
“Alright, soldier,” Elijah said, clapping Darius on the back. “You’re in charge of scrambled eggs. Don’t burn them, or we’ll have to revoke your honorary Calloway membership.”
“I’ll do my best,” Darius replied dryly, stepping up to the stove.
“I believe in you,” Marianne said from the sink, a gentle encouragement paired with a knowing smile.
“Yeah, because scrambled eggs are the pinnacle of culinary expertise,” Rhea teased, leaning on the counter beside him with her mug of coffee.
Darius glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “Got any pointers, Chef Rhea?”
“Don’t let Caleb near them,” she quipped, just as a loud crash drew their attention to the youngest Calloway, who had knocked over a stack of plates in his quest for the “perfect” pancake toppings.
“Caleb!” Fiona exclaimed, her hands flying to her temples in exasperation.
“What? It was an accident!” Caleb protested, though his syrup-streaked hands told a different story.
“An accident caused by you reaching for the whipped cream again,” Fiona said, already bending down to pick up the plates.
“I’m growing!” Caleb declared defiantly, puffing out his chest.
“You’re growing into a menace,” Ethan said with a smirk, tossing an apple slice at Caleb, who dodged it with surprising agility.
“Alright, enough!” Marianne cut in, her voice firm but kind. “Caleb, grab a dish towel and help Fiona clean up. Ethan, stop provoking him.”
Ethan held up his hands innocently. “I didn’t do anything!”
“Sure you didn’t,” Rhea muttered, rolling her eyes as she pushed off the counter to help Fiona.
Darius focused on the eggs, trying to stifle a laugh as the chaotic energy of the room continued to swirl around him. Somehow, despite the clatter and bickering, it felt comforting—like a symphony of ordinary life.
When breakfast was finally ready, the Calloways descended on the dining table like a flock of starved birds. Plates clattered, chairs scraped, and a cacophony of voices overlapped as everyone found their spots.
Darius ended up between Rhea and Caleb, the latter still eyeing the whipped cream canister like it was a prized treasure.
“You’ve got to try Dad’s pancakes,” Rhea said, nudging Darius’s plate toward the stack in the middle of the table. “They’re basically a food group in this house.”
“High praise,” Darius remarked, grabbing a pancake and adding a modest drizzle of syrup—only to have Caleb lean over and drown it with whipped cream.
“Caleb!”
“What? You needed more!” Caleb said, grinning mischievously.
Rhea groaned, swiping the whipped cream away before Caleb could wreak more havoc. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m efficient,” Caleb shot back, popping a syrup-covered blueberry into his mouth with a flourish.Stolen novel; please report.
“Efficiently annoying,” Fiona muttered, though there was a faint smile on her face.
“Let the kid have his fun,” Elijah said, sitting back with a satisfied grin. “Breakfast isn’t serious business—it’s an art.”
“Your ‘art’ left syrup on the ceiling last week,” Marianne said dryly, taking a sip of her tea.
“Hey, that was an accident,” Elijah protested, though his sheepish grin betrayed him.
“I’ll add it to the list,” Fiona quipped, pretending to jot something down on an imaginary notepad.
Darius couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore, shaking his head as he took a bite of his whipped cream-covered pancake. “This is... chaotic.”
“Chaotic good,” Rhea said with a smirk. “You’ll get used to it.”
As the meal wound down and the plates emptied, the chatter shifted to lighter topics. Fiona talked about her latest internship, Ethan recounted a disastrous gym class from his own school days, and Caleb tried—unsuccessfully—to convince Elijah that he was ready for “real” training in the family’s backyard sparring ring.
Darius leaned back in his chair, letting the sounds of the Calloway family wash over him. For the first time in years, he wasn’t bracing for the next insult, the next outburst, or the next moment of tension. He was... at ease.
Rhea caught his eye, her expression softening as she nudged him gently. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, a faint smile playing at his lips. “I think I am.”
Her grin widened, and she leaned back in her chair. “Good. Now, don’t forget—you’re on dish duty.”
Darius groaned, but there was no real protest in his voice. If this was what normal could feel like, he didn’t mind the trade-off.
Darius stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up and hands immersed in warm, soapy water. The hum of conversation from breakfast had faded, leaving the kitchen bathed in the quiet aftermath of a family meal. The occasional clink of dishes punctuated the silence as he scrubbed plates and stacked them neatly on the drying rack.
From the table, Fiona watched him with a raised brow, a cup of tea balanced delicately in her hands. Her sharp eyes—much like Rhea’s but more calculating—tracked his movements like a hawk observing prey.
“You’re surprisingly efficient at this,” she remarked, setting the cup down. “Been conscripted into dish duty before?”
Darius shrugged, glancing at her over his shoulder. “You could say that. I had to pick up a few skills at home.”
There was a pause, and Fiona tilted her head, her expression softening just slightly. “Well, consider this your training for university life. They don’t exactly send dishwashing maids to the dorms.”
Darius chuckled faintly, though he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy at how easily Fiona spoke about higher education. “You went to Aegis, right? Rhea mentioned it.”
“Still there, actually,” Fiona said, her voice calm but proud. “Final year. Top of my class, not that I’m bragging or anything.”
“She’s totally bragging,” Ethan said, walking in and grabbing an apple from the counter. He bit into it with a crunch before leaning against the fridge. “Not that she doesn’t have a reason to. Everyone knows Fiona Calloway is the pride of Aegis Academy. I’m stuck following that act.”
Fiona smirked, raising an eyebrow at him. “You could do worse, Ethan. You’re only two years behind me. Plenty of time to catch up.”
“Sure, if I suddenly turn into you,” Ethan said, rolling his eyes but grinning all the same. “I’m doing fine on my own, thanks. Don’t need to be the golden child.”
“Golden child,” Fiona mused, resting her chin in her hand. “I like the sound of that. Maybe I should have it engraved on a plaque.”
Darius laughed quietly, shaking his head. The dynamic between Fiona and Ethan was playful but layered, each jab underpinned with genuine admiration. It was a sibling relationship he couldn’t quite imagine for himself.
As the dishes dwindled and the kitchen fell into a companionable silence, Darius found his gaze wandering. His eyes landed on a picture frame sitting on the counter beside the sink. It was a family portrait—Elijah and Marianne in the center, their arms wrapped around their children. Fiona and Ethan stood tall on either side, both wearing identical, confident smiles. Caleb was perched in front, his blond hair sticking up wildly, and Rhea stood beside him, her fiery red hair a bright contrast against the rest of the family.
They looked... happy.
Darius paused, his hand lingering on a glass as he studied the picture. The warmth radiating from the image was almost tangible, a stark contrast to the cold, chaotic home he’d left behind.
“You alright?” Fiona’s voice broke the quiet, and Darius realized she had caught him staring.
“Yeah,” he said, quickly turning back to the sink. “Just... noticing the picture.”
Fiona followed his gaze and smiled faintly. “That one’s from a few years ago. Before Caleb started eating everything in sight and Ethan discovered hair gel.”
“Hey,” Ethan protested, throwing the apple core into the trash. “The hair gel phase was necessary.”
Fiona ignored him, her focus shifting back to Darius. “Rhea’s probably told you we’re not perfect, but we try. Dad’s the glue, Mom’s the heart, and the rest of us just... find our place around them.”
Darius nodded, not trusting himself to say much. A part of him wanted to ask what it felt like—to have a family that felt whole, even with its quirks and imperfections—but the words stuck in his throat.
Before he could dwell on it further, a sharp knock sounded at the front door, shattering the moment.
Elijah’s voice rang out from the living room. “Rhea! Get the door, would you? Your mother’s gone off to fetch Caleb from his ‘sword practice’ in the backyard, and I’m not moving from this couch!”
Rhea’s footsteps echoed down the hall, her voice carrying back to the kitchen. “I got it! Probably the mailman or something.”
Darius exchanged a glance with Fiona and Ethan, a flicker of unease crossing his mind. Something about the knock seemed off, but maybe it was just the weight of the morning settling over him.
Rhea’s voice called out again, but this time, there was an edge to it. “Uh, Dad? You might want to come here.”
Darius’s stomach tightened, and without thinking, he dried his hands quickly on a towel, already moving toward the front hall. Something was wrong.
The knock at the door was heavy, almost impatient, echoing through the quiet Calloway house. Darius stood frozen in the hallway as Rhea opened the door, her expression shifting from curiosity to guarded tension.
The man on the porch was unsteady, swaying slightly as he gripped the doorframe for balance. Darius recognized him immediately—his disheveled appearance, the reek of alcohol, and the red-rimmed eyes that burned with anger. His father.
“Where’s my son?” the man demanded, his words slurred but forceful.
Rhea’s stance stiffened. “Sir, you need to leave—”
“I’m not talking to you!” Darius’s father snapped, pointing a trembling finger at her. “I’m here for my boy. Where is he?”
Hearing the commotion, Darius stepped into view, his heart hammering in his chest. The sight of his father sent a flood of emotions surging through him—fear, anger, and a bitter sense of betrayal.
“There you are,” his father sneered, staggering toward the door. “You think you can just walk out on me? Come home. Now.”
Darius’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his voice rising before he could stop himself. “You kicked me out!”
His father blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “I didn’t do any such thing.”
“You don’t even remember,” Darius barked, the bitterness in his tone cutting through the tension like a blade. “You threw me out like I didn’t matter. Now you want to drag me back?”
His father’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he took an unsteady step forward. “Don’t you talk to me like that, boy. You don’t get to—”
“Stop,” Rhea interjected, her voice sharp as she held up a hand to block him from stepping inside. “You’re not welcome here. Leave.”
“You shut your mouth,” Darius’s father growled, his words slurring together. Then, with a sudden shift, his posture straightened slightly, and a faint shimmer of Etherion crackled around him.
Darius’s stomach dropped as the floor beneath them trembled. His father’s affinity, Earth, was beginning to take hold. The vibrations rattled the porch, tiny cracks splintering in the wood beneath his feet.
“Darius,” Rhea said, her voice tight, “get back.”
“No,” Darius said, standing his ground. “You’re not doing this.”
His father snarled, his Etherion energy swelling. “I’ll do what I damn well please! You’re my son, and you’ll listen—”
Before he could finish, a bright flash of energy burst between them. Fiona appeared in the doorway, her figure glowing faintly with Etherion. She moved with precision, intercepting Darius’s father in a blur. Her hand shot out, and a wave of energy rippled through the air, disrupting his Etherion field and halting his advance.
“That’s enough,” Fiona said, her voice cold and commanding. “You don’t scare anyone here.”
Darius’s father stumbled back, his Etherion faltering as confusion and anger warred on his face. But before he could recover, a new presence made itself known.
The sound of boots on gravel drew everyone’s attention as three figures approached the house, their uniforms marked with the insignia of the Affinity Enforcers. Their arrival was swift and purposeful, the air around them charged with authority.
“Mr. Kaelen,” the lead enforcer said, his voice firm and steady. “Stand down immediately.”
Darius’s father turned to face them, his bravado faltering. “What... what’s this?”
“You’ve been reported for public Etherion misuse and disorderly conduct,” the enforcer said, stepping closer. “You’re coming with us.”
“This is ridiculous!” his father shouted, his voice cracking as he staggered back. “I didn’t do anything!”
“Sir, if you don’t cooperate, we’ll be forced to detain you by force,” the enforcer said calmly.
For a moment, it seemed like Darius’s father might resist. But the sight of the enforcers, their Etherion signatures glowing faintly in preparation, seemed to sap the last of his drunken defiance. He slumped, his shoulders sagging as two of the enforcers moved to cuff him.
“This isn’t over!” he shouted over his shoulder as they led him away. His bloodshot eyes landed on Darius, his voice venomous. “You’ll regret this!”
Darius stood frozen as his father was escorted down the driveway, his words ringing hollow against the cool night air.
When the enforcers were gone, the silence in the house was deafening. Fiona turned to Darius, her expression softening as the glow of her Etherion faded.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her tone gentle but steady.
Darius nodded slowly, though his chest felt tight. “Yeah. I think so.”
Rhea stepped closer, her hand brushing against his arm in a comforting gesture. “You don’t have to face him alone, you know. We’re here.”
Her words settled over him like a balm, easing some of the tension that had coiled in his chest. For the first time in what felt like hours, he let out a shaky breath.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting between Rhea and Fiona. “All of you.”
“You’re family,” Elijah said, stepping into the hallway with a grim expression. “And nobody messes with family.”
Marianne appeared a moment later, her hand resting on Darius’s shoulder. “Why don’t you come sit down? You don’t have to say anything, but... you don’t have to carry this alone.”
Darius hesitated, then nodded, letting them guide him back into the warmth of the house. Despite the turmoil of the night, a small part of him felt lighter. For once, he wasn’t facing the storm on his own.