I was good at a lot of things.
People used to say I had a gift for grounding others. No matter the occasion—whether it was a wedding, a funeral, or the loss of something irreplaceable like our company—they always looked to me.
They'd say, "You're the anchor, the one who keeps us steady."
I had a knack for programming, too. Since I was a kid, I'd been fascinated by technology. My parents and older brother were my biggest cheerleaders, always nudging me to go further, to keep learning, to keep dreaming.
And when it came to the kitchen? I had my own kind of magic.
I'd cook for my roommates after late study nights.
Cook at home when our parents were out.
Cook for my colleagues during barbecue parties, for my beloved wife Elza when she smiled at me from across the room, and for little Lily and her younger brothers, whose laughter made every dish feel like a feast.
Yeah… I was good at all kinds of things.
But what really kept me going—the thing that made me want to keep getting better—was how people looked at me. That light in their eyes when they praised me. The warmth behind their words. It made me feel loved.
It made me feel seen.
Even when my parents were taken from me by the claws of Flow Beasts…
Even when my brother awakened with a surge of power, and I was left unchosen…
I didn't falter.
I didn't stop walking forward.
Instead, I kept asking myself, What can I still do?
What can I offer the people around me, even if it's just a listening ear? A shared moment? A hot meal?
I never once felt weak.
Never hollow.
Never like I was missing something.
Because in the end, I was still me—
The me that no one else in this world could ever be.
And when Elza gave birth to our first daughter, I decided to master something entirely new.
The moment I cradled her in my arms for the first time, my world changed.
Her tiny form fit so perfectly against me, and when her little hand curled around one of my fingers—barely covering even half of it—my heart surrendered completely.
That was the moment I made a vow.
I'll become the best father she could ever dream of.
And from that moment on, I gave it everything I had.
I treated her like a jewel—because to me, that's exactly what she was.
I spent hours searching for the cutest clothes she could wear, learning the difference between adorable and perfectly adorable.
I tried to monitor the things she watched… though she always had a clever way of slipping past my radar to chase her own curiosities.
I cooked meals in every color of the rainbow just to see which ones would make her eyes light up the most. I talked to her—even back when she was nothing but a squishy bundle of incomprehensible babble and sleepy giggles.
Most of all, I provided.
For her. For Elza. For our home.
Necessities, parties, vacations, late-night snacks and early-morning cuddles.
It never once felt like I was overdoing it.
If it meant their happiness, then I'd do it all again—twice as much, three times more.
Then the day came when Lily awakened.
At first, unease crept into my chest. Elza and I had never walked the path our daughter was about to tread.
To awaken meant to fight. To protect.
It meant walking side-by-side with danger.
It meant risking her life… losing people… being targeted.
But those fears—slowly, surely—faded away.
Because Lily wasn't alone.
She had Romeo by her side.
And if there's one thing I know about Romeo, it's that he'd die before letting anyone harm the people he loves.
With him there, I could finally breathe easy.
And then came the next big leap.
Lily was selected to train under Lou Haventon, one of the Seven Sponsors, deep in the Beast Territory—for four whole years.
Was I scared? Maybe a little.
But more than anything, I was proud.
After all, if a legend like Lou saw potential in my daughter…
Then surviving among Beasts?
That would be nothing but child's play for someone like her.
Though it hurt not being able to see her for four long years, I understood. It was a necessary sacrifice—one made not out of obligation, but out of love.
She needed it.
Time to grow. Time to learn. Time to master the power she'd been given.
And if even a fragment of that time helped her come back stronger, more confident in herself… then I'd make that sacrifice again a hundred times over.
But we weren't entirely alone during those years.
Elza, my beautiful Elza, gifted me with two more miracles—Rin and Max.
Twins.
They must be around two years old now… Time really does fly.
They looked like perfect mirrors of each other.
If you weren't paying close attention, you'd think one had simply stepped in front of a reflective glass.
Though Rin's blond hair had just the slightest wave to it—enough to set him apart from Max's straighter locks—they were otherwise near indistinguishable.
Big, curious eyes that sparkled like emeralds.
Soft, pale skin that always felt warm to the touch.
Voices that rang through the house with laughter and mischief and that familiar innocence that makes a father's heart melt.
They were chaos. They were joy. They were family.
And just like their big sister Lily…
They were the pride of my life.
---
One night, I was hunched over a stubborn project in my workroom. The only light came from the glow of my monitor, the rest of the room drowned in shadow. A particularly persistent bug was eating away at my patience, refusing to be solved despite hours of tweaking and testing.
And then—SLAM!
The door burst open, crashing against the wall with a sharp bang. Light from the hallway poured in, slicing through the darkness like a blade.
It was Elza.
She stood in the doorway, her chest rising and falling with frantic breaths. Her red-rimmed glasses trembled on the bridge of her nose, and her wide eyes locked onto mine.
"Elza?" I pulled off my headphones, the bug forgotten in an instant. "What's wrong?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she walked toward me in hurried, uneven steps, her hand reaching for mine. "I... I honestly don't know," she whispered, her voice laced with confusion and fear. "Just—come with me. You need to see it for yourself."
There was something in her tone that stopped me from asking further. Whatever it was, I knew it wasn't good. I stood and followed her without protest.
We ended up in front of the living room TV. Elza grabbed the remote with trembling fingers and raised the volume. The screen was already tuned to a news broadcast—live footage, shaky and raw.
And there he was.
Marcus Blazehurt.
He stood surrounded by journalists, cameras flashing in his face. His usually composed expression was tense, sweat gleaming on his brow under the harsh number of the microphones.
"Mr. Marcus, would you please tell us the truth behind the incident?" a female reporter asked, pushing her mic toward him.
Marcus held up his hands, trying to calm the growing crowd. "P-Please, everyone. Let's keep some distance, alright?"
But his voice was drowned out by a flurry of questions.
"My friend's a Flow Practitioner!" a male journalist shouted, raising a finger to the sky. "He said the protective barrier vanished completely! He couldn't see it anymore! Is it true? Was it destroyed?"
Another voice joined in, this one almost panicked:
"Reports from Commplant and Thousand Mountains say Flow Beasts have been seen again! Is that true?! Are we back to that nightmare?!"
"Was that it?" someone cried. "Just fifteen years of peace, and now we're going back to suffering?"
Elza squeezed my hand.
I couldn't blame the rising panic. The protective barrier—the same one created by the Sponsor of Unity, the one that took five years of painstaking effort and sacrifice to perfect—was our only defense. It couldn't let anything unwanted penetrate the country, yet let the people of Alaranta move freely in and out. If it was truly gone… if the Flow Beasts were returning…
Then what was left to keep us safe?
Elza turned off the TV with a sharp click. The silence that followed felt heavier than any broadcast could carry.
"If… If just two Beasts appearing in the city is enough to cause this much chaos…" she murmured, her voice trembling as she brought her thumb to her lips and began biting the nail, "Then… what if the Beasts in their own territory are stirring too? What if things are getting worse out there?"
She turned to me.
Tears welled in her eyes—raw, unfiltered emotion.
"Is Lily… Is she really okay?"
The moment she said it, I felt my chest tighten. It was like her fear latched onto mine, pulling it to the surface. But I didn't let it show. I couldn't.
Instead, I pulled her into my arms.
She buried her face in my chest, her quiet sobs muffled by my shirt. My hand moved gently to the back of her head, smoothing her hair with steady strokes.
"I'm scared too," I whispered, more to myself than to her. "But this is exactly when we have to be strong."
I leaned close to her ear, my voice calm and warm.
"Hey… don't let the fear win, alright? Lily's strong. She's in good hands. She's going to come back just fine."
I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze and rested my hands on her shoulders. Her lips quivered, and her body trembled with each hiccuped breath. But I smiled.
"Who knows," I said, keeping my tone light, "maybe she'll storm through that door tomorrow, full of bruises and new stories, showing off how much she's grown."
Elza didn't answer, but her silence was enough. She didn't need to say anything.
So I pulled her close again, holding her against me as tightly as I could without breaking her fragile frame.
"Have faith in our daughter, Elza," I whispered. "That's all we can do. And honestly… it's all we need to do."
Her arms finally rose, wrapping slowly around me, and I felt her clutch me back.
"I'll try…" she breathed against my chest, her words soft, broken by sobs.
Yeah…
Don't worry, Elza.
Our Lily isn't the kind of girl to fall down easily.
She's our daughter. And she's going to rise.
---
A few months had passed since the incident. And like a stubborn shadow, the reports kept coming—Flow Beasts roaming Alaranta more frequently, more brazenly. People were scared at first, but in time… we got used to them.
That day, I was home alone with the twins. They started crying at the same time—like they shared one soul.
I picked up Max and gently bounced him in my arms. "Shhh… it's okay, no need to cry," I cooed. I reached over with my free hand to ruffle Rin's soft, wavy hair. "Hush now, babies. Dad's here. Don't worry."
It always caught us off guard when they cried. With Lily, it was rare. I could count her tantrums on one hand during her baby years. Rin and Max, though—they had lungs and weren't afraid to use them.
I checked their diapers. Dry.
So that left one answer.
"Hungry, huh?" I chuckled softly and made my way to the kitchen.
Time for some porridge.
I opened the pantry… and paused. No oats.
I checked the drawers. The shelves. The emergency stash Elza always reminded me to restock.
Gone. All of it.
I sighed. "Well, kids, looks like we're going shopping."
I got them dressed, strapped them into the stroller, and headed to the supermarket. The sun was warm, the streets humming with idle chatter and passing cars.
Unlike their sister, the twins didn't seem bothered by the noise of the city. In fact, they relaxed a little, lulled by the motion and ambient buzz. Lily, on the other hand, used to clutch my shirt tight whenever we went out—said she preferred the quiet. It's funny how different siblings can be. Same home, same parents, yet entirely unique kinds of mischief.
We arrived at the supermarket, and I moved quickly down the aisles, picking up what we needed.
That's when it happened.
A subtle tremor. Just enough to make the jars on the shelf rattle.
"An earthquake?" a nearby employee mumbled, his brows furrowed.
No… this wasn't that.
The ground quivered again, more violent this time.
"F… FLOW BEASTS!" a woman shrieked from near the front. Her voice cracked with panic as she pointed outside the large glass window.
She abandoned her cart—cans clattering to the floor—and ran.
"Are they… really Flow Beasts?!"
"They're here?! Already?! We're not safe!"
"Please—someone, anyone—stop them!"
The screams erupted like a wave crashing through the aisles. Shelves rattled. People ran. Grocery carts toppled. Panic swept through the store like wildfire.
My fingers went cold. The numbness started at my fingertips, climbing up my arm like frostbite.
The roars came next.
Deep. Monstrous. Echoing across the city like drums of war.
And then… the twins started crying again.
I looked down at them—two tiny faces, red and tear-streaked, too young to understand fear but still affected by it.
I didn't think. I just moved.
Hands gripping the stroller tighter, I turned and pushed through the chaos. I had to get them out. Had to keep moving.
No matter how loud the screams.
No matter how close the Beasts.
I just had to keep going.
And then… I saw it.
That dreadful tableau.
The same nightmare I'd only ever glimpsed at once when I was younger.
But this time, it looked fiercer.
Flow Beasts had breached the city. They tore through buildings like paper, their claws slashing through concrete and flesh alike. They showed no mercy—no hesitation—ripping people apart, devouring them, painting the streets with blood. Smoke billowed from the crumbling infrastructure. Fire crackled in the distance. Screams—raw and desperate—filled the choking air.
I gripped the stroller tighter, knuckles white, as my eyes darted frantically across the chaos.
The world I knew—the safe, structured world—was collapsing in on itself.
Commplant was the closest city to the Beast Territory, sure. But still—less than a year since the protective barrier was broken… and already this?
This slaughter?
And then I saw something that made my blood freeze colder than the air.
A woman. Holding the hand of her young son—he couldn't have been older than seven.
They were running, stumbling through the dust and debris, desperately trying to flee as a Flow Beast charged behind them—its fangs gleaming, its orange fur rippling with every terrifying stride.
"M-Mom… I can't— I can't run anymore!" the boy cried, legs wobbling, eyes wide with terror.
"Don't stop!" his mother screamed, yanking his arm. "You have to keep going! That thing's going to catch us if you stop!"
But his knees buckled, and he fell.
Her grip slipped.
She turned back, eyes full of horror. But she saw the Beast. It was too close. There was no time.
And so… she ran.
I watched her turn her back on him, her silhouette vanishing into the smoke.
The boy's eyes widened. His tears spilled over.
"M-Mom…?"
He sat there, paralyzed. "Mom?! Why… why did you leave me? MOM!!"
But she was already gone.
His cries were drowned by the roar of the Beast as it towered over him, its red eyes glowing like embers, its breath thick with the scent of blood.
And me?
I stood behind the shattered wall of a convenience store. Frozen.
I wanted to move. Every part of me screamed to do something—to rush in and protect him, to be a shield between that child and death itself.
But I didn't.
I stayed there, motionless, one hand on the stroller, the other trembling at my side. I looked down at Max and Rin—still crying, still innocent. Still mine.
I chose them.
I prioritized them.
I was no hero. I was just a father. And in that moment, I made a selfish choice.
That… was the truth of how humans behaved when the world ended.
Not with unity. Not with courage.
But with fear. With instinct and priorities.
With desperate, unyielding selfishness.
And deep down… I sadly understood it.
The Beast raised its grotesque limb, claws gleaming, ready to crush the child beneath it.
And then—suddenly.
A violent gust of wind tore through the street like a tempest.
Not just a breeze—this was a storm.
It was so strong, it shattered the wall I was leaning against and nearly knocked me off my feet. Dust and debris swirled around in a blinding flurry—and through that chaos, a blur of movement surged forward.
Something brown. Small. Fast.
A figure.
A human.
They shot through the air like a bullet, slamming their small foot against the Beast's raised limb—
CRACK!
The bone shattered like brittle wood, blood spraying as the monster reeled back, howling in agony.
My mouth hung open.
What I was witnessing… it was unreal.
And then came the darkness—slithering and coiling like a serpent. A whip—black as the void, rippling with violent power.
I knew that shade of power. I'd seen it only once before. Only from one person. The only Flow I ever saw in my entire life.
The figure launched into the air again, her whip circling the Beast's thick neck—
Then—tightening.
With a single tug, the cord of shadow snapped taut.
The Beast's head was ripped clean off, its enormous body collapsing with a heavy thud, blood pooling beneath it like ink from a broken bottle.
But the fight wasn't over.
The whip lashed out once more—this time flying across the battlefield and wrapping itself around someone.
The boy's mother.
She was yanked backward, stumbling, too stunned to scream. Tears streaked her face as she stared at the child she'd abandoned.
"You should've shoved your son out of the way," said a girl's voice—sharp, young, and unapologetically cold. "Not offered him up like bait."
The woman didn't respond—she couldn't.
The girl scoffed and flung her toward her son's side. "Pathetic," she muttered under her breath.
That was when another figure dropped down beside her. A man with long black hair and a lazy, unreadable gaze—Lou, the Sponsor of Experience.
"You could've finished it with one strike though," he said casually.
The girl—sipping from a chocolate milk packet—shrugged.
"I calculated the angle. Didn't want the debris hitting anyone."
That voice.
That stance.
That unmistakable shade of heterochromia in her eyes—one blue, one emerald, both dimmed slightly, sharper than I remembered.
Her hair had grown—longer, more wild. Black and blonde streaks danced in the wind. The oversized light-brown coat swayed over her small frame as she casually leaned on one leg, as if she hadn't just killed a monster zillion times her size.
I couldn't help it.
I smiled—so wide it almost hurt.
My chest swelled with something too big to name. My vision blurred.
She was here.
Alive.
Stronger than ever.
"Lily…" I whispered, voice catching in my throat.
I wiped away a tear I hadn't realized was falling—warm and trembling with emotion. My heart beat louder than the chaos around me.
"Welcome back, dear."