Episode: - 04 Before the storm

Morning barged in without knocking—sunlight sluiced through the windows, splashing across the floorboards and prying Mee-Toh's eyes open like a thief lifting lids.

He shuffled into the kitchen—shirt slipping off one shoulder, pants rumpled from a night of fitful sleep. His bare feet met the chill of the wooden floor with a slight wince, each step a soft complaint against waking.

Then he froze.

Aroma lingered in the air—warm, earthy, honest. Emma's cooking. It smelled like cinnamon and calm.

"Something smells... not terrible," he grumbled, rubbing his face with one hand, the other fisting the hem of his shirt. "Definitely better than yesterday's... scientific monsoon."

The smell of cinnamon dragged something else with it—an old memory, sharp and buried. A half-burnt breakfast long ago. Estella laughing with her sleeves rolled up, trying to cook and failing spectacularly.

He blinked. The ghost left with the steam.

Emma, apron dusted with flour, turned with a pan in her hand and a sunrise smile on her face. "Good morning, Mee-Toh! And that was experimentation, not disaster. Right?"

Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes today. Not that anyone would notice unless they were looking too hard.

Mee-Toh noticed. He just didn't say it.

He let out a grunt somewhere between surrender and amusement, slumping into a chair. "Bribing me with food again?"

"If it keeps you from skewering Kael with a fork, I'll bake every morning," she said, flipping a pancake with more grace than he thought possible before noon. "Mind calling Aaron down? He's probably lost in Blanket Dreamland."

Mee-Toh rolled his eyes so hard the motion could've had sound effects. "Sure. But if he pillow-bombs me again, I'll return the favor. This time with velocity."

From the corner, Vicky settled the last plate on the table, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. He wore that kind of tired elegance only some people were born with—half-mess, half-mystery.

"You know, I'm just here for the food," he drawled, sliding a mug of coffee toward Mee-Toh like a peace offering.

Mee-Toh shot him a bleary look. "You always say that, but you never stick around long enough to eat."

Vicky shrugged, the picture of practiced charm. "True. But if breakfast's this good, I might reconsider my priorities." He leaned in like a conspirator. "Besides... bribery with food? Classic Emma move. Works every time."

Emma rolled her eyes but laughed softly, brushing flour off her cheek with the back of her hand. "I have to keep the peace somehow. You two could start a war over who gets the last slice of toast."

"War's a bit dramatic," Mee-Toh muttered, though a ghost of a smile passed across his lips like a shadow. "Maybe a duel."

Vicky chuckled, tapping his fingers on the table, light and rhythmic. "Well, if it gets chaotic, you know where to find me—out of the way, sipping coffee, enjoying the aftermath."

And for a moment, the kitchen breathed—a fragile peace, butter-warm and fleeting.

---

The hallway smelled of blossoms and dust—quiet things that whispered of change. Mee-Toh's bare feet padded toward Aaron's door, each step quieter than the last.

He braced for sarcasm. Instead, silence greeted him.

Aaron sat at the bed's edge, shirt wrinkled, back straight, eyes lost in the morning light like he was trying to memorize its shape. His hands were folded—still, too still.

"You okay, man?" Mee-Toh asked, folding his arms, body turning inwards like he was shielding something.

Aaron blinked, then offered a soft smile, like an old coin flipped face up. "Didn't think a few days could mean this much."

He didn't say it, but the silence had a name. A place he used to call home, now nothing but burnt walls and fading echoes. These mornings—they hurt more because they reminded him of what could've been.

Mee-Toh raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging lazily. "You gonna cry?"

Aaron snorted. "Please. I'm not you."

"Rude."

A pause, softer than the first.

"But—are you coming with us?" Aaron asked, voice gentler now. "Just say it."

Mee-Toh's breath hitched in his throat, barely audible. "Yeah... when I get the chance. Sounds fun, I guess."

Downstairs, Emma's voice rang out like a warning bell, half-teasing: "You two better not be hiding a wreck up there!"

"Crap," Mee-Toh muttered. "Breakfast alert."

Aaron clapped him on the back with a grin. "Move it, grump, or Emma's throwing bread again."

_______

Downstairs, Kael sat at the table—too calm, too neat—nibbling toast like a guest in someone else's life.

Mee-Toh narrowed his eyes. "Okay, seriously—who swapped out the real Kael?"

Without missing a beat, Kael replied, "You want a fight? Because I'll break this truce faster than you think."

Emma floated by with tea, patting Kael's head fondly. "Don't jinx it, Mee-Toh. This is the calm before the Kael storm."

Aaron blinked at the scene as he descended. "Did I just walk into an alternate timeline?"

Kael smirked. "Welcome to the 'reformed Kael' era. Limited edition."

Mee-Toh rolled his eyes. "You're not fooling anyone."

Kael met his gaze, just for a second—three heartbeats of sincerity. "Let me have this fantasy, alright?"

His voice didn't crack, but something in it did. Like he was pretending for someone else's sake—maybe his own. And for once, no one laughed at the pretense.

Vicky, leaning in the doorway like he belonged in the margins of a painting, smirked. "Fantasy's good. Keeps the chaos at bay for a while." He stepped forward, ruffling Kael's hair like an older brother choosing affection instead of distance. "Enjoy the peace, kid. Next time I'm here, I expect more fireshots."

Emma's laughter was soft, a little nervous—her eyes flickering between them all. She carried something unspoken, fragile as a breath.

They ate in quiet—no biting words, no sharp looks. Just warm food, and a silence thick enough to taste.

It should have been peace.

But instead, it felt like the pause before the world tilted.

Vicky raised an eyebrow at the table's strange hush, a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. "Why're you all looking at me like I'm dragging him off to the gallows?" He jabbed his fork toward Kael with theatrical accusation. "I mean, come on. I'm not that scary."

Kael narrowed his eyes like a cat in the sun. "You're abandoning us."

Vicky grinned. "Wow. Guilt trip before breakfast is bold."

Emma chuckled softly, but her eyes flicked between them like she was watching something fragile try to hold shape. "He's coming back when he's ready," she murmured. "You all act like this is the end of the story." She brushed Mee-Toh's hair with one hand in passing. "This is home—for both of you. No one's vanishing."

Vicky glanced at her—just a flicker—but something moved behind his eyes. Not regret, but a shadow of it. A weight carried long enough to be folded into his smile.

He turned back to Kael, playfulness rekindled. "Next time I'm back for a full week," he said, settling at the table, "you can make a list. Boss me around. Tie me to a tree, if that's your kind of stuffs."

He didn't say why he couldn't stay now.

He didn't need to.

Everyone at the table could feel the unspoken tug—like a clock winding down.

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Kael scoffed, but there was fire in it. "That's your punishment. If you vanish without warning again—I'm haunting you."

Vicky laughed, loud and bright. "You already do."

The kitchen fell into stillness—not silence, but something better. The kind of hush that listens, that holds breath with you.

Birdsong outside. Warm light falling like a secret. Plates filled, untouched.

Peace had arrived.

But it didn't feel like peace.

It felt like the moment before thunder—the sky still blue, the air still warm.

But the silence?

It knew what was coming.

---

Later, as the sun rose higher, casting gold across the front porch, Mee-Toh squinted into the warmth. The light spilled like honey on his skin but failed to reach the knot tightening deep within his chest. Aaron's hug lingered on him like a silent promise, warm and unspoken. Emma had smiled through it all, her hands still dusted with flour when she waved goodbye—soft powder clinging to her fingertips like a memory.

He turned, scanning the house, the faint scent of freshly baked bread mingling with the dusty air—a quiet symphony of home and fleeting moments.

"Where's that little chaos?" he asked, voice low, meaning Kael. "He's not saying goodbye?"

Emma's expression softened, eyes tracing the way the sunlight spilled into the open doorway. Her voice, a gentle murmur, held the weight of kindness and worry. "He's upset. Said both his brothers are leaving. Even you, Vicky, didn't stay long enough to play with him. He'll be okay. Just... needs a minute."

Vicky didn't hesitate. He crouched in the doorway, where Kael sat curled like a storm cloud in a too-small body, the rough fabric of his shirt rumpled beneath him. "Hey, kiddo," he said, voice low and steady, like a quiet anchor. "I'll be back. For longer. You and me—next time, we'll make the world regret giving us time off. And I'll bring something better. Or you can make a list."

Kael huffed, the faint crinkle of paper reaching Vicky's hand before his eyes met the older man's. The list was a jagged crease of promises and demands, ink smudged where the paper had been folded too many times. "That's the list. Don't lose it. And if you leave like this again..." He paused, daring to meet Vicky's eyes—challenging, vulnerable. "I'll make you pay, Man."

Vicky tucked the note in his pocket with exaggerated care, the scratch of paper against fabric loud in the quiet. "Threat received. Consider me warned."

He gave Kael one last ruffle—gentler this time, a soft brush of touch that folded like a promise between them.

Kael's sidewise gaze caught Vicky's, but last time he shouted, "Get back soon, Mr. Intensity and Big Brother."

As Vicky waved his hand and said, "Yup, soon. Big-boys Deal," Kael smiled a bit.

The wagon wheels groaned against the earth, stirring dust motes that danced in the sunlight. Time creaked forward, slow and certain.

For a heartbeat, Emma's smile softened, then flickered—just a shadow, barely there—her gaze drifting toward the horizon as if she could feel a storm whispering on the wind, smelling of rain and unsettled earth. But she said nothing. No one did.

Mee-Toh's fingers twitched against the rough wood of the doorframe, the quiet pressing down like warm velvet, heavy with all the words they left unsaid. He let his thumb brush a small notch in the wood—an old scar from when he'd slammed the door too hard as a child. The groove was shallow, but it anchored him. Something only he remembered. Something that hadn't changed, even as everything else had.

Goodbye lingered in the dust, in the warmth, in the waiting—sweet, fragile, and unfinished.

_____

The wagon's slow sway was a lullaby—neither cruel nor kind, just steady enough to pull Mee-Toh toward sleep despite the restless storm beneath his skin. The scent of worn leather and smooth wood settled around him like quiet comfort, but his mind churned in half-dreams, caught between the past he couldn't shake and the future waiting just beyond the silent horizon.

Vicky's voice cut through the haze, low and steady—an anchor in shifting fog.

"Wake up, kid. That's enough nap for now."

Mee-Toh blinked against the sudden light, rubbing eyes still heavy with sleep.

"I was just getting used to the idea of rest... You really let me sleep this long? Why?"

Vicky chuckled softly, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

"Sometimes, you need to rest before you leap. Besides, it's not every day you get to nap in a wagon headed somewhere new."

Mee-Toh shifted, pushing off the seat. Outside, trees and sky blurred and bled together while inside, his thoughts tightened like a coiled spring. What would he find beyond these doors? Friends? Strangers? Or just more ghosts waiting to greet him?

The wagon slowed, the creak of iron wheels meeting stone drawing his attention.

Ahead, the doors stood tall—heavy with the weight of countless welcomes and farewells.

Vicky’s mischievous glint softened for a moment.

"I'm coming back soon," he said, voice low but certain. "Got to meet up with the team first—sort a few things out. Until then, Mee-Toh, this place is yours to explore. New faces, new chances. Don't be shy. I've already given you the address—ask around, got it?"

Mee-Toh nodded, heart heavy but strangely buoyed.

"New chances, huh? Yeah."

Vicky’s hand landed lightly on his shoulder—steady, sure.

"Remember, Mee-Toh. First impressions stick. Best of luck, boy. I'll be back soon."

Mee-Toh met his gaze, a flicker of resolve sparking behind tired eyes. He didn’t want to be just another shadow passing through. Not this time.

He squared his shoulders, stepped forward, and let the doors open.

With a deep breath, Mee-Toh straightened, smoothing the creases from his worn clothes. He pushed open the heavy wooden door, its groan echoing down the dim corridor. A wash of golden light spilled out—warm and inviting, yet filled with shadows that whispered of the unknown.

The air smelled of old parchment, dust, and distant stories, faint murmurs drifting from beyond. Mee-Toh's chest tightened—a mixture of nerves and curiosity—as he stepped inside.

A tall, lanky girl with bright eyes stepped forward, her smile like a lantern in the dusk.

"Hey, you're Mee-Toh, right?" Her voice was soft but steady, a welcoming thread in the quiet room.

"Yeah, I'm Mee-Toh. You?" His voice held firmness, but his eyes searched hers—gauging, cautious.

"I'm Carel." Her presence felt like a gentle promise. Soft caramel hair framed her face, catching glints of the golden light as she spoke. She wore a cream blouse that clung softly to her frame, a delicate pendant catching the light. Her long, earthy skirt, slit on one side, hinted at quiet readiness—a dancer poised to move at a moment's notice. Around her waist, a small, practical pouch spoke of preparedness and quiet strength.

Carel nodded to a broad-shouldered boy beside her.

"This is Alex."

Alex’s black shirt was simple, tailored to reveal strength without arrogance. His dark hair was tousled, natural, framing a face marked by calm confidence. His piercing blue eyes met Mee-Toh’s with steady sincerity—someone whose quiet power could steady a storm.

"And that’s Ana," Carel added, nodding toward a smaller figure standing apart. Ana’s dark green top clashed with black shorts and fingerless gloves, her headphones resting like armor on her collarbone. Her gaze, sharp and cold, locked on Mee-Toh—a blade in her stare.

"I don’t trust easy," Ana said flatly, arms crossed. "If he wants in—he fights for it."

Mee-Toh blinked, caught off guard by her fierce hostility.

Carel stepped forward, voice gentle but firm.

"Ana, it’s not like that. He’s just getting settled."

For a flicker, Ana’s icy facade cracked—an ember of insecurity flashing before she turned, tossing her hair with a dismissive flick as she walked away.

Mee-Toh’s stomach knotted. Is she sick? Or just… hostile? The question hovered, unanswered.

Just then, Vicky reappeared, his presence calm and commanding. His eyes swept the group, resting briefly on Ana’s retreating back.

"Everything good here?"

Mee-Toh exhaled, the tension easing a fraction.

"Yeah, just... getting to know each other."

Vicky nodded once, sharp and sure.

"Stay sharp. Things are about to get interesting."

He turned and strode off down the hallway, his steps quiet but resolute.

But Ana’s eyes didn’t waver. They were carved of frost and flame, the kind that held tight to hurt and wielded it like a weapon. She folded her arms, defiant.

“I’ve bled for this team. Trained. Watched people fall while I held the line. If he’s walking in now, he better walk in ready.”

The silence that followed was taut as wire. Mee-Toh could hear the tick of his own breath, the drum of his heart—steady but bracing. Then—

“I didn’t ask to be picked,” he said, not loud, but clear. “But I’m not here to waste time. Not yours, not mine.”

Something in his voice made Carel glance at him, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’d just heard a song she hadn’t expected to love.

Ana scoffed, but it wasn’t as sharp as before. The dagger had been sheathed, if only slightly.

Alex, who had stayed silent till now, finally stepped forward. He studied Mee-Toh with a gaze that didn’t waver, didn’t blink.

“Then show us. Train with us. Speak less, prove more.”

Mee-Toh gave a single nod—nothing more. Words could wait; steel and sweat would speak louder.

Carel smiled then, a slow, blossoming thing like sun on thawing snow.

“Welcome to the team, Mee-Toh.”

And for a moment, the room shifted—like the breath before a storm or the stillness before a fire caught flame. He could feel it. This place, these people. It wasn’t home. Not yet. But it was something. A beginning, perhaps. Or a reckoning.

And as the last slant of afternoon gold crept through the high windows, catching dust in its beams like suspended stars, Mee-Toh stood in that light, between the girl with a dancer’s stance, the boy carved from calm resolve, and the storm-souled girl who didn’t yet trust him.

Not a shadow this time.

No.

He would be firelight.

He would burn.

And they would see.

----

By morning, the air buzzed with the hush before a storm—the kind of silence heavy with promise and restless energy. The scent of dew-damp earth mingled with the faint rustle of leaves, while distant birds called out, weaving a delicate soundtrack to the dawn.

Vicky stood near the training grounds, gathering his senior team—each honed and weathered like blades kept sharp by time. Mee-Toh lingered nearby, surrounded by the temporary team he'd only just met: Carel, Alex, and Ana.

"This isn't your team yet," Vicky had said earlier, a wink dancing in his eye. "But you'll stick with them for now. Let's see how the wind blows."

Now, with both groups in view, Vicky placed his hands on his hips, mischief simmering in his grin. "We're heading out. I've got something different planned."

First to react was Sophia. Her posture seemed relaxed, but her fingers twitched like they were typing code on invisible keys. Her dark, cropped hair framed sharp eyes—eyes that had seen too much, trusted too little. "So," she asked, gaze flicking to Mee-Toh, "where are we going this time?"

"To an event," Vicky replied smoothly.

Sophia raised a skeptical brow. "An event?" She said it like the word belonged in a disaster report.

Beside her, Marcus stood tall and still, arms folded across a broad chest. He didn't speak—he rarely did—but his silence was eloquent. His sleeveless vest revealed corded muscle, and the scar across his cheek whispered of brutal survival. His gaze settled on Mee-Toh like a puzzle he already meant to solve.

Sophia folded her arms. "Did you clear this with the Admiral?"

Vicky's grin only grew. "I can handle the Admiral."

Her lips tightened. "I wish you knew where this carefree nature of yours would lead."

Marcus smirked faintly. "Wherever it leads, it's never boring."

Then came Alora, a flicker of elegance and fire. Her ash-toned hair shimmered like morning frost, tucked just behind one ear. She wore a cropped jacket layered over a soft turtleneck, a corset-belt hugging her waist. Her wide-legged wine-red pants swayed with every sharp step, and her boots clicked with calculated grace. "You better not get us in trouble again," she muttered. "These boots are not made for sprinting through fire drills."

Vicky chuckled. "Relax. It's just observation. You guys really want to be boring mentors already? Damn."

Sophia rolled her eyes, already weary of his charm. "I wish you luck."

Then Vicky turned to the junior group. His gaze softened as it landed on Mee-Toh. "You four, stay back. Get to know each other better. Who knows—maybe one day, this becomes a real team."

Mee-Toh gave a quiet nod, watching the senior group disappear into the morning light. He didn't belong there—not yet. But a strange flutter stirred in his chest.

Not yet didn't mean never.

And maybe, just maybe... this temporary team could become something real.