Mark Grayson had always imagined that by sixteen, he'd be soaring through the sky like his dad. He had expected his powers to kick in by now—expected to feel that shift his father always talked about. The moment where everything would change. The moment he'd stop being "just Mark."
But nothing had happened.
No flight.
No super strength.
No anything.
And that thought gnawed at him every single day.
He didn't show it. Not to his parents. Not to Stephen. Not to Eve or William or anyone else. He laughed, joked, rolled his eyes at math homework and crammed fries into his mouth at lunch like any other guy. But underneath it all—beneath the practiced grin and the tired jokes—there was this sinking pit of something he couldn't name.
A question he couldn't shake.
What if I never awaken?
_ _ ♛ _ _
Mark adjusted the strap of his apron as he pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen at Burger Bash. The fryer hissed. The scent of grease clung to his skin like static. His sneakers squeaked faintly on the tiled floor. The usual symphony.
He clocked in, washed his hands, tied his hair back, and got to work.
"Grayson!" Todd called, poking his head out from the dry storage room. "Cover the register? I've got a situation back here—somebody knocked over a box of pickles and it smells like a war crime."
"Yeah, sure," Mark said, already sliding behind the counter.
The lunch rush had died down, but the after-school crowd was filtering in—kids in backpacks and hoodies, parents grabbing something quick before heading home. Mark smiled when he had to. Took orders. Handed out trays. He moved like muscle memory, his mind barely clinging to the present.
Stephen had been acting weird lately. Off. Quieter than usual. Mark had always thought of his brother as the kind of kid who filled a room—even when he wasn't trying to. But lately?
Lately, Stephen felt... distant.
He was still there, still showing up, still doing the little brother things—bad jokes, smart comments—but his eyes were somewhere else. Like he was watching the world from the outside.
And Mark didn't know what to make of that.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Eventually, Todd returned with a grimace and a mop, and Mark ducked back to the grill.
The sizzle of beef hitting the flattop was oddly calming. Mark liked the rhythm of it—the flip, the press, the way you could time everything to the second. One patty. Two. Slice of cheese. Drop the bun on top to melt it. Stack. Wrap. Done.
It was simple. Predictable. Nobody expected you to save the world behind a fryer.
A rush of steam hit him as he flipped another patty.
He turned his head slightly, half-watching his reflection in the grease-stained steel above the grill. His arms were still lanky. His shoulders still narrow. No sudden surge of strength. No heat vision. No thunder in his blood.
He was still… just Mark.
"Focus," he muttered to himself.
He moved faster, hands a blur as he assembled three burgers in quick succession. Pickles, ketchup, lettuce. The toppings gave him something to control, at least.
A flash of memory cut through the routine—standing in the backyard a few nights ago, watching Stephen with his face tilted to the sky, still and strange and different.
Mark slapped the top bun on too hard. The burger squished sideways on the wrapper.
"Great," he muttered, re-wrapping it with a frown.
_ _ ♛ _ _
When his shift ended, Mark peeled off his apron and headed home, grease still clinging to his skin despite a quick rinse. The sky was bruised with sunset, the clouds dipped in orange and violet.
He found Stephen standing barefoot in the backyard, still as stone, eyes closed like he was listening to something Mark couldn't hear.
"Dude," Mark called, "what are you doing?"
Stephen turned slowly. "Just… thinking."
Mark crossed his arms. "You've been acting weird."
A pause. Stephen smiled, but it was faint, like a secret he hadn't decided whether to share. "Just figuring some things out."
That didn't help. Mark felt the weight settle in his chest again. "Yeah, well… if you ever wanna talk, I'm here."
Stephen nodded. Said nothing else.
And Mark… Mark didn't push.
_ _ ♛ _ _
The next morning was the same. School. Jokes. Distractions.
Except they didn't work.
At lunch, Eve slid into the seat across from him. "Mark, you good?"
"Huh? Yeah. Just… tired."
She raised an eyebrow. "Liar."
He let out a breath, poking half-heartedly at his sandwich. "It's Stephen. He's acting weird. And my powers still haven't shown up."
Eve tilted her head thoughtfully. "That's gotta be rough. You talk to your dad about it?"
Mark scoffed. "Oh yeah, let me just tell Omni-Man that his son is a powerless loser. That'll go great."
"You're not a loser, Mark."
"Feels like it."
She leaned forward, her tone firm. "You'll awaken. You will. You just have to be patient."
Mark smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Sure."
But inside, something small and cold curled tighter in his gut.
_ _ ♛ _ _
After school, he walked straight to work again. The evening rush was already building when he arrived.
"Mark! Need you on grill!" Todd shouted.
Mark didn't answer—just grabbed gloves, tied his apron, and got to work.
Burger. Bun. Flip. Salt. Wrap. He moved fast, focused, efficient. Sweat built on his brow as the fryer hissed and popped.
Someone yelled that the shake machine was jammed. Todd swore in the back. A customer got snippy over cold fries.
None of it mattered. Mark just kept moving.
The rhythm helped.
It made things quiet for a while.
But even as he worked, the thoughts kept circling.
His dad had said powers could show up late. That sometimes it just took time. But Mark was already sixteen. Already behind.
Was he defective? Broken?
Was there something wrong with him?
He stared at the flames under the grill and wondered—not for the first time—if maybe he wasn't meant to have powers. If maybe the bloodline had stopped with him.
And if it had…
Would his dad still be proud?
Would he still look at Mark the same way?
_ _ ♛ _ _
That night, Mark sat on the roof of the house, knees drawn up, arms around them. The stars stretched endlessly above him—silent, cold, uncaring.
Out there was a planet of warriors. A place where power was everything. Where strength was survival.
And here was Mark. Still grounded. Still waiting.
He let out a long, shaky breath.
Then—soft footsteps.
He didn't turn. "You should be in bed."
Stephen's voice was quiet. "Could say the same to you."
Mark smirked a little, but didn't reply.
They sat in silence for a while. The kind that didn't need to be filled. Just the hush of crickets and wind, and the soft breathing of two brothers trying to find their place in the world.
Then Stephen said, "You know… you don't have to be like Dad."
Mark blinked. "What?"
"I know you're worried about your powers. But even if they never show up, that doesn't mean you're not strong."
Mark's throat tightened. "You don't get it, Stephen."
Stephen turned to look at him, really look at him. "Maybe not. But I know you. And I know you're more than just powers."
Mark opened his mouth. Closed it again. That ache in his chest—tight and heavy—pressed a little harder. Maybe Stephen was acting weird.
But in this moment?
He was the only person who saw Mark without the shadow of expectation behind his eyes.
Mark exhaled slowly. "Thanks, little bro."
Stephen gave a crooked smile. "Anytime, big bro."
And just like that, something inside Mark eased—like tension he hadn't even realized he was holding had finally been released.
The stars didn't look quite as far away anymore.
And for the first time in a long time, Mark felt just a little bit lighter.
End of Chapter 15
(A/N: you guys dont know this but my monitor broke, im using a freaking blurry projector from tiktok shop to upload my chapters. its been 13 days now since the people who were suppose to fix it to come but nooo, THEY SAID 5 DAYS AND NOW ITS 13 days, almost 2 weeks, why does bad things always happen to usauthors when we are writing and posting, like seriously!)