The wind howled through the narrow alleys of the slums, carrying with it the stench of decay and despair. Nine-year-old Auron clutched his little sister Lyra's tiny hand as they darted between crumbling walls and shards of broken glass.
Her purple eyes were wide with fear, but Auron's golden gaze remained sharp, constantly scanning, calculating every sound, every shadow. Survival had taught him one truth — hesitation meant death.
Their stomachs had been empty for days. The only thing heavier than hunger was the silence that followed their mother's screams the night she threw them out.
Lyra whimpered softly. "Big brother… I'm hungry."
"I know," Auron whispered, voice calm but trembling beneath the surface. "We'll find something. Just stay close.
A noise echoed from the end of the alley — footsteps.
Slow. Dragging. Heavy.
Auron's instincts screamed. He pushed Lyra behind him, eyes narrowing.
From the shadows emerged a ragged old man. His clothes hung like torn curtains, his face gaunt and pale. But it was his eyes — hollow, lifeless, burdened with something darker than hunger — that froze Auron in place.
"You two…" the man rasped, stepping closer. "You don't belong here. Food thieves, are you?"
Auron clenched his fists. "We didn't steal anything."
The man smiled — a cracked, empty smile. "Liar."
He raised a hand, and from his palm a faint red glow began to form — a Quirk, something dangerous.
Auron felt his chest tighten. Panic clawed up his throat. He could hear Lyra's breathing quicken behind him. His body screamed to run, but his mind — cold, calculating — was already searching for a way out.
The glow grew brighter. The man aimed his hand.
"Die—"
Something snapped inside Auron.
In that instant, the air shimmered. The alley distorted like shattered glass reflecting another world — a blue ripple of energy burst from Auron's hands.
Time seemed to freeze.
The red blast fired toward them — and vanished, swallowed by the light.
When Auron opened his eyes, he and Lyra were standing on the rooftop of a distant building, far above the alley. The man was gone.
Auron gasped for breath, hands shaking.
Lyra stared at him in awe. "Brother… what happened?"
He looked down at his palms — faint blue particles of energy floated from them, forming small glowing rings that spun in the air before fading.
"I… I think I did that."
He turned toward the endless sprawl of the slums, wind brushing through his white-blond hair. For the first time, the fear in his chest felt… smaller.
"I won't let anyone hurt us again," he said quietly. "Not ever."
Lyra smiled faintly, clutching his hand.
And beneath the moonlight, a faint sigil — a circular aether mark — pulsed on Auron's wrist, the birthmark of his new power:
Aetherion — the power to manipulate spatial energy, create portals, and forge weapons from pure Aether.