Rehearsals were over but their room still carried the faint hum of what had happened in the garage.
None of them mentioned it.
After washing up, Ethan flopped dramatically onto his bed—only to freeze mid-bounce.
A neat stack of freshly wrapped comic books sat on his pillow.
His eyes lit up instantly.
"Hey, Damien," he called toward the bathroom, where the shower was still running, "what collection is this?"
Water shut off.
"That's Series Eleven!" Damien shouted back. "Don't crease it! It's brand new!"
Ethan rolled his eyes and mimicked him in a high-pitched voice. "Don't crease it." Then he tore open the plastic anyway, flipping through the glossy pages one after another.
The bathroom door opened, steam spilling into the room. Damien stepped out, towel around his neck, hair damp and messy.
Dante entered seconds later carrying a tray with three plates of food. He handed one to Ethan without a word—then stopped.
"You're dripping on the sheets," Dante said flatly.
Ethan grinned up at him. "Wanna dry it for me?"
Dante stared at him, then slowly blinked.
"Tragic," he muttered, moving to his own bed.
Ethan continued flipping through the comics, scanning covers until his fingers paused.
He frowned.
One of them looked… different.
The art style was darker. Less flashy. The cover showed a cracked sky over a burning city—and three silhouettes standing beneath it.
"Hey," Ethan said slowly. "Damien… what's this one?"
Damien glanced over while rubbing his hair dry. "Oh. That one? It was a freebie. I bought the whole pack, and the guy just tossed it in. Haven't read it."
Ethan tilted the comic toward the light. "It's not part of the series."
That got Dante's attention.
He sighed, clearly unwilling, and stood. "This had better not be another 'what-if-the-hero-turns-evil' plot."
Ethan opened it.
The pages weren't bright like the others.
They felt older. Almost textured.
He began reading aloud.
"It says here… this comic is based on real events."
Dante gave a dry laugh. "It's a fantasy publication."
Damien raised his hand dramatically. "I believe in fantasy."
"Quiet," Dante said without looking at him. "The rational minds are speaking."
Ethan ignored them and kept reading. "Years ago, there was an eruption… not volcanic. Energetic. A man fought something described as a 'demi-god' or… a demon sovereign." Ethan's tone shifted slightly. "It says the battle tore through the sky."
The room grew quieter.
Ethan swallowed but continued.
"He couldn't defeat it. So he sealed it away—using his own life as the lock. Before dying, he passed his power to one of his three sons."
Damien stopped drying his hair.
Dante's expression hardened slightly.
Ethan flipped to the last page.
"It says there were three witnesses. They claimed they saw demons that night. No one believed them. They were institutionalized for insanity."
A beat of silence.
Dante scoffed lightly. "Convenient."
Ethan looked up. "What do you mean?"
"If the witnesses were declared unstable," Dante said coolly, "then how was this published? Who verified it? Who documented it? Stories like this don't survive scrutiny."
He turned back toward his bed. "And battles between gods and demons? Please. Those belong in mythology."
Ethan pouted slightly. "You're such a buzzkill. Imagine it though—dragons, warriors, epic fights, Vikings—"
"Dragons would incinerate you," Dante said. "And Vikings are extinct."
Ethan tossed a pillow at him.
Dante didn't flinch.
"I told you," he continued calmly, "it's fiction."
Damien, however, wasn't laughing. He was staring at the page Ethan had just read.
Three sons.
Three witnesses.
He slowly grinned.
"Okay," he said carefully. "But what if…"
Ethan looked at him.
Dante didn't.
Damien stepped closer."What if those three sons… are us?"
Silence fell heavy in the room.
Ethan blinked.
Dante finally looked up.
Damien's grin widened."Think about it. Three brothers. Weird stuff happening. Lights flickering. Instruments exploding. That thing in the garage—"
"That," Dante interrupted sharply, "was faulty wiring."
"Was it?" Damien challenged softly.
Ethan's excitement sparked again. "Imagine it though. Us with powers. Like actual powers."
Dante's jaw tightened slightly.
Because despite everything—
Despite logic—
Despite reason—
He remembered the shadow in the cracked window. Moving before he did. And for the first time— He didn't immediately dismiss the idea. Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
All three froze.
Then footsteps.
Their mother's.
Rosita paused outside their door.
Listening.
Because she had heard every word.
Dante finally snapped. "Damien, would you just shut up?" His voice cut through the room, sharp and strained. "I told you—it was faulty wiring. That's it. Stop turning everything into some supernatural conspiracy. And that comic book? A coincidence."
Ethan leaned back in his chair, flipping the comic shut with a soft thud."I'm with Dante. We're seriously overthinking this. Stuff like that just… happen."
Damien raised both hands in surrender, though the spark in his eyes didn't dim. "Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off."
"And return that comic," Dante added, jaw tight. "It's already caused enough problems."
"Alright, Dad," Damien shot back, mocking. He snatched the comic from Ethan's side and tossed it aside carelessly.
Outside, Rosita stood frozen. Her fingers curled tightly against her chest as if holding something fragile inside. She said nothing.
Then she walked away.
Auditions arrived faster than expected.
The auditorium lights burned bright against the stage, empty chairs stretching endlessly before them. Damien and his brothers stood backstage, instruments in hand. They were first.
Damien glanced over his shoulder, smirking nervously. "If we mess this up, I'm blaming Dante."
"Let's just survive this," Dante muttered.
Damien stepped forward, inhaled sharply, and snapped his fingers.
"A five… six… seven… eight."
They played.
They gave it everything.
But when the results were posted, their names weren't there.
Outside, the winning team basked in applause, surrounded by friends and congratulations. Damien stood off to the side, arms crossed, staring at the ground.
Ethan ruffled his hair. "Hey. Next time's ours."
"There was no way we were winning with those ancient instruments," Dante added, though his tone lacked its usual certainty.
Damien exhaled slowly. "I just… really wanted to play in front of the whole school."
Dante and Ethan exchanged a look.
"Assembly's starting," Damien said, forcing a grin. "Let's go watch the champions."
They headed off.
Halfway down the hall, Ethan slowed. "You guys go ahead. I'll catch up."
Before either of them could question it, he disappeared around the corner.
The entire school packed into the assembly hall, buzzing with excitement.
The MC stepped onto the stage, tapping the mic. It screeched slightly before settling.
"Attention everyone! There's been a slight… accident." Murmurs rippled through the crowd. "The Morbid team won't be performing today."
Gasps.
"But don't worry! We have a replacement act. A volunteer who stepped up last minute."
He squinted at a torn sheet of paper in his hand.
"Please welcome… Ethan and the Nightshaders!"
The hall exploded with cheers.
Dante blinked.
"What?"
Spotlights flared to life as Ethan sprinted onto the stage, grinning like he'd just committed a crime and gotten away with it.
He motioned wildly at his brothers. "Get up here!"
Damien's eyes sparkled as he grabbed his mic. "How did you even—?"
Dante stepped beside them, lowering his voice. "For starters? He's the 'accident.'"
Ethan placed a hand dramatically over his chest. "I am deeply offended."
"You should be," Dante muttered.
Damien turned toward the roaring crowd, adrenaline igniting in his veins. He stepped up to the mic.
"ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?!"
The crowd erupted.
The lights dimmed.
The first chord struck like lightning.
And this time—
They owned the stage.
Deep within the forest at the edge of the city, the air split open.
Not with sound —
but with pressure.
A vertical tear of violet light carved through reality itself. The trees bent away from it as though in fear. Leaves spiraled upward, suspended in an unseen force.
Then the portal widened.
Three figures stepped through.
Armor glinted beneath the fractured glow — dark steel etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly before fading as the rift sealed behind them with a low, thunderous hum.
Silence returned.
One of them lowered her hood, her pale blue hair catching the pale blue sky.
"Do you feel it?" she asked quietly.
The tallest of the three closed her eyes. The sigil on her gauntlet flickered.
"…Yes. The resonance is strong." Her voice was deep, edged with certainty. "He's close."
A third figure adjusted the blade strapped across her back, eyes sharp and calculating.
"Then we move," she said. "The Kael'Zerath must be restored."
They advanced through the forest with disciplined precision, boots barely disturbing the ground.
And then—
They reached the city.
Light exploded around them.
Blinding. Flickering. Multicolored.
Massive structures of glass and steel towered into the sky. Glowing signs shimmered in shifting patterns. Strange metal beasts roared past on blackened stone roads, their eyes blazing white and red.
The three knights froze instantly —weapons drawn in flawless synchronization.
"What sorcery is this?" the pale blue-haired one hissed, blade angled defensively."It feels like an illusion spell…" the taller knight muttered, scanning the towering buildings. "But I sense no mage."
A deafening honk split the air as a car swerved past.
The third knight pivoted sharply, sword half-raised. "That creature — what manner of armored steed runs without breath?"
More machines sped by.
People stopped.
Stared.
Whispered.
The knights' cloaks fluttered in the artificial wind of passing traffic.
"This realm reeks of unnatural craft," the silver-haired knight said, narrowing her eyes. "No witch. No sorcerer. And yet the entire city hums with fabricated light."
Another car passed. She flinched only slightly.
The tallest knight exhaled sharply.
"Enough."
Her voice cut through the chaos like a command on a battlefield.
"We did not cross realms to marvel at illusions."
She turned toward the heart of the city. The rune on his gauntlet pulsed brighter now — reacting. "The Kael'Zerath calls."
The third knight tilted her head slightly, focusing.
"…He's moving."
A faint glow flickered in her pupils.
"Up ahead," she confirmed. "The bearer is within this maze of iron towers."
Pedestrians continued staring — some recording with their phones.
One whispered, "Is this like… Comic Con or something?"
The pale blue-haired knight stiffened at the strange rectangular devices pointed at them.
"More arcane tools," she muttered.
The tall knight stepped forward.
"We stay focused. We ignore the distortions of this realm. Steel your minds." She drew her blade fully now, its edge humming with restrained power.
"Forward."
And together, the three knights walked into the neon-lit city — ancient warriors moving through a modern world that had no idea something older than history itself had just arrived.
Behind them, the forest stood silent.
As if it, too, was holding its breath.