Time blurs.

  Mami stays within the Academy walls.

  Her days a cycle of sweat and silence.

  She is twenty now.

  Her body lean and hard from years of Master Peridot’s ruthlessness.

  "You have mastered every technique I have," the Master says one morning, his hand resting on her shoulder.

  "You may leave if you wish. Or stay. The choice is yours."

  Mami looks around the empty courtyard.

  Jager is long gone, chasing his empire.

  Her father is a ghost. Pious is a memory.

  "I have nowhere else to go, Master."

  "I have a gift for you," he says, his eyes twinkling.

  "But it is not a blade. It is a surprise. Stay patient."

  The next morning.

  A messenger sprints into the hall, gasping for air.

  "A kid... in the street... he’s destroying everything. Pro Level One fighters are falling like flies."

  Master Peridot turns to Mami.

  His face is a mask of stone.

  "Go. Use everything I taught you. Neutralize him. Do not hold back."

  Mami doesn't argue.

  She folds into space, the air snapping behind her.

  She manifests in the center of the town square.

  The air is thick with the smell of scorched concrete and copper.

  Civilians scream.

  Their footsteps a frantic drumbeat against the pavement.

  Mami looks toward the source of the chaos.

  A boy stands there.

  He is shirtless.

  His ribs showing through his skin, his hair matted with dirt.

  But behind him, two colossal white palms hover in the air, shimmering with a ghostly light.

  With a flick of the boy's wrist, the palms swing.

  A storefront collapses.

  A stone wall turns to dust.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Bodies lie scattered like broken dolls.

  Mami lunges.

  She vanishes, reappearing inches from his face.

  A massive white palm crashes down where she stood a millisecond before.

  The impact vibrates through the soles of her boots.

  She folds again.

  Reappears at his side.

  The air whistles as the palms clap together, missing her by a hair’s breadth.

  She feels the rush of wind against her skin.

  The boy snarls.

  His eyes bloodshot and wild.

  He strikes faster.

  Left.

  Right.

  Overhead.

  Mami moves like a shadow.

  She ducks under a sweeping strike.

  The white light of the palm blindingly bright.

  She slips inside his guard.

  Her fist finds his chest.

  Thud.

  She strikes again.

  Her knuckles bruising against his skin.

  Crack.

  The boy staggers.

  He gasps, blood spraying from his lips, staining the gray pavement.

  But he doesn't stay down.

  He rises, the palms behind him flaring with a desperate, jagged energy.

  A small wind rotates around him, and fades.

  Mami doesn't give him a second chance.

  She vanishes.

  She reappears directly behind him.

  Her knee drives into his spine with the sound of a breaking branch.

  He lunges forward, coughing.

  Before he can turn, Mami folds again.

  Her knee catches him square in the face.

  The boy hits the ground hard.

  The colossal palms flicker, turning translucent and weak.

  The boy lies in the dirt, his small frame shaking.

  He coughs, and a thin trail of blood leaks from the corner of his mouth, painting a dark line down his chin.

  “I’m so sorry, Dad…”

  His voice is barely a rattle, thinner than the wind.

  He stares at the gray sky as if looking for something that isn't there.

  “I’m sorry I killed you all. The world is too dark.”

  His chest hitches—one final, jagged heave that strains his ribs against his skin.

  Then, the tension snaps.

  His shoulders drop.

  The light in his eyes doesn't fade; it simply vanishes, leaving behind two empty glass marbles.

  He goes cold.

  Mami stands over him.

  Her knuckles are white, her fingers still curled into the fists that broke him.

  Her heart hammers against her ribs, a frantic, rhythmic thud that feels loud enough to shake the buildings around them.

  The silence of the street is deafening.

  No birds.

  No wind.

  Just the boy’s stillness.

  A strange heat blooms at her shoulder blades.

  It isn’t a burn; it’s a heavy, pulsing warmth that spreads across her back like spilled wax.

  She turns her head.

  Two colossal white palms hang in the air behind her.

  They don't flicker like the boy's did.

  They pulse with a soft, steady light, glowing against the soot of the alley.

  They hover exactly where the boy’s power once lived, casting a pale shadow over his corpse.

  Mami’s knees tremble.

  She looks from the glowing palms to the small, barefoot body at her feet.

  “He was just a kid,” she whispers.

  Her voice cracks, the sound small and sharp in the empty street.

  She reaches out a hand, but her fingers stop inches from the boy’s cooling skin.

  “And I took his life.”

  The white palms pulse in response to her voice, a silent, glowing weight that she knows, deep down, will never leave her.

  The next day, Mami stands in the Academy hall, her hands trembling.

  "He would have killed you," Master Peridot says, his voice firm.

  "He was a boy, Master. He was grieving." Tears track lines through the dirt on her face.

  "And now I have his power. Why?"

  "Because you are a Receiver," the Master explains.

  "That power is sacred. The kid's an Amplifier."

  A pause.

  "It was born from his sadness, his desire to protect himself from the dark world. Now, it belongs to you."

  The door creaks open.

  A young boy walks in, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and hope.

  Mami freezes.

  "Pious?"

  "I want to join the Academy!" Pious shouts, his face beaming.

  Mami moves without thinking.

  Her fist connects with his jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor.

  "Go home, Pious! Get out of here!"

  Pious stands up, wiping blood from his lip.

  He doesn't cry.

  "No. Dad is gone. He doesn't care anymore. I want to be strong like you, sister."

  Mami’s breath hitches.

  Her vision blurs.

  She starts toward him again, but Master Peridot grabs her wrist, his grip like iron.

  "That is enough."

  He looks at Mami.

  "You carry guilt like a weapon, Child. It isn't. You can't fix the past, but you can build a future. Teach him. Build an Academy. Let others shine where you cannot."

  Mami looks at Pious.

  He isn't looking at her with hate.

  He is looking at her with worship.

  The white palms behind her fade into the shadows.

  For the first time, the weight in her chest feels like a purpose instead of a stone.