Lyriana’s voice was calm, but the weight in it pressed like a stormcloud.

  “He did it again, didn’t he?”

  On the other end of the line, Daniel sighed. “Yes.”

  Lyriana exhaled slowly, her disappointment cutting sharper than anger.

  “Times without number, I’ve told him never to hit anyone. And time and time again, he ends up in this situation. It’s been a while since I punished him. I think he’s forgotten who I am.”

  Daniel’s jaw tightened as his eyes dropped to the boy bleeding out on the school floor.

  “Another family we’ll have to pay off to keep their mouths shut,” he muttered. His voice dropped lower. “The boy is going to die. The ambulance won’t make it in time.”

  Lyriana’s reply was firm.

  “Save him. I don’t want the death of someone on Valerius’ conscience.”

  Daniel’s lips tugged into a thin smile. “I was planning to.”

  He ended the call. His voice dropped into a soft chuckle.

  “Oh, my boy… always getting into trouble.”

  ---

  Daniel raised his hand. A shimmer of white light bloomed above his palm, folding into shape until a holographic head materialized — crystalline, artificial, with eyes glowing faintly blue.

  “Padro,” Daniel commanded, “save that boy. But first… knock out everyone within a thirty-meter radius and erase the last thirty minutes of their memory.”

  The head blinked slowly, voice mechanical but clear.

  “I can knock them out, but I cannot wipe their memories. The Backflash unit is not present.”

  Daniel’s expression never shifted.

  “Then put it in the teleporter and send it to me.”

  Seconds later, light shimmered and a strange camera-like device appeared beside him. Daniel picked it up with casual ease.

  “Now… save that child.”

  From the hologram, a pulse rippled outward.

  FWOOM.

  Every student, teacher, and guard within thirty meters collapsed unconscious at once. Only Valerius and Ziraiah remained standing, wide-eyed.

  Nanobots streamed from Daniel’s palm like silver dust, swarming the bleeding boy. The machines entered his body, sealing ruptured vessels, stitching flesh, and accelerating his healing at impossible speed.

  Daniel walked through the chaos with calm footsteps, stepping over unconscious bodies until he stood before Valerius. He looked down at his son, blood still dripping from his hands.

  “If I had the strength to hurt you,” Daniel said coldly, “you’d be crying right now.”

  He flicked Valerius on the head. “Come on. Let’s go home. You too, little Z.”

  Behind him, the nanobots peeled away from the boy’s body, silver specks rising like metallic dust in a storm. They twisted, folded, and condensed until a two-foot figure stood upon the blood-spattered floor — its limbs jointed like clockwork, eyes burning with cold blue light.

  Padro.

  It picked up the Backflash.

  SNAP.

  A blinding flare swept through the school corridor. Every teacher, every student, every guard — all crumpled to the ground, unconscious before their memories could even resist erasure.

  Padro moved immediately, scanning the limp bodies. Thin beams lanced from its eyes, flickering across faces, one after another. Each scan pulled the last thirty minutes of thought away, wiped clean like chalk washed from a slate.

  Then it glided deeper into the school.

  —The nurse’s office.

  —The classrooms.

  —The faculty lounge.

  —Storage rooms.

  Everywhere it went, silence deepened. The blue beams danced over fallen bodies, over slumped figures at their desks, over teachers collapsed mid-stride. Snapshots taken. Memories burned away.

  Only when the school itself was cleansed did Padro step outside, its small frame drifting over the cobbled courtyard. The machine entered other buildings, repeating the cycle: flash, scan, erase. Offices. Dormitories. Training halls. Until no one — not a soul — held the memory of what had transpired.

  Finally, Padro returned, the Backflash clutched in its hands, its task complete.

  ---

  At home, screams tore through the walls.

  Valerius’s voice echoed raw and broken.

  “Please, Mom! Please, I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again!”

  Each cry was punctuated by the sharp CRACK of leather against flesh.

  In Lyriana’s room, the Titan Mother held a light-blue belt in her hand. Not just any belt, it was a belt made for a single purpose: to break the will of her children without breaking their bodies.

  Her strikes were precise, merciless. The belt coiled around Valerius’s frame like a serpent, snapping with supernatural force until the tip lashed across his cheek.

  “How many times,” Lyriana demanded, her emerald eyes blazing, “have you said those words? How many times have you promised me?”

  CRACK.

  “Yet time and time again, you repeat the same things I punished you for.”

  CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

  “My patience is running thin.”

  Eryndor, Ziraiah, and Daniel stood silently in the room, watching. None dared intervene. This was Lyriana’s domain.

  Valerius broke free and staggered toward the door. His hand clutched the handle, trembling, desperate. But Lyriana’s voice cut sharper than the belt itself.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  She pointed at the floor. Her tone left no room for rebellion.

  “Come back here. This instant.”

  Valerius froze. His breath hitched. He couldn’t bring himself to open the door. He knew — better than anyone — who his mother was.

  Throughout the earth, only Lyriana could make him feel this much pain. And her weapon, was indestructible. She named it DISCIPLINE

  Valerius had tried countless times to destroy it. He had burned it. Frozen it. Shredded it. He had even tried to tear it apart with his own monstrous strength.

  But nothing worked. The belt endured. It always endured.

  Because it wasn’t just a belt. It was a promise.

  And this was the ninth time Valerius had nearly killed someone.

  The first time… he succeeded.

  ---

  As Lyriana’s hand rose again, her mind drifted back — to the day her son first walked.

  Valerius had been only six months old. Six months… and already nearly six feet tall. A baby built like a monster.

  The day he took his first steps, all hell had broken loose.

  Lyriana wasn’t home. Only Valerius and the house workers.

  That was the first time it happened. The first time he killed.

  The workers never stood a chance.

  By the time Lyriana and Eryndor returned, the house was no longer a home—it was a slaughterhouse. Blood painted the walls, intestines sprawled across the marble floor like grotesque ribbons. Dismembered limbs lay scattered, and three bodies slumped in ruin around a small figure.

  Valerius.

  The boy sat calmly in the middle of it all, soaked in scarlet. A pool of blood lapped at his legs. In his tiny hands, he held the severed head of one of the maids—swinging it by the hair like a toy, smiling as though nothing was wrong.

  Lyriana froze. Her breath caught in her throat. She could not believe her own eyes.

  Then the baby noticed her.

  “Mommy!”

  He lit up with joy and stumbled to his feet—his very first steps. Wobbling forward, giggling, Valerius toddled toward he. The head swung in the air. He held it up proudly, crimson dripping down his small arms.

  Lyriana’s face went pale. All parents rejoice when their child takes their first steps. But not her. Not now.

  Beside her, three-year-old Eryndor—already towering at 8ft 4—stared wide-eyed, his small fists clenching in confusion and fear.

  Lyriana’s heart sank. She couldn’t punish Valerius. He didn’t even understand what he was doing. But the truth struck her like lightning: if Valerius remained like this, he would become a disaster.

  That very night, she carried him and Eryndor into her private lab. Through sleepless hours she worked, desperate, frantic—until she found a way to reshape them. To make them appear small. Human. She succeeded, but it wasn’t enough.

  So she placed limiters at the base of their spines. Invisible shackles that slowed their growth and restrained their overwhelming strength. She knew one day they would still rise to her height. To her scale. But until then, she forced them into the cage of humanity—because the world was not ready for what they truly were.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  ---

  Daniel walked into Valerius’s room and sat down on the chair by the desk.

  The soft hum of the ceiling bulb filled the silence, washing the room in pale yellow light.

  Valerius sat on the edge of his bed, arms folded, head down.

  Daniel gestured toward the chair. “Come on, sit here.”

  Valerius hesitated, then got up and sat opposite him.

  Daniel leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Valerius, you know you’re not like everyone else. With the kind of strength you have, you have to be careful — really careful — about how you deal with people. You can’t afford to lose your temper. You can’t afford to be provoked. Because for someone like you…” He paused. “…one mistake could be catastrophic.”

  Valerius looked away, jaw tightening. “You don’t get it, Dad. You’re just a normal guy. You don’t know what it’s like — having to hold back every second. Always thinking about not breaking something… or someone. And some people piss me off so bad I just want to hit them.”

  Daniel nodded slowly, voice calm. “I understand more than you think.”

  Valerius looked up sharply. “No, you don’t. You’ll never understand. You’re not even my real dad.”

  The words hung there — sharp, heavy.

  Daniel stood quietly, walked to the door, and stopped with his hand on the handle. For a moment, he didn’t turn around. Then, softly — almost like he didn’t want to break the silence — he said:

  “I love you, Valerius. Just as much as I love Ziraiah. You might not see it now… but I am your father.”

  He opened the door and left.

  The light flickered faintly as it closed behind him, and Valerius sat there, staring at the floor — the echo of Daniel’s words still heavy in the quiet room.

  ---

  Present Day

  “That’s why I’m scared,” Ziraiah whispered.

  Sierra folded her arms. “You should really talk to him.”

  Ziraiah scoffed. “You think that’ll work? He broke a man’s spine just for looking at our mom the wrong way.”

  Sierra blinked. “…From the stories you told me, I thought you liked your brother.”

  Ziraiah gave a small laugh, bitter but warm. “Yeah. He’s cool. We always have fun together. But… this is the biggest issue we have with him. Eryndor never played with us—he’s too meticulous, too uptight. The complete opposite of Val.” She shook her head, smiling faintly. “That’s why they always fought. And Eryndor always beat his ass.”

  Sierra chuckled. “Well, cheer up. At least you know—if David ever broke your heart, he’s a dead man. I’d kill for a brother who loves like that.”

  “What’s wrong with your brother?” Ziraiah asked.

  Sierra’s eyes darkened. “He hates me. My father had him with a concubine when they thought my mom couldn’t have kids. But then they had me. So he thinks I’m a threat to his position.”

  Ziraiah tilted her head. “Well… you kind of are.”

  Sierra frowned. “Ziraiah—whose side are you on?”

  Ziraiah just smirked, then flopped back onto the bed. She dragged the blanket over her head, muffling her voice. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

  ---

  Two Days Later

  Valerius stood before the mirror, steam rising from the shower still clinging to his skin. His dislocated jaw had already healed.

  He leaned closer, his bandaged head tilted.

  “Mmhmm. I… I… I. I am here. Come here.”

  The sound wasn’t his voice. Not anymore.

  It crawled out of his throat like jagged metal scraping over stone, each word vibrating with unnatural distortion. A deep bass growl beneath, with a higher, broken echo splitting above it. The words buzzed with static, every syllable snapping like a cracked speaker trying to hold too much power.

  The mirror rattled faintly.

  Valerius smirked, his green eyes narrowing. “Cool. I’m liking this new voice.”

  He coughed suddenly, gripping his chest. “Still hurts, though…”

  The sound of his own laugh warped, doubling on itself.

  ---

  Valerius pushed open the door to Eryndor’s room.

  Inside, the air hummed faintly. A ring floated in the air before Eryndor, suspended by invisible force. Both of his hands were busy—each holding delicate tools that shimmered with faint arcs of light. His eyes glowed faintly, zooming in and out as if the world itself bent to his sight.

  At three nanometers, he saw the lattice of etched inscriptions, each line thinner than a strand of hair. His focus never wavered. His breathing was steady. His aura, calm and controlled.

  Valerius took a step inside. He made no sound, but still—

  “Depart,” Eryndor said flatly, his gaze unwavering. “I will not abide distractions.”

  Valerius smirked, closing the door behind him. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

  “I have graver matters that demand my attention.”

  Valerius stepped closer. “What afflicts your voice, Valerius?” Eryndor asked, finally glancing up.

  Valerius shrugged. His distorted tone cracked the air, vibrating. “I don’t know. It just… became this way.”

  Eryndor raised an eyebrow.

  “Your voice now carries the timbre of a villain.”

  Valerius grinned. “Well I like it, it's cool.” His eyes shifted to the floating ring. “What are you even working on? Shouldn’t you be using some kind of microscope for that?”

  “I have no need of such trivial aids. Look closer, Valerius. Focus.”

  Valerius leaned in, narrowing his gaze. At once, his vision sharpened, tunneling down until the ring’s surface expanded before his eyes like a vast landscape. He gasped. At three nanometers, every groove, every glyph, every hairline shimmer of Eryndor’s craft became visible.

  “Damn,” Valerius muttered. “I knew I could see far… but this? Tiny details too? That’s crazy.”

  “What are you working on?”

  Eryndor returned to his tools, voice calm. “A size-alteration artifact.”

  Valerius blinked. “Wait—you can make artifacts?”

  Eryndor smirked, faint pride glinting in his tone. “Why do you sound so astonished? Mercy already apprised you.”

  “No,” Valerius said. “She said you could enchant things.”

  Eryndor’s hand stilled. His gaze hardened.

  “Though enchantment may serve as the prerequisite, do not dare relegate me to their station. I stand several steps beyound.”

  Valerius raised his brows. “So what’s the difference?”

  “Enchanters are ubiquitous—content to take what already exists and lace it with borrowed sorcery.” His fingers moved with surgical precision, etching an impossibly fine rune across the ring’s surface. “I, however, forge the item from inception—raw mineral to perfected form. And as I forge, I imbue. That is creation—true creation. Unlike their trinkets, which sputter out when residue mana wanes, my artifacts endure. They draw ceaselessly from the very Vitalis that saturates the air.”

  Valerius whistled low. “You really know your stuff, huh? So why do you wanna change your size? Trying to get bigger?”

  Eryndor’s eyes flicked toward him. “On the contrary. The mean stature rests at nine feet, ten inches. You—at eleven feet—already occupy the ninety-ninth percentile. If you are considered an anomaly… then what, pray, does that render me?”

  Valerius grinned, flexing an arm. “Dude, we’re not Aurellians. If I were you, I'd get bigger. It’s cooler.”

  Eryndor’s face didn’t move, his hands never stopping. “And when we return to Earth—how do you intend to enter a house? A car? A train? Mother crafted everything she used with her own hands because nothing else accommodated her stature. Had she lacked wealth, penury would have defined her life. Is that the fate you would willingly inherit?”

  Valerius paused. For a moment, the grin slipped.

  Eryndor’s eyes zoomed back in on the ring, each glyph locking perfectly into place.

  “One day, we shall return to Earth. I believe so. And when that day comes…” His voice fell, smooth and deliberate. “I intend to assimilate seamlessly—without flaw, without distinction. Perfectly.”

  ---

  To Be Continued...

  ---