Teorin gritted his teeth as the plane rattled in descent. Delar had said it was just the wind at this altitude, but that didn’t help. Teorin had flown plenty before, but those flights had windows. At least then he could see what was going on.
This was a cargo plane. No passenger comforts, no view. They’d swapped out Delar’s smaller plane at the last airport, and Delar had decided to make the return trip profitable by hauling cargo.
Another jolt rocked the plane. Teorin squeezed his eyes shut. Delar had offered him the copilot’s seat earlier, but he’d needed space. Delar had been peppering him with questions about Jeron’s video since they left. The back of the plane had been an escape.
Now, he was regretting it. He was used to flying himself, being in control. Sitting in the dark with no view and no say in the turbulence was maddening.
Another sharp bump hit, and that was enough. He unbuckled, grabbed the wall for balance, and moved toward the cockpit. Sliding the door open, he braced against the frame. Outside, they were descending toward a dense forest, more tropical than the ones down south. The ocean shimmered on the horizon, still miles away.
Delar didn’t take his eyes off the cockpit window. “What are you doing? I told you to buckle up.”
“I did, but there aren’t any windows back there. I didn’t want to throw up all over your rented plane.”
“Go back! I told you that you could sit up here before, and you said no!”
“I didn’t expect the descent to be this bumpy,” Teorin said as he slid into the copilot’s seat.
Delar grimaced, still focused on the instruments, and Teorin thought he heard him mutter a curse under his breath. He had clearly triggered Delar’s famous temper.
“Everything alright?” Teorin asked.
Delar shot him a quick glare. “Idiot. Yes. It’s bumpy. That’s why you’re supposed to stay put. What if you tripped and slammed into the controls? What was I supposed to do? Do you even realize how dangerous that was?”
Teorin blinked in surprise. “I… I didn’t think of that. Sorry.”
Delar still looked irritated but didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Finally, he sighed. “It’s alright. I’ve made my fair share of careless decisions, but don’t ever do that again on my plane. Got it?”
Teorin stared at him. He hadn’t expected Delar to let it go so quickly. He never would have a couple of years ago.
“Got it?” Delar asked again, sharper this time.
“Yes, sir,” Teorin said with a little salute.
A smile played at the corners of Delar’s lips. Apparently, that was the right response. His mood seemed to be shifting back to his usual happy-go-lucky state. His moods had always changed quickly. Though in the past, they had usually swung toward furious, not the other way around.
Delar’s voice, steady despite the wind shear, was nothing like all the times he used to yell across the dinner table. He was only three years older, and they’d always clashed, but Teorin had mastered the art of not reacting. Delar never had.
Delar fought with everyone, except his twin, Jake. But that was only because Jake was too agreeable to argue with.
Still, Delar somehow managed to pull Jake into every insane plot. They weren’t identical, but Delar dragged them into identical amounts of trouble.
“That expression makes you look like Raph,” Delar said with a chuckle.
Teorin rolled his eyes. “Right. Because facial expressions change hair color and bone structure.”
Delar gave a tsk. “Not in the mood for teasing, huh?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s like Raph, too.”
Teorin glared, but he couldn’t argue. Of all his brothers, he and his second oldest brother were the most alike, at least in personality. Raph was the responsible one—married, with a little girl. When Teorin wasn’t on the road, he lived with them. It was easier than keeping his own place, and it meant he wasn’t alone when he did come back.
Mom was always being called into Pulser clan meetings or off advocating for something. Raph stayed. His house felt less hollow.
But the brother he looked most like… He’d been trying not to think about him, but it was impossible. Ever since the outpost, it was like Marcus was a virus that had infected his thoughts.
He traced a line along one of the barometers. If anyone was a bridge between Marcus and the rest of them, it was Delar. He was the only one Marcus still talked to.
Teorin glanced sideways. “You heard anything from Marcus lately?”
“Not recently,” Delar said after a brief pause. “A month, maybe two. Why?”
“No reason,” Teorin said with a shrug. He didn’t want to get into it, but maybe Delar could give him some insight.
“Why did Marcus leave?” he asked. “In your opinion, I mean.”
Delar raised an eyebrow but remained uncharacteristically silent. After a moment, he sighed. “Marcus never said exactly why he left, but he was always the closest with Dad. We were all close, but Marcus… he wanted to be Dad, you know? He wanted to hear every story. He wanted to work for Novem. Even as a teenager, he and Mom had their arguments, but whenever Dad was home, things just settled with him.”
Delar grimaced and continued, “So, the news obviously hit him hard, but I think what really got him was Novem saying they couldn’t share all the details… When they wouldn’t even tell us where Dad disappeared, I think that’s what broke him. But again, that’s just my speculation. You’d have to ask him to really know.”
They sat in silence for a few moments before Delar asked quietly, “Why the sudden interest? And don’t say nothing. Something is clearly bothering you.”
“I saw him,” Teorin said, just loud enough to be heard over the engine.
Delar’s head snapped toward him. “Really? When?”
“Yesterday.”
Delar frowned. “I take it from your tone that it wasn’t a good meeting.”
“No.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Teorin fidgeted with a loose thread on his pants. “No, but I probably need to.”
Delar leveled out the plane, and Teorin raised his eyebrows. Delar just shrugged. “We can do a loop. I have a feeling this conversation should stay in the sky.”
“Are you supposed to fly this low?” Teorin asked.
“No, but it’s fine.”
And there it was, Delar’s rebellious streak and complete disregard for rules.
Delar gave him a long look. “This story doesn’t also happen to explain why you were so upset to see me when I found you, does it?”
“I wasn’t upset,” Teorin said.
Delar laughed. “I thought for a moment you might actually throw me out of your little cabin.”
Teorin thought back. He had been blunt when Delar found him. Maybe more than a little harsh. “Okay, maybe I was. I just… Jeron sent me to retrieve something. Something important. I got it, but when I was leaving, Marcus was waiting for me.”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Teorin hesitated, searching for the right words. “We talked. Well… not really. We argued. And in the end…”
“In the end, what?”
“He knocked me out and stole what I went there to get.”
Delar swore under his breath and pulled up slightly. Teorin grabbed the seat as turbulence rattled the plane. “He knocked you out?” Delar asked incredulously.
“Yeah. Well… he stunned me,” Teorin admitted. “It wasn’t a punch to the face, but same effect.”
“That’s… Wow.” Delar shook his head. “I can see why you were so angry.”
“I know none of us really know him anymore, but you know him better than the rest of us. Why would he do that? Leaving is one thing, but this… this goes way beyond just joining up with the da Silvas.”
Delar was quiet, focused on the controls. He flipped a few switches before finally saying, “I don’t know, Teorin. He talks to me, sure, but it’s mostly surface-level stuff—checking in, asking for news about everyone, letting me know he’s alive. He’s not really one to explain his motives for doing anything.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Finally, Delar broke it. “Just out of curiosity, what did Marcus steal?”
Teorin groaned. “Really? You don’t think I would’ve included that part if I could? What part of confidential don’t you understand?”
Delar chuckled. “Sorry. Can you blame me for being curious? If you don’t want to be pestered, you should pick a different career path.”
Teorin sighed. “I know.”
“Oh, also, prepare for landing,” Delar said, flipping more switches as he moved them into descent.
As the airport came into view, Teorin half expected some reckless stunt from Delar, but the landing was smooth, textbook, even. Maybe Delar really was changing.
Once they were down, Delar pulled out a flasher—a device that mimicked the light signals Luminars used to communicate. Since neither of them were Luminars, they needed it to signal the tower.
“We should be able to get off quick. I’m setting the signal. You watch the tower,” Delar said, disappearing into the back.
Teorin scanned the airstrip. The concrete was dark gray and sealed for durability. A row of planes sat across the way, loading and unloading. Beyond them, dense tropical greenery burst with color. It wasn’t quite rainforest, but close—humid and lush, more so than the south.
“Set!” Delar shouted.
“I’m watching,” Teorin called back.
The tower loomed above the trees. A woman leaned on the railing, likely the Luminar traffic controller. Electronic lighting wasn’t dependable enough for air traffic coordination. Metal-lined lights provided enough protection for cities from the bursts, but a control tower couldn’t risk malfunctions.
Teorin watched as a man on the ground sent a series of light bursts from his hands. A woman on the tower responded. He caught some of the exchange, but much of it seemed to be specific to airport procedures. The final signal was clear, though—a yellow burst, the luminance sign for laughter.
Sometimes, he felt like he was missing out on an entire layer of language, not being able to use luminance himself. He could understand it, but he couldn’t respond. That was one of the downsides of being a Pulser in a world where 90% of the population were Luminars.
A moment later, the woman signaled their plane ID. Deplaning crews would arrive shortly.
“We’re good, Delar!” Teorin called.
Delar reappeared at the cockpit door. “Thanks. Grab your gear. I’ll handle the rest.”
Teorin walked to the storage area to gather his things. He shrugged on his wing jacket, fastening the jacket’s reinforced clasps and tightening the straps on his boots. Delar had snagged it from Raph’s house before coming, and Teorin was grateful. Of course, Delar was a Pulser. He understood that the right equipment didn’t just make life easier. It defined how Teorin moved, fought, and survived.
Glidesuits, like the one Teorin had been using, and wingsuits had a lot of similarities—the retractable wings, pressure-capture panels and pulse amplification channels, boots that absorbed impact and redirected force for rough landings. Both fully burstproof. All mechanical and pressure-based—no electronic circuits to fry.
That was where the similarities ended, because a glidesuit was like a hang glider with pulsing modifications, built for long-distance travel. A wingsuit? It was pulsing gear first, flight gear second.
Glidesuits were all about endurance—big wing span, designed to catch currents easily. It was all about keeping you in the air, not keeping you alive in a fight.
Wingsuits were built for agility and close-quarters movement. They just had two parts: jacket and boots. The retractable wings were compact—only around 35 feet when extended, but still wide enough to catch air between pulses. They were designed to work in tandem with pulsing, not as a primary lift source. And the pulse amplification was way more sophisticated.
With a wing jacket, he could redirect force efficiently, adjust his path mid-air, and absorb impact to keep moving. It wasn’t just equipment. It was how he moved through the world. Without it, he might as well be grounded.
He shoved the glidesuit into a large canvas bag. Hopefully, Jeron had somewhere to store it. Then he started stuffing the clothes he’d tossed into the plane’s passenger locker into a backpack.
Delar appeared at the airplane hatch and spun the large wheel that controlled the locking mechanism. Teorin heard a loud click, probably the ramp connecting outside.
“Hey, Teorin,” Delar said, gripping the bar to push the hatch open.
Teorin looked up from his packing.
“This might just make things confusing, but Marcus does care. About you, I mean.”
Teorin froze.
“He always asks, and not for secrets. He just wants to know how you’re doing. I thought you should know.”
If Marcus cared, why do what he did?
“Thanks, I guess,” Teorin muttered.
Delar hesitated at the door. “He’s an idiot, but he loves you.” His lips pressed together like he was weighing something before he added, “He just… doesn’t know how to say it.”
Teorin barked a hollow laugh. “Yeah? Real loving, knocking me out.”
Delar gave a half-smile, half-grimace. “Yeah. He’s got a real messed-up way of showing it.”
Teorin shoved a shirt into his bag harder than necessary. “If that’s love, maybe I’m better off without it.”
Delar opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, “He protects people,” Delar said quietly. “Badly. By keeping them out of his mess. That was the love part. Even if it got tangled up in hurting you.”
Teorin looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. Part of him wanted to argue. The other part wanted to believe it—the part that still remembered how Marcus used to sneak up and spin him around, or grumble but never move when Teorin fell asleep against his side.
He yanked the bag closed, slinging it over his shoulder. His voice came low. Tired. “Doesn’t make it hurt less.”
Delar nodded once. “No. It doesn’t. Sorry.”
Teorin just stared at the ground, the words sticking like splinters in his chest.
Delar sighed, pushed open the hatch, and disappeared down the ramp, his voice already fading as he shouted at the cargo crew.
Teorin stood there, alone with the weight of it all. He couldn’t think about it now. It hurt too much. Maybe later, when the bruises stopped aching and the anger stopped burning, he could think about it.
Not now.
Teorin surveyed the locker, double-checking that he hadn’t left anything behind. Then he gathered his gear and jogged down the ramp. Delar was waiting at the bottom.
“Jeron should be over there,” Delar said, waving toward one of the buildings connected to the airport’s control tower. “I’ll be over in a second. I have a few more things to take care of before they can unload.”
Teorin nodded his thanks and headed in that direction. A few people jogged past him toward Delar, probably the unloading crew.
The control tower had two buildings attached to it. The first was lined with windows and had a rotating glass door. That was probably where Jeron was waiting. The second was a sturdy metal-and-concrete structure, likely housing the technology that ran the control center.
Teorin pushed through the rotating glass door. He spotted Jeron on the far side of the room, seated on a bench, and smiled. The upside to all this? Seeing Jeron again. It had been months since he’d last seen him in person.
Jeron stood when he saw him. He was several inches shorter than Teorin, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in sheer presence. His skin was darker than the last time Teorin had seen him, almost a chocolatey brown instead of his usual deep tan. He must have spent some time up north recently.
“It’s been too long,” Jeron said with a smile.
Teorin clasped his mentor’s hand, and they embraced.
“Yeah. What’s it been, almost six months? It seems like you move around more than I do,” Teorin said.
Jeron chuckled. “I’m usually trying to cover a whole continent. It’s the downside of a rare affinity.”
Teorin chuckled. With only two Temporals in the thousands of people Novem employed, Jeron was always in high demand. “Always busy. Guess I’ll forgive you for that, but you could write sometimes.”
Jeron smiled. “You’re right. We could both do better at keeping in touch. We’ll have to work on that.”
Teorin nodded.
“How was the flight?” Jeron asked.
“Fine. Delar actually flew very sanely for once.”
“Good, good. Where is Delar, by the way?”
“He should be here any second. He decided to pick up some cargo.”
Jeron sighed. “That boy. He knows I’m on a schedule.”
A few seconds later, Delar jogged through the door and over to them. He clapped Jeron on the shoulder. “See, Jeron? Safe and sound, just like I said.”
“Miraculous,” Jeron said dryly.
Delar pressed a hand to his chest like he’d been personally insulted. “You wound me with your assumptions about my flying.”
Teorin chuckled. “He does have a point, Delar. How many citations do you have?”
“Hard to believe, I know, but I’m currently a model citizen,” Delar said, dry as sand. “Completely citation free. Please, hold your applause.”
“And in the past?” Teorin asked.
Delar’s lips twitched into a smile. “Irrelevant. The past is the past. Inspirational posters told me so.”
Jeron interrupted before they could continue. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat, Teorin and I need to go. This is urgent.”
Delar grinned. “I figured as much. You wouldn’t call in your favor for nothing.”
“No, I wouldn’t. Try to avoid getting into too much trouble, will you?” Jeron said, giving Delar a long look. “As useful as it is having you owe me, I’d rather not have to pull any strings this month.”
“I’m always careful,” Delar said. “Onerously careful.”
Jeron raised an eyebrow.
Delar just shrugged. “It’s my own particular brand of careful, but you’ll have to take what you can get.”
Jeron grimaced, and Teorin rolled his eyes.
Delar just grinned again and gave them a little salute before strolling off toward his plane, whistling the tune of "Careful on the Edge."
Jeron sighed, and Teorin couldn’t help but laugh.
“What exactly did Delar owe you for?” Teorin asked.
Jeron shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“You’re going to leave me forever in suspense?”
Jeron gave a small, knowing smile. “Tell you what, I’ll tell you the story, but only after we’ve completed this assignment.”
Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked toward the parking lot.
[Lev’s Very Serious Academic Poll] In today’s rigorous character study, we ask: What best explains Delar’s behavioral profile? Please select all applicable diagnoses. Peer review demands rigor. Important note: Only licensed archivists (read: people with accounts) may contribute to this very scientific poll. Everyone else can observe from the gallery seats and silently judge.
