The Granum Tower was always the first thing Leon looked for. From his seat in the glass-walled academy, he watched it rise like a silver needle through the clouds, a monument to everything his family wasn't.
Every day at 2:17 PM, the sun struck a specific scaffold halfway up. That was his father's section. Leon had timed it.
For sixty stolen seconds, he would watch that distant figure—a man adding color to a world that saw him as nothing more than grease and labor.
It was a minute of quiet pride, wedged between the equations on his screen and the sweet venom of the voices behind him. It was the only time the secret felt like a legacy instead of a curse.
I'll make you proud, he thought, the daily vow bitter on his tongue. Solvent. Old metal. His father's scent. His own inherited shame. And I'll hide what we are, just like I promised.
"Seriously? Hahaha!"
Laughter burst behind him, right on schedule, breaking the ritual.
Leon stared harder at the smudged text in his book, as if the words could shield him—especially from her.
"I mean, honestly," Vera said, her voice sweet and sharp. "Does he think staring at that building will make his father's work any less pathetic? Or earn respect?"
Leon's knuckles tightened.
The words were not just insults. They scraped too close to the secret.
Today, under her scorn, the minute of pride turned sour.
Ding...! ding...! ting...!
A chorus of harmonized chimes rang through the room. Smart devices lit up on every wrist and desk—a murmur spread.
Leon did not need to look up when a gasp cut through the air. He could already picture Vera tossing her hair, feeding on the attention.
"Oh, my gods, guys, have you seen the news? A plane crash! Guess where this one landed?" Vera's eyes glittered.
Leon kept staring at the Granum Tower, at the sunlit speck.
2:18 PM. The ritual was broken.
"Ahem..."
Vera cleared her throat.
Leon's gaze flicked past her for only a second, just long enough to catch Zoe's steady eyes. It looked as if she was holding something back—or holding herself back.
Then Vera's voice sliced through again.
"It says it hit a building under maintenance near an outbreak site." Her breath shook with ugly excitement. "Guess painters got more than paint on them—probably monster blood too."
"...monster blood? Hahaha!"
The words were not a key. They were a detonation.
Outbreak site. Granum Tower. The classroom sharpened.
Leon saw every dust mote drifting through the sunbeam. Heard every breath. Felt his own pulse hammering against his throat.
Dad. Scaffold. The secret.
His fingers went numb. The biology textbook slipped from his hand and struck the floor.
Snap!
"NO...!"
He moved at once, fumbling through his patched bag for the ancient, cracked communicator—the family relic, the only line to the one person who knew what he truly was.
His hands shook as he raised it.
He hit the speed-dial button. Home.
It rang. And rang. And rang. Each tone struck harder than the last. He tried again. Nothing. The final empty tone left the taste of solvent in his mouth, sharp and choking.
The whispers around him grew louder, turning from murmurs into a storm against his ears. He caught Jade's uncaring glance. Vera's satisfied smile. Tiger's predatory grin.
And when he saw Tiger, memory flashed—the day he had dodged that kick. Too fast. Too smooth. One slip. One hidden move. Enough to make Tiger stare.
His eyes shifted to Zoe. No mockery. No pity. Just that same steady look that seemed to see too much.
"Some people are just born unlucky," Vera said, her laugh thin as broken glass. "Guess that's what you get when your dad's nothing but a painter."
A shadow fell across his desk.
Mr. Lee stood at the door, face pale, eyes heavy with grief.
"Leon," Mr. Lee said, his voice strained. "A word. Now."
Leon stood on shaking legs. The room tilted around him.
"Don't worry," Vera murmured as he passed. "We'll be here for you."
Her smirk was soft and sharp.
Every step through the gleaming hall felt unreal. Mr. Lee said nothing. And when they entered the office, he only placed a heavy hand on Leon's shoulder and exhaled a breath that smelled of cheap coffee and defeat.
"I saw the news. I know your father was at the Granum Tower today. I am... so sorry."
The last trace of hope burned out. Leon stared at the floor. Memory rose all at once.
His father's hands, stained with pigment and permanent grime, were gripping his shoulders. The smell of turpentine. The tremor in his voice.
"Son, promise me to hide what you know of our family. What you are."
"Dad... why?"
"The world isn't ready. You aren't ready. Promise me. Not until you can control it. Not until you can protect them..."
"Let me take you home," Mr. Lee said, pulling him out of it.
Leon nodded. He moved like a ghost following a mourner. Eyes turned toward them from every window they passed. Only one pair stayed still.
Zoe's.
Watching with the same unblinking gaze families once had when hearing news about the destroyer of worlds a decade ago.
Until I see his body, I won't believe it, Leon thought, but the words felt hollow.
The truth beneath them was colder. The guardian of the secret was gone. Now the secret belonged to him alone.
The sun stabbed his eyes when they stepped outside. Mr. Lee steadied him and guided him toward the sleek silver car as his knees threatened to give way.
Vroom... Vroom... Vroom...
Only the hum of the engine gave him something to hold on to.
The city moved past the window. They passed a military tanker streaked with fresh black ichor.
Leon jolted—not with fear, but with a terrible, secret sympathy.
Another outbreak. Another stain the clean world would try to scrub away.
They climbed the high-arching bridge, and the city opened below them.
To the left, towers gleamed beneath the light. Floating gardens drifted on anti-gravity platforms.
To the right, pressed into the river basin like a raw scar, was Dusthollow.
His birthplace. A sprawl of cracked concrete and rust-stained beams. It did not look like home. It looked like truth—ugly, resilient, and hidden in plain sight.
The first place to taste the monster outbreak. The place whose elders whispered and turned away from questions.
As the car began its descent toward that scar, Leon's tears dried.
The taste in his mouth changed.
No longer just solvent and dust. Now it was sharper. The electric tang of ozone. The taste before a storm. The taste of something waking up.
The promise had changed. It was no longer: "I'll make you proud."
Now it was: What did you leave inside me, Dad? And what do I have to become to control it?