It was Tense. Our house held an air charged with tension. What happened yesterday was something unheard of. The morning felt heavy, even though sunlight poured through the windows like nothing had changed. Four elements…even thinking about it made a cold weight settle in my stomach. 

My dad had arrived early, I was asleep when he came back. Dad barely spoke during breakfast. He tried to act normal, but his eyes kept drifting toward me, as if he were checking whether I would suddenly burst into flames, drown the room, or summon a tornado just by sneezing. 

Mom kept glancing between us, biting her lip. She wasn’t exactly scared of me. She was scared for me, scared of what the world would do if they found out. 

I poked at my food, my appetite gone. “Mom…Dad…am I in trouble?” I asked hesitantly. 

Dad blinked, startled. “Trouble? Kairon, no, of course not.” His voice was calm, as if he were walking on cracked glass.

Mom leaned closer, putting a warm hand on my shoulder. “You’re not in trouble, Kai. You’re…rare. Very, very rare. And that means we have to be careful.” Her voice was almost hesitant, as if she were thinking about what her words should be.

Careful. That word wrapped around my chest like a rope. I looked at my hands. They looked normal. Just…hands. Not weapons. Not a miracle. And not a curse. Just mine. But the damn buzzing in my core was still there. I was getting irritated at this point. 

“It feels weird,” I muttered, flexing my fingers. “Like my core won’t shut up.” 

Dad sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That’s because it’s adjusting, Kai. You awakened something large. Bigger than anything we’ve seen.”

Mom nodded slowly. “Most children your age barely have enough energy to make a spark. You awakened four affinities.  Your body is trying to catch up.” She explained. 

I swallowed hard, “Is it dangerous?” My voice came out before I could think.

Dad hesitated. That alone made my stomach drop. 

Mom squeezed my shoulder before he could answer. “It’s not dangerous,” she said firmly. “Just…unpredictable. Which is why we need to help you manage it.” 

Dad leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “Kai,  listen carefully. There’s nothing wrong with you. But the world doesn’t always understand things that are…different.” His expression was calm, yet his voice was serious.

I looked down. “So I have to hide it?” The question lingered in the air. It was silent. Not long, but long enough to sting. 

Mom cupped my cheeks gently. “Yes,” she whispered. “For now. Just until you’re older. Until you can protect yourself better.” She looked into my eyes, her eyes held concern and fear…fear for her child.

Dad crossed his arms, jaw tight. “Your abilities make you extraordinary, son. But extraordinary things attract attention—good and bad.” 

That’s why we’re being strict,” Mom added. “Not because we’re scared of you. Because we’re scared for you.” She squeezed my cheeks.

My chest tightened. I didn’t like the idea of hiding. But I liked the fear in their eyes even less. “…Okay,” I breathed. “I’ll control it. I won’t show it to anyone.”

Dad’s shoulders eased, barely. “Good. That’s all we’re asking.” 

Mom brushed a stray crumb from my cheek, smiling softly. “We just want you safe, Kairon. Nothing else.” 

I could only nod. I felt safe. Protected. Hidden. 

Dad stood up, stretching. “After breakfast, we’ll run a few light tests. Nothing heavy. Just enough to see how stable your core is.” He paused, then smirked. “And I’ll be training you today, since your mom's not feeling well today.” He pointed a thumb toward himself, looking smug.

Mom shot him a warning glare. “Rendal…”

He held up his hands. “Light. I swear. Feather-light.”

I rolled my eyes, but a giggle escaped my lips. Mom chuckled as well and ruffled my hair. The tension loosened, just a little. But deep inside, the buzzing whispered one truth I couldn’t ignore: Four elements aren’t meant to stay quiet. 

Dad stretched his arms once more, cracking his knuckles loudly. “Alright, champ. Finish eating. You and I are heading outside.” 

Mom squinted. “Rendal, I swear—” 

“It’ll be fine!” Dad spoke before she could finish her sentence. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me off the chair.  “Totally safe. Nothing explodes at this level.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better!” Mom called as we stepped outside 

The backyard was quiet, the morning air cool against my skin. Dad marched in front of me like a general preparing for war. I trotted behind him, half-excited, half-terrified.  “Okay,” Dad said, turning around dramatically. “Rule number one: don’t panic.” 

I blinked. “Should I be panicking?” 

“Rule number two,” he continued, ignoring me, “if something catches fire, it’s your fault.” He grinned at me.

“…I don’t like this rule,” I said, my voice a low grumble.

He grinned. “Relax, sport. I’ll just check how stable each element is. Think of this as…father-son bonding time.”

“Bonding shouldn’t include casualties.” 

“Casualties build character.” 

“That’s not how it works, Dad!” 

Dad clapped his hands. “Focus on your core. Bring out just a little of your eidra. A speck. A grain. A microscopic sliver.” 

“…Dad, I’m three.” Well... body-wise, anyway.

He nodded seriously. “Right. A tiny bit.” 

I exhaled, closing my eyes. The buzzing was louder now, like it finally had permission to do something. I reached inward, and a faint pulse of green flickered around me. Soft. Controlled.

“Good, good,” Dad said, impressed. “Keep it controlled.” 

My brows furrowed. A breeze picked up. Then strengthened. Then decided to go feral. 

“Whoa—HEY—STOP—STOP—KAIRON—STOP!” Dad shouted as his hair got blasted upwards like he stuck his head in a storm. 

I snapped my eyes open, cutting the flow. “Uh…Did I do well?” I asked cautiously.

Dad froze, hair sticking up like a terrified porcupine. “Yes. Terrifying, but good. Needs more control.” He coughed. “Okay. No more wind.” 

He smoothed his hair down. It popped back up. He exhaled a sigh, “Let’s try earth. That one’s usually stable.” 

I nodded and focused again. A ripple of brown energy rose from my feet. 

Dad nodded. “See? This is calm. This is grea—”

 The ground trembled. Just a bit. Then a bit more. Then a rock jumped out of the soil like it wanted to greet us. And then a shit load of them. 

Dad grabbed my shoulders. “STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP—!” 

I immediately shut it down. Silence hung over the air. 

“…Okay,” Dad whispered. “Reminder: you are three. Please act three.” 

“I am three!” I huffed.

“Son, three-year-olds do NOT summon earthquakes!” He stated.

 As if I don’t know that! Though he was right. I scratched my cheek. “Sorry.” 

He took a deep breath and gestured dramatically. “Alright. Next is fire. But for the love of god—just a sprak. A tiny spark.” 

I nodded and reached inward again. A faint orange glow flickered, its warmth wrapped around my body. 

Dad sighed in relief. “Finally,” he murmured. “Fire listens. Fire is peaceful. Fire is—” A mini fireball popped into existence above my palm.

Dad froze. And the fireball wiggled.

BOOP.

It smacked into Dad’s chest and fizzled out. We both stared at the scorch mark on his shirt. “Huh…at least it was a spark,” I said, tilting my head slightly.

Dad inhaled slowly. “Amilia will never know about this.” 

I nodded quickly. “Agreed.”

“Okay,” Dad said, wiping the soot off his shirt from my accidental fireball attack. “Last one. Water. This one is gentle. Calm. Peaceful. Nothing dangerous can happen with water.” He said confidently. 

“You said that about fire, too,” I said bluntly. 

Dad waved it off. “It’s water. What are you gonna do? Summon a puddle?” 

I shrugged. “Maybe.” 

Dad chuckled and gestured for me to give it a try. “Alright, buddy, go on. Just a little push.”

I closed my eyes. The buzzing in my core shifted, cooling down, spreading through me like the chill of a river stream. A soft blue ripple wrapped around my arms. 

A tiny droplet floated into the air. Dad grinned. “See? Perfect. Controlled. Predicta—” The droplet suddenly expanded into a sphere. Then a bubble. And then—

WHOOSH!

A geyser shot straight upward. Blasting a fountain of water up in the sky, it splashed down on both of us like a monsoon. Dad stood there, soaked head to toe, hair drooping over his eyes like a wet mop. Water dripped off his nose slowly.

I tried to contain my laughter. But I failed. “S-sorry—pfff—Dad—” A fit of giggles and chuckles escaped my lips. I wrapped my arms around my sides from laughing so hard. Although I was in no condition to laugh, I was soaked too.

Dad wiped his face. “Okay. So, Water is also banned.”

“We’re banning everything, aren’t we?” I asked, giggling a little.

“Yes. Yes, we are.” He stared at the backyard, which now looked like a miniature swamp. “…If your mother asks, a wild beast attacked.

“No one’s gonna believe that.” I giggled.

“Then YOU attacked me.” He pointed a finger at me.

“That sounds more believable." I shrugged.

Dad groaned, then broke into helpless laughter. He scooped me up, water squelching under his boots. “You,” he said, pocking my forehead, “are the strongest disaster I’ve ever trained.” 

 Dad and I stood there in the swamp we had accidentally created. Water dripped from the trees. And one of Mom’s flowerbeds was wiped of dirt and flowers, clean.

I looked at my dad. “… Dad?” 

He looked at me. “Yes?”

I glanced at the ruined backyard. “You think Mom will be mad?” 

Before he could answer, the back door slammed open. Mom stepped out. And froze. Her eyes scanned the backyard. She analyzed everything, the drowned flowers. The water dripping from Dad’s nose. The puddle I was standing in. And the flowerbed that was wiped clean. 

Her smile twitched. “…Rendal.” Her voice was flat. Too calm. 

Dad straightened like a soldier. “Y-yes…dear?” 

“What,” she said, stepping closer, “in the world happened to my garden?” Her voice was intimidating.

Dad opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then— “…Kairon.” He pointed at me instantly. 

“Traitor!” I yelled.

Mom stared at us both like we were idiots of the same species. Which, to be fair…we were. She rubbed her temples. “Honestly…I leave you two alone for ONE morning—ONE—and I come back to find my floerbeds ruined, the backyard turned into a swamp, and my three-year-old looking like a demon whose favorite hobby is natural disasters.” 

“I-it was an accident,” I mumbled.

Dad nodded rapidly. “Yes. Very accidental. Extremely. It could’ve happened to anyone. Really.” His acting sucks! I thought.

“It didn’t happen to anyone.” Mom deadpanned. “It happened to you two!” 

We both looked at the ground. Mom let out a long sigh—the tired, resigned, I-love-you-both-but-dear-god-why kind. Then she pointed towards the mess. “Clean. All. Of. This.

Dad groaned. I groaned with him. 

“Now!” She added firmly. 

“Yes, ma’am!” We both said in sync. 

She walked back toward the house, pausing at the doorway. “And try,” she said without turning, “to NOT destroy anything else today.”

“No promises,” Dad muttered.

“I heard that.” Her voice was almost amused, almost.

He flinched. And I snickered.

Dad and I cleaned the backyard. The tense atmosphere from earlier was gone, replaced by affection and humor. I liked it, and didn’t want moments like these to end. I just know that this was only the beginning of it all. I have a long way to go; I'm just learning how to control my eidra. Soon, I'll be able to learn spells.