Mikey saw darkness, then there was light.
He was small again.
The world was bigger, softer. His view lower to the ground. His breath didn't come heavy with grief or fury, but light with laughter and awe. He felt warmth—not from fire, but from a hand. His small fingers were wrapped securely in a pair of slender ones, delicate and graceful.
He looked up.
There she was.
His mother.
Pale skin that glowed under the cool blue lights of the dome. Long, curling brown hair that bounced gently as she moved. And her eyes—green like sunlit leaves after rain, vibrant and alive. She was smiling down at him with a love so deep, so certain, it made the whole world feel safe.
A soft, high-pitched voice escaped from his younger self. "Mama, I'm gonna fall!"
She gave a small laugh—light, musical. The kind of laugh that made everything okay.
"I got you, Mikey. Don't worry."
Her voice was a lullaby in motion.
They skated slowly together, their blades gliding shakily across the glowing ice of the indoor rink. All around them, laughter echoed. Children spun in circles, bundled in coats and scarves, their cheeks rosy with cold. Parents skated with arms outstretched, some stumbling, some dancing, all wrapped in moments that would become memories.
Little Mikey glanced down, watching the mist of his breath curl in the air. His legs wobbled awkwardly, the blades beneath his feet far less stable than he wanted them to be. But every time he faltered, her hand was there—steady, firm, never letting go.
In that moment, it was just the two of them, drifting through time.
Skating through light and memory.
Wrapped in the kind of love that never truly leaves.
His mother loosened her grip, letting go of his hand as they skated slowly across the glowing ice.
"You got this," she whispered gently, with that musical laugh still lingering on her lips.
Little Mikey wobbled—arms flailing slightly—but managed to stay upright. His eyes went wide with wonder. A second later, his arms shot into the air in pure, unfiltered celebration.
"I did it! Mama, I did it!"
She clapped like she was the proudest person in the world, her laughter echoing softly in the dome.
"You did! Yay, Mikey!"
The air was cold, but the warmth in her eyes made him feel like he was skating under summer skies. Around them, people glided by, the hum of joyful chaos ringing out beneath the high glass ceiling.
Mikey began to skate on his own now, a little awkward, his movements jerky, but joy was painted across his face. His cheeks were flushed with effort, his eyes wide with excitement. His mom smiled, watching him in awe for a few seconds before she skated off to greet someone nearby.
For a moment, it was just him—laughing, turning, beaming.
Then he slipped.
A sharp skid, a thud, and then—tears.
He hit the ice hard, landing flat on his backside. The sting of cold met the ache of embarrassment, and the tears came quickly.
"Mikey!" a man's voice called out, firm but full of concern.
Skates sliced the ice, heading toward him fast. Through blurred, watery eyes, the overhead lights turned to silhouettes.
His dad. His mom. They kneeled over him like a safety net falling into place.
"You alright, kiddo?" Desmond scooped him up into his arms, holding him close against his chest. His coat was warm, his scent familiar—like spice and metal and something uniquely dad.
"I fell!" Mikey cried into his shoulder.
His mom appeared beside them, cupping his face gently and brushing his hair back before placing a soft kiss on his forehead.
"You're okay, sweetheart. You just had a little accident," she whispered, her voice silk.
The pain faded. The cold didn't matter. Her voice made it all okay.
Through wet lashes, Mikey gave a sniffled smile.
"There's my strong boy," she said.
Desmond pulled Mikey away from his chest just enough to smile at him. Then—with that easy strength only a father has—he lifted him up into the air and spun him gently. Mikey squealed, his laughter bursting out, golden and innocent.
Both parents laughed with him, surrounding him in light and love.
"Let's try that again, huh?" Desmond said as he gently set him down. "You'll get the hang of it eventually."
Mikey wiped his cheeks, smiling wide again. "Yeah!"
Time slowed. And in that slow motion, Mikey could see it all: his mother's beaming face. His father's booming laugh. Their eyes full of pride, full of him. A perfect moment.
But his father's smiling face—so bright—started to flicker.
It twisted.
It melted.
It burned.
Ash replaced flesh. Bone grinned where his mouth should've been.
The ice disappeared.
Flames returned.
Mikey's eyes snapped open.
He sat upright, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving. His body still trembled from the blast, from the memory, from the weight of it all.
Tears streamed down his face, unashamed, uncontrolled.
He wiped his eyes, voice cracking as he whispered:
"Mom..."
"Dad..."