The faint glow of dawn crept softly through the curtains of Izuku Midoriya's room, painting pale streaks across scattered notes and open tomes. The grimoire lay closed on his desk, its ancient leather binding still humming faintly with residual magic from last night's training.
Izuku sat cross-legged on the floor, hands resting lightly on his knees, eyes closed in quiet meditation. His breaths were slow and steady, measured and deep, as he sought the calm center beneath the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind.
The vision — the harrowing image of the Avengers' last stand — had not left him. It lingered like a shadow etched across his soul, pulling at the edges of his resolve. The weight of that cosmic legacy pressed down on him, heavy and relentless.
Yet, he was not alone.
Momo's voice from earlier that morning echoed gently in his thoughts. "You don't have to carry this alone, Izuku." His parents' steady presence offered a quiet strength that warmed his heart even in the darkest moments.
Still, the threads of his past friendships tugged at him, frayed and complicated.
His thoughts drifted to Bakugo — fierce, stubborn, and scarred by battles neither of them fully understood. The urge to label him a villain battled with a stubborn hope buried deep inside Izuku's heart.
He's not just a rival. Not just a threat. He's someone who can change.
The weight of that hope both buoyed and burdened him.
Rising from his meditation, Izuku moved to his workspace. The morning light caught the edges of glowing runes etched carefully on parchment and the fine strokes of magical diagrams scattered across his desk.
Today's focus was elemental binding — a delicate art requiring balance between force and flow. His fingers traced the symbols, feeling the faint pulse beneath his skin as he whispered the incantations softly.
The air thickened around him, charged with magic as his body became a conduit. Flames danced to life in his palms, swirling with a rhythm that mimicked his heartbeat. Yet, the flames flickered, unstable.
Concentrating, Izuku closed his eyes, drawing deeper into the well of energy within. The flames steadied, bright and warm. He smiled softly.
Suddenly, the room trembled. The light flickered. A shiver ran down his spine.
His breath caught.
A subtle distortion rippled through space — a brief, shimmering tear at the edge of reality.
He opened his eyes to see the runes on his desk glowing fiercely, their light stretching beyond their edges, bleeding into the room like liquid starlight.
Too much.
With an effort, Izuku muttered a counter spell, grounding the energy before it could spiral further. The room settled back into calm.
But the warning was clear.
Magic, especially chaos magic, was a wild force that demanded respect.
Later that day, Izuku sat with Inko and Hisashi in the quiet of their living room. The sunlight filtered through the windows, casting soft shadows on familiar furniture.
Inko reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Izuku's ear, her eyes tender but heavy with unspoken worry.
"We've been thinking about Vision," she began softly. "About who he was… or maybe who he isn't."
Hisashi nodded, fingers clasped tightly. "After he left you with us, we tried to find any trace of him — records, reports, anything. But there was nothing. No files, no mentions in history, no clues. It was as if he never existed in this world."
Izuku listened, heart tightening. The mystery surrounding his biological father deepened. The man who'd left him in their care had vanished like a ghost.
"But you've never doubted us, right?" Inko smiled faintly.
Izuku shook his head. "Never."
Hisashi's voice was steady. "We don't know all the answers, but we do know this — we're your family. We'll protect you, no matter what."
That simple promise settled something deep inside Izuku — a tether to hope amid the swirling unknown.
That evening, a shadow slipped silently through the neighborhood, stopping just beyond the glow of Izuku's home. The figure watched, silent and unreadable, cloaked in an aura of quiet menace.
Inside, Izuku was unaware of the eyes upon him, focused instead on the flickering candlelight as he reviewed runes.
A subtle chill prickled the air.
The visitor's voice was a whisper in the dark, though Izuku heard it as clearly as if spoken aloud.
"You wield chaos. Power that is rare, dangerous… and draws attention."
Izuku's fingers stilled, heart pounding.
"I don't know what you mean," he whispered, but the figure only smiled.
"Be careful. Those who seek chaos are neither all friends nor all foes. You are caught in a storm larger than you realize."
Before Izuku could respond, the visitor vanished into the night.
Later, Izuku found himself walking through the park, the cool night air crisp against his skin. Thoughts of Bakugo crept in unbidden. Their past was tangled with rivalry, pain, and unspoken truths.
He recalled moments — moments where Bakugo's harshness masked fear, where their battles pushed both of them to limits neither wanted.
Is he really my enemy?
Momo's steady presence in his life gave him strength, but the question remained, gnawing.
He sat on a bench, fingers tracing the worn fabric of his jacket.
"People aren't just heroes or villains," he whispered to himself. "Sometimes, they're just trying to survive."
The hope for Bakugo's redemption was fragile but alive.
The Disturbance
Back home, the peaceful quiet shattered.
A ripple of raw magic surged through the air, shaking windows and flickering lights. Izuku's eyes snapped open, muscles tensing.
This was no accident.
He rose swiftly, determination hardening in his gaze.
Whatever was coming — he would face it.
Not alone.
With Momo, with his parents, with the legacy he was beginning to claim.
The battle for his future was just beginning.