When I came to, the first thing I saw was darkness.
Not the comforting kind that comes before sleep—but the heavy, endless kind that stretches forever. A dim, gold-tinted glow washed over my vision, flickering like candlelight struggling against the void. Slowly, the rest of the world came into focus.
I was lying at the center of a colossal chamber—part cathedral, part command deck. The walls were a fusion of ancient splendor and bleeding-edge machinery. Gilded frames, alien sigils, and holographic monitors hung side by side, their faint hums echoing through the stale air. Great pillars of polished metal reached into a ceiling lost in shadow, carved with patterns that shimmered faintly like circuitry etched into divinity.
And around me… chaos.
Treasures spilled across the metallic floor—gold coins, relics, fragments of artifacts half-buried beneath torn banners. A few human corpses lay slumped against consoles, their faces frozen in silent awe—or terror. The air smelled faintly of ozone and blood, mixed with something older, almost sacred.
The computers around the chamber still whispered in holographic blue, displaying shifting runes and data streams I couldn't read. They cast ghostly reflections across the skulls—dozens of them—mounted like trophies along the curved walls. Some were human. Most were not. Their shapes were too long, too jagged, too wrong.
And there, at the far end of the hall, stretched a massive viewing window. Beyond it was the void—a sea of black without a single star, save for one faint light in the distance. One lonely star, burning weakly in the abyss, as if refusing to die.
My gaze fell upon the throne.
It stood at the room's heart, carved from black alloy and trimmed in radiant gold, draped in crimson cloth that shimmered with embedded circuitry. It looked less like a seat of power and more like an altar—something built for worship, not just comfort.
And that was where I woke up.
Sitting upon it.
The hum of the machines faded into silence, leaving only the distant pulse of that single star through the window. My breath echoed faintly in the chamber. I could feel something cold and heavy resting in my chest—like I had been asleep for far too long.
I tried to speak. My voice came out hoarse, almost alien to my own ears.
"…Where… am I?"
No answer. Only the low, mechanical whisper of systems idling and the faint glimmer of that lonely star.
The silence didn't last.
A low, metallic clang echoed through the chamber.
At first, I thought it was my imagination—just the sound of the old ship groaning under its own weight. But then it came again. Louder. Sharper. Rhythmic.
BANG—
BANG—
The sound came from the massive blast door on the far side of the room—each strike bending the reinforced metal inward, sending vibrations across the floor. Dust fell from the ceiling in thin, glittering streams, catching the pale light.
Something was out there.
Something big.
And it was angry.
I could hear the deep, resonant growl of the alloy being tortured under pressure, each blow accompanied by a thunderous roar of impact. The door began to bulge inward, spiderweb cracks forming along its edges. Then came the sound that froze my breath.
A hiss—wet and deliberate.
From the corners of the blast door, thin tendrils of shadow began to slip through, like liquid darkness oozing from the cracks. They writhed and pulsed, crawling along the walls and floor, reaching across the wreckage toward me. They moved with hunger, like the roots of some starved, alien plant seeking flesh.
Each tendril shimmered faintly, not black but a sickly black with dark violet sheen, as if made from solidified void. When they brushed against metal, the surface corroded instantly, hissing and warping into ash.
Instinct told me to move, to run, but my legs felt like stone. Something deeper—something buried inside me—stirred instead.
The air grew colder. The hum of the machines faltered. I could feel the weight of the throne beneath my hands, the faint pulse of energy beneath my skin.
The tendrils drew closer, twitching and tasting the air.
And then, somewhere deep in the ship's hollow heart, a mechanical voice blaring—loud and mechanical across the massive room:
> "Containment breach detected… Vessel integrity compromised…"
The tendrils stopped for an instant—then struck.
The pounding grew louder—metal shrieking, bending under impossible pressure. Each strike sent a tremor through the floor, dust and golden coins dancing in the dim light. My pulse quickened. The air was thick, humming with static and dread. Then, with a final, thunderous impact, the blast door caved inward—folding like paper before the unseen onslaught. What followed was not wind, nor smoke, nor even shadow as I understood it—
it was an endless black, a flood of nothingness that surged forward with impossible speed.
In an instant, the gold vanished. The skulls, the bodies, the light—everything was swallowed whole. My vision filled with pure, absolute dark; a suffocating void that devoured sound and sight alike. For a heartbeat, I thought the universe itself had ended—until I felt it touch me, the cold pressure of the dark creeping up my skin like liquid night, whispering something ancient and incomprehensible just before it drowned me completely.
All turned black.
======<<< @ @ @ >>>=====
"WWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"
I jolted awake with a scream lodged in my throat, the sound tearing through the quiet like a blade. My body lurched forward, drenched in cold sweat, heart hammering as if trying to escape my chest. For a few seconds, I didn't recognize where I was—my breath ragged, eyes darting around for the black flood, for the metallic walls, for the throne—anything.
But instead of the void, I found… clutter.
Soft morning light leaked through half-closed curtains, illuminating a room that felt *lived-in*, warm, real. Comic books were stacked haphazardly on a nightstand, a gaming PC idled quietly in the corner with RGB lights pulsing in lazy rhythm. A pile of laundry slumped against a chair, and the walls were plastered with posters—mecha battles, sci-fi heroes, idol singers frozen mid-smile, and a Marauder registration poster with a smiling handsome blonde-headed man in an armor and a thumb-up.
It was messy, ordinary, comforting. A teenage boy's sanctuary.
I sat there, chest heaving, the last echoes of that terrible dream fading into the hum of a computer fan and the distant call of morning birds. My hands trembled as I ran them through my hair, muttering under my breath—trying to convince myself that the darkness, the throne, the screaming metal… had been nothing more than a nightmare.
But deep down, a tiny, persistent voice whispered otherwise.
Something more than that.
As I look down, a fat orange tabby standing on my bed, and judging on the fur on the chest region on my blanket, I can only assume this guy was sleeping on my chest until its weight againt my chest trigger my nightmare.
The cat just look at me with great annoyance, as if I ruin its beast nap of its life. "Mrraaah" A short meow from the cat.
"You really need to loose some weight, you little shit." I said to the cat.
"Mrrp", responded by the orange tabby SOFTLY, as if it didn't care.
The door slammed open with a bang.
"BIG BRO'S HAVING A NIGHTMARE!!!"
Before I could even react, a blur of messy hair and oversized pajamas launched across the room like a guided missile.
"Wait—no, don't—!"
Too late.
She belly-flopped right onto me with all the enthusiasm her tiny frame could muster. Her knees, guided by the cruel hands of fate, landed squarely on my most vulnerable region. At the same time, the cat jumped off the bed, knowing the danger of someone who about to belly flop.
A strangled yelp escaped my throat as the air—and possibly my soul—was forced out of my body. I curled up instinctively, clutching my stomach and my crotch, while my little sister blinked down at me, eyes wide with concern that clearly didn't match the devastation she'd just inflicted.
"Ah! I-I didn't mean to land there!" she squeaked, scrambling off me like a startled cat.
I groaned, face buried in the pillow. "You never mean to, and yet it keeps happening…"
She stood beside the bed, fidgeting with her hands, her expression caught somewhere between guilty and amused. "But you were screaming," she said softly, peeking at me with those puppy eyes she always used when she knew she'd done something wrong.
I exhaled, the pain slowly dulling. "Next time," I muttered, voice hoarse, "just… shake me awake, not crush me awake."
Daisy puffed out her cheeks, crossing her arms in mock offense. "Hey, the Brother's Nightmare Protocol exists for a reason," she declared with all the seriousness of a military officer defending her strategy.
I lifted my head just enough to squint at her through the mess of my hair. "You named it?"
She nodded proudly with her hands on her hips. "Of course I did! Step one: detect screaming. Step two: immediate deployment of comfort assault. Step three: hugs and snacks."
I groaned again, still covering his crotch. "You forgot step zero: don't break your brother's ribs or his cojones during step two."
Daisy ignored that, already bouncing onto the edge of the bed and reaching for the blanket to tuck me back in. "You've been having them more often lately," she said softly, her usual playfulness giving way to a small frown. "The bad dreams, I mean."
That made me pause. For a moment, the image of the dark room, the endless black void beyond the glass, and that single star flickered in my mind like a dying signal. My heart gave an uneasy thump.
"They're just dreams, Daisy," I said finally, forcing a small smile. "Weird ones, yeah, but not worth losing sleep over."
She didn't look convinced. "Dreams don't make you scream like someone's tearing your soul out," she muttered, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.
I sighed, leaning back on the pillow. "You worry too much, you know that?"
"That's part of the protocol too," she said, the faintest smile returning as she sat beside me, hugging her knees. "Rule number four: if big bro acts tough, ignore it and keep worrying anyway."
I couldn't help but laugh, reaching out to ruffle her hair. "You're impossible."
Daisy beamed, tilting her head against my hand. "And you're stuck with me forever, so deal with it."
"Yeah," I said quietly, glancing toward the window where morning light began to creep through the blinds. "Guess I am."
But as I looked away, the faint afterimage of that star from my dream still lingered behind my eyelids—burning brighter than it should've.
Before I could fully recover from Daisy's "comfort assault," the sound of hurried footsteps came pounding down the hallway—fast, determined, and far too familiar.
"Oh no," I muttered, sitting up just as the door burst open for the second time that morning.
Sophie—my other sister, age seventeen, self-proclaimed family guardian, and the reason my life constantly feels like a slice-of-life anime—stood framed in the doorway, hair still messy from sleep but eyes sharp with purpose. "DAISY! Did you already deploy the protocol without me again?!" she barked like a commander scolding a soldier for jumping the gun.
Daisy, still perched beside me, puffed out her cheeks. "I detected the distress signal first! It was an emergency situation!"
Sophie crossed her arms, frowning. "You're supposed to wait for my mark. We go in as a unit."
I raised a hand weakly. "Okay, time out. Whatever unit this is, it's not necessary. I'm fine. Alive. Fully conscious. No rescue op needed."
Sophie ignored me, already stepping closer with the same determined expression Daisy had a moment ago—the one that usually preceded a smothering hug or, worse, a full-body tackle.
"Oh no you don't," I said, pointing a warning finger. "Not this time. I barely survived your partner's landing."
She froze mid-step, glancing guiltily at Daisy, who grinned sheepishly. "You mean our brother's nightmare protocol," she corrected, trying to sound dignified. "We both have a duty—a sacred duty—to protect you whenever you're in distress."
I blinked. "A sacred duty?"
She nodded solemnly, pressing a hand to her chest. "As your sisters, it's our job to ensure you remain emotionally stable and spiritually fortified. The world is cruel, big brother, and someone as kind-hearted and defenseless as you needs—"
"Okay, stop," I cut in, deadpan. "I am not a dainty little flower that needs guarding, thank you very much. I can handle a bad dream without activating some kind of sisterly defense squad."
Sophie arched an eyebrow, lips twitching in amusement. "Says the guy who woke up screaming like he just saw a ghost."
"Yeah," Daisy added with a giggle, "a really scary ghost!"
I sighed, collapsing back onto the pillow with both hands covering my face. "You two are gonna be the death of me."
Sophie smirked, arms akimbo. "Nope. That's our line of work—preventing your distress and pain, remember?"
Daisy threw her hands up in victory. "Operation Big Bro: Success!"
I peeked between my fingers and couldn't help the tired smile tugging at my lips. "You're both insane," I muttered.
Sophie leaned against the doorframe, grinning. "And you love us for it."
"…Yeah," I said quietly, chuckling. "Unfortunately, I do."
The morning sunlight spilled further into the room, glinting across the cluttered posters and electronics—a warm, ordinary contrast to the cold black void that still haunted the edges of my memory.
Before I could even catch my breath from the sisterly chaos, another voice—soft yet commanding—floated from down the hall.
"Kids? What's going on in there? I heard shouting!"
A second later, our mother—Emmy—appeared at the doorway, wearing her usual morning robe, one hand still holding a mixing spoon dusted with frosting. Her hair was tied back loosely, strands of golden brown escaping the knot, and her eyes—sharp yet gentle—immediately scanned the scene: me disheveled on the bed, Daisy sitting on my legs like a triumphant conqueror, and Sophie standing beside us like she'd just led a successful raid.
She sighed, the kind of sigh that carried both patience and exhaustion. "Let me guess… nightmare protocol again?"
Sophie straightened, posture proud. "Affirmative, Mom. Situation neutralized with minimal collateral damage."
I groaned, rubbing my temples. "Minimal? Tell that to my crotch. Or, you know, my dignity."
Mom chuckled softly but still walked over, concern evident in her expression as she placed a hand on my forehead. "Are you sure you're alright, sweetheart? You were shouting loud enough to wake the whole block."
I sat up, gently moving Daisy aside. "Yeah, I'm fine, Mom. Just a weird dream. Nothing to be worried about—it doesn't require the entire household deploying like it's DEFCON One."
Daisy raised her hand innocently. "Technically, it was DEFCON Two."
"Daisy," Mom said, tone somewhere between stern and affectionate, "what did we say about jumping on your brother during emergencies?"
Daisy wilted instantly. "Don't do it unless he's in actual danger…"
"Good girl," Mom said, smiling faintly before turning back to me. "Alright, if you're sure you're fine, then let's put the crisis to bed."
"Please," I said, exhaling in relief. "No more rescue missions before breakfast."
Mom patted my shoulder, her warm smile returning—the kind that could make even a bad dream fade into the background. "Good. Because I need all three of you to get dressed and come downstairs. We've got work to do."
Sophie tilted her head. "Work?"
"Mm-hmm." Mom gestured with her spoon toward the kitchen. "Have you forgotten what day is today? I just finished baking 20 trays of cupcakes. I'll need extra hands to load them into the minivan, and I want all of you looking presentable while we help out."
Daisy gasped. "Cupcakes?! Can I eat one first?"
Mom smiled sweetly. "You can—after we deliver them."
Sophie groaned dramatically. "Manual labor before sweets. This is child labor, oppression."
"This is a family-owned cafe. Consider it good exercise," Mom said, already turning toward the hall. "Now hurry up, the frosting isn't going to decorate itself."
As the three of them filed out—Daisy skipping, Sophie muttering something about cupcake-based servitude, and the fat orange cat walked off with the sisters—I sat there for a moment longer, running a hand through my hair.
From apocalyptic nightmares in cosmic voids… to morning chaos and cupcakes.
Sometimes, life really liked to swing between extremes.
As soon as Sophie, Daisy, and Pumpkin left the room—bickering all the way down the hall about who got frosting duty—Mom lingered by the door. The morning light caught her face, softening the lines of concern etched there. She waited a moment before speaking, her voice quieter now, more fragile than usual.
"Niero Ripley," she said, using my full name—the way she only did when she was genuinely worried. "Are you sure you're alright, sweetheart? That scream… it didn't sound like something small."
I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah, Mom. Really. It's not as bad as it sounded. Just another weird nightmare. They're not as frequent as you think."
Her brows furrowed, not quite convinced. She stepped into the room, the scent of sugar and warm bread trailing faintly behind her. "You know," she began softly, "just because you're a boy doesn't mean you have to keep everything bottled up inside. You've got your own struggles, your own worries. Pretending you don't—it only makes it heavier."
I gave her a small, tired smile. "You're starting to sound like my school counselor."
"That's because he's right," she said, folding her arms but still smiling back. "You don't have to carry it alone, Niero. If something's bothering you, I'll always be here to listen. Always."
For a second, I didn't say anything. That dream still lingered in the corners of my mind—the black void, the sound of metal being torn apart, the cold tendrils reaching out. But I couldn't put it into words. I can't tell her. Or a least, not yet.
"I'm fine, Mom," I said finally, my voice steady. "Promise. Nothing to worry about."
She studied me for a long moment, eyes searching mine for something she wasn't finding, then finally sighed. "Alright," she said softly. "But remember what I said. My door's always open."
I nodded, forcing another small smile. "Got it."
She gave me one last look before turning toward the door. "Get dressed, honey. We leave in fifteen."
As she left, the door closed behind her with a soft click, and I sat there in the silence that followed—eyes fixed on the faint glow of my PC screen.
"Yeah," I murmured under my breath. "I'm fine."
But even as I said it, that same star from the dream still burned in the back of my mind—like an afterimage that refused to fade.
As I pulled on my baggy hoodie and ran a hand through my mess of hair, the familiar hum of the PC in the corner faded under a softer, distinctly not mechanical sound—a voice that seemed to slide into the air rather than speak through it.
"So," it said, smooth and slightly teasing, like silk brushing across glass, "was it the same dream again, Niero? The one with the haunted bridge?"
I froze halfway through zipping my hoodie. "Yeah," I muttered, glancing around the room out of habit even though I knew better. "Same one. But… a little more detailed this time. The room felt bigger, the fog thicker. I even saw… something beyond the glass before everything went black."
There was a low hum, almost like someone thinking aloud—or purring. "Hmm. Sounds like it's evolving," the voice replied, calm but thoughtful. "If it's becoming clearer, that means there's something it's trying to tell you. Maybe a message… or a memory trying to surface."
I snorted lightly, tugging on my jeans. "You're stating the obvious again, Vuldyr."
"Oh, excuse me for caring," Vuldyr said, her tone dipping into playful sarcasm. "Some of us like to remind you when the universe keeps flashing the same warning sign in your sleep."
I rolled my eyes. "You call that a friendly reminder?"
"Of course," she replied, her voice lowering into a mockingly sultry tone. "You'd be lost without my friendly reminders."
"More like great annoyance," I said under my breath.
"I heard that," she sang back immediately.
I smirked despite myself. "You always do."
There was a brief pause, the air pulsing faintly as though she were smiling from somewhere I couldn't see.
"Just remember the details this time, Niero," she said, her voice softening into something almost earnest. "The black void, the star, the door… dreams don't come twice for no reason."
I hesitated, staring at my reflection in the mirror—hood half up, eyes still a little haunted. "Yeah," I murmured. "I'll remember."
"Good boy," Vuldyr whispered with a faint chuckle before fading away—her presence slipping out of the room like smoke through a vent, leaving only silence and the faint echo of her amusement behind.
I exhaled and grabbed my backpack. "Friendly reminder, huh?"
If only she knew how unfriendly that dream really felt.
<<<[ @ @ @ ]>>>
I often thought it was a strange twist of fate—being the only boy born into a family of women who could each, in their own way, level a city block if provoked. Living under the roof of the Ripley household sometimes felt less like a home and more like surviving a daily gauntlet of affection, chaos, and unsolicited advice.
My mother, Emilia "Emmy" Ripley, was the doting storm at its center—a woman who cried at burnt muffins but once commanded the battlefield as a Rank-S Sororitae agent.
My aunt, Alura Ripley, was the walking embodiment of bad decisions, somehow blessed by fortune itself to always land on her feet no matter how deep she buried herself in trouble.
Then there was my older sister, Sophia "Sophie," the family's iron-willed guardian, who took her self-appointed duty of protecting me a little too seriously, and my youngest sister, Delilah "Daisy," a whirlwind of clinginess and love who seemed incapable of letting me breathe without supervision.
And finally, the laziest member of the family—Pumpkin, the same fat orange tabby who slept on me like I'm some sort of a comfy bed, whose sense of entitlement rivaled that of an empress, and whose belly seemed to grow by the week.
I sighed softly and rolled up the sleeves of my hoodie and followed mom downstairs from my room, the comforting scent of roasted coffee beans and the rich aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air, growing stronger with every step, mingling with the faint hum of morning chatter.
The moment I entered the café, Maison Bella was already alive with the morning bustle despite there is no customers for the day—sunlight slipping through the windows, glinting off rows of pastel-colored cupcakes lined neatly across the counter. It is as the nature of a family's café—a small, sun-lit haven nestled in the concrete and metalic sprawl of Sector 13.
The Ripley Household, aka, The Maison Bella stood tucked within the narrow lanes of Sector 13, one of the many crowded residential districts that made up the sprawling expanse of Mega Ark-City 01—Radiant City, besides the towering housing units of the Spire. It was a modest double-story home with a basement, wedged between various shapes and sizes of houses and neon-lit complexes that hummed through the nights. Though small by the Ark's standards, the house radiated a rare kind of warmth—a defiant comfort in a world built of steel and circuits.
After her early retirement from active duty, Mom had traded her battlefield armor for an apron, deciding that she was never meant for the sterile grind of office life. Instead, she and her sister poured their savings into buying this little corner of peace and turned the ground floor into a cozy café she named Maison Bella, its doors always open to neighbors, travelers, and tired workers seeking a moment of calm. The upper floor served as the family's living quarters—a compact but lively space with five bedrooms, a small living room that always smelled faintly of coffee beans and vanilla, and windows that overlooked the endless sprawl of the sector skyline. The basement, meanwhile, was used for storage, though I swore it held more mysteries than supplies.
Despite the city's sprawling metal wilderness, relentless rhythm and the chaos of their everyday lives and being one of the bastion against the horrors beyond the wall, the Ripley home stood as a small oasis of warmth and noise—a place carved out into its own small world where love, laughter, and arguments coexisted under one humming roof.
My mother, Emmy Ripley, stood behind them, wearing her signature frilly apron and that radiant, overenthusiastic smile that could put any customer at ease but usually meant extra work for me. Mom's soft humming floated from behind the counter as she arranged trays of cupcakes, while Sophie was already carrying a tray full of cupcakes to the minivan outside the cafe with military precision, and Daisy darted about underfoot, "helping" by moving things exactly where they didn't belong. Aunt Alura was nowhere to be found, while the house cat Pumpkin lounged on the cafe's lounge couch like a furry tyrant.
"Niero, sweetie, careful with that tray!" she called as I grabbed a silver rack stacked with cupcakes topped in glossy pink frosting. "We can't afford another frosting disaster like last week!"
I grunted in mock annoyance but couldn't help smirking. "You say that like it was my fault, Mom."
Emmy puffed her cheeks, the way she always did when flustered. "You sneezed on it, had frosting all over your face as if the cupcake exploded!"
"It wasn't unintentional." I responded.
Outside, the morning light bathed the narrow street in a pale golden hue. I pushed open the café door with my shoulder and stepped into the hum of Sector 27's early rush—hover-cars gliding by, distant chatter blending with the rhythmic clinks of shop shutters opening. Their old but reliable minivan waited by the curb, its paint slightly chipped but lovingly maintained. One by one, I loaded the trays onto the passenger seats and rear compartment, careful not to tilt the frosting.
Behind me, mom emerged carrying another tray, humming some old melody from her youth. For a moment, as she arranged the cupcakes with delicate precision, I couldn't help noticing how different she looked here—no traces of the once-feared Rank-S Sororitae agent who fought at the city's borders, just a gentle woman whose entire world now fit into this little café and the family she built within it.
"See?" she said proudly, shutting the van door with a satisfied nod. "Perfect teamwork, my sweet boy."
"Yeah," I muttered, brushing crumbs off my sleeve, "until you remember we still have five more trays to go."
Her laugh echoed through the street—bright, warm, and a little too loud for the quiet morning. It was the sound of home.
While I balanced another tray of cupcakes in y arms, carefully avoiding a wobble that could turn hours of my mother's work into sugary ruin, I glanced around the street and frowned. "Hey, where's Aunt Alura?" I asked, shifting the tray as Sophie followed beside me with her own load.
Sophie tilted her chin toward the van with a knowing smirk. "Take a guess."
My eyes followed her gesture—then I groaned. Slumped in the driver's seat of the minivan was Aunt Alura Ripley herself, wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses despite the early morning light. Her usually wild silver-blonde hair was a tangled mess, and a nearly empty coffee thermos sat in her lap like a lifeline. Even from a distance, I could see the unmistakable signs of a long night: the faint smudges of makeup, the sluggish movements, and the muttered curses to herself that probably had nothing to do with divine revelation.
"Don't tell me she's driving," I said flatly.
Sophie snorted. "She insisted she's fine. Said she just needed 'one more cup of liquid resurrection.'"
As if on cue, Alura slowly raised her coffee cup in a mock toast, not even looking up from her seat. "Mornin', nephews and nieces of responsibility…" she croaked, voice hoarse. "Don't worry—Auntie's in *absolute* control."
"Yeah, that's what worries me," I muttered under my breath.
Sophie bit back a laugh as she slid open the back door of the van. "At least she showed up this time. Last event, she slept through half the afternoon."
"Correction," Alura said without missing a beat, her head leaning against the steering wheel, "I was manifesting rest."
"Uh-huh. Sure." I rolled his eyes, setting the tray down gently in the back compartment beside the others. "Remind me never to let her near a vehicle unless it's parked—or chained."
Sophie grinned, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Good luck telling Mom that. You know she's just happy Alura's conscious and not gambling away the café funds."
I sighed, watching as Alura lazily slurped the last of her coffee, muttering something about "world still spinning." Between his overprotective mother, doting sisters, and his hungover aunt, I realized once again that peace and normalcy were luxuries in the Ripley household—sweet, fleeting, and often drowned in caffeine.
Just as me and Sophie were securing the last of the trays in the back of the minivan along with other equipment such as microwave oven and coffeemakers, the front door of the café burst open with a cheerful chime of the bell. Out came Daisy, practically skipping down the steps with a tray balanced precariously in her small hands, her face lit with excitement. Behind her followed their mother—Emilia "Emmy" Ripley—struggling to juggle another two trays while trying not to trip over Pumpkin, who strutted lazily at her feet like he owned the pavement.
"Careful, sweetheart! Don't run with the frosting still soft!" Emmy called out, her voice warm but trembling with that familiar motherly panic.
"I got it, Mom!" Daisy chirped back, her twin pigtails bouncing as she proudly carried the cupcakes toward the van. "We're gonna sell all of these! Everyone in Sector 10's gonna love them!"
Pumpkin, unimpressed, gave a throaty "mrrrp" and hopped effortlessly into the minivan's passenger seat—curling up on a pile of folded cloth like he was the honorary supervisor of the operation.
Niero chuckled at the sight. "Of course the cat's the first one ready to go."
Sophie shook her head, smiling. "He's probably hoping to be paid in leftover frosting."
"With its weight, that the last thing it needs." I rebutted.
Emmy finally reached the van, carefully loading the final trays onto the shelves they had prepared. She wiped her forehead, her cheeks flushed with both exertion and excitement. "Twenty trays in total! That's a record for us, kiddos. If this doesn't make Maison Bella shine at Radiant Day, I don't know what will!"
Daisy raised both fists in the air, eyes sparkling. "For Radiant Day!" she yelled, her voice loud enough to startle a few pigeons and made some passing neighbor turn heads nearby.
I smiled faintly, watching my little sister's enthusiasm. "You'd think she's the one being honored by the Empress herself."
Emmy turned to me, her expression softening. "Oh, come now, dear. It's not every day we celebrate the miracle that saved our world. 87 years since the Empress descended and blessed us with her light—that's something worth a little joy, don't you think?"
Still, as mom and sisters chatted eagerly about decorations and cupcake sales, I found myself smiling quietly. For all the chaos and oddity of my family, moments like this—laughter in the morning sun, the scent of frosting and coffee, and Pumpkin's lazy purring—were my own kind of peace.
The sun had fully risen by the time the Ripley family packed themselves into the old family minivan—an aging but well-loved vehicle plastered with faded café stickers and the faint smell of baked goods. The trays of cupcakes were neatly stacked in insulated boxes, secured in the back with bungee cords that Sophie double-checked twice, while Daisy clutched one in her lap as though guarding a treasure chest. Emmy settled into the passenger seat, fussing over her seatbelt and counting trays for the third time.
"Alright, everyone buckled up?" she asked, glancing back with that familiar maternal mix of nerves and excitement.
"Yes, Mom," the three children chimed in near-unison—though Niero's voice carried a touch more resignation.
"Then let's go make Maison Bella proud!" Mom declared.
The engine coughed to life, and Alura—slouched behind the wheel in a loose cardigan, oversized shades, and with a steaming coffee mug clutched in one hand—let out a groggy groan. "Lets get this party started!!"
They rolled out into the streets of Sector 13, merging into the river of vehicles headed toward the city's radiant heart, both land roads, hovercars in the air traffic, and maglev connections. Towering holo-banners shimmered above the skyline, each bearing the golden sigil of the Empress, and the air shimmered faintly with mana light from the preparations ahead. People in bright uniforms and robes streamed down the walkways, laughter and music already spilling through the morning haze.
I leaned against the window, watching the glow of Radiant City pass by—the tiered highways, the glittering towers, multiple holo-ads, beautiful greeneries with trees and parks, and the maglev-trains sliding along their elevated rails. It was a sight that should have inspired awe, like some sort of a utopian-like city. Yet to me, it a same ol' scenery, as it is for most of the citizens of the Mega Ark-Cities.
Just as I was lost in thought, the van jerked violently to the side, throwing Daisy into Sophie's arms and nearly sending Pumpkin (who'd been curled up on the dashboard) flying off his perch.
"ALURA!" Emmy shrieked, grabbing the wheel to steady it. "What in the Empress are you doing?!"
Alura blinked, squinting at the road. "Relax, relax! Just dodged a mana-drone! Thing came outta nowhere!"
"There was *nothing* there!" Sophie snapped, clutching Daisy while glaring daggers at her aunt.
"I swear there was—!" Alura tried to argue before another swerve made the van tilt alarmingly close to a street divider.
"ALURA!" Emmy's voice hit a pitch that could have shattered glass. "If you crash this van, I swear by the Empress's halo—"
"Okay, okay! Hands at ten and two! Calm down!" Alura groaned, clutching her coffee and the wheel simultaneously. "Ugh… why is everything spinning?"
I sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Daisy giggled, leaning over to whisper to him, "I think Auntie's driving's scarier than your nightmares."
He couldn't help but laugh quietly. "You're not wrong."
As the van finally steadied and the skyline of Sector 10 began to rise before them in gleaming tiers of gold and glass, the family chatter returned—Sophie lecturing Alura, Daisy humming a tune about cupcakes, and Emmy muttering a prayer of thanks that they hadn't crashed.
The roads ahead blazed with banners and lights as the Radiant Day festival came into view—a celebration of divine salvation, of light triumphant over the void.
And amidst that glow, the Ripley family van rolled onward, slightly crooked but full of laughter, frosting, and chaos.
For Niero Ripley, it was the start of what should have been a normal day… but deep down, as the echoes of that dream still lingered faintly in the back of my mind, I couldn't shake the feeling that something—somewhere—was about to happen.
Like some sort of a bad omen...
<<<[ Ch 01: Radiant Era - END ]>>>