Ate… Ate… Ate, what's that sound?" The voice reached me through a haze, soft at first, then louder, insistent. "Hey, Ate, listen to me!" I blinked, realizing I had drifted off again. My thoughts were always wandering lately, slipping into a place between dreams and memories.
"Oh, sorry," I said, smiling faintly at my younger sister. "What is it?"
"Mom's calling. Dinner's ready!" Her grin was wide, full of the mischief she carried in every word. "Come on, let's race to the bottom!" Before I could protest, she was already floating down the hallway, her feet lifting off the ground as easily as if the air itself carried her. "Hey! That's cheating—you're using your powers!" I shouted, laughing despite myself. "Well, it's not my fault you don't have any!" she teased, her voice fading as she flew down the stairs.
Her words struck harder than she intended. I stopped, frozen for just a moment. No powers. No gift. No chance of becoming the hero I had dreamed of being since I was a child.
I had wanted to be like them—the Team who gave us hope, the people whispered about as the greatest hero team of all. I used to believe that I can protect everyone. But the truth was inescapable: I was powerless in a world where strength defined worth. My sister must have noticed the shadow in my eyes, because she hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. "I'm sorry," she murmured.
I forced a smile, pushing the ache aside. "It's fine. Let's go. Didn't you say it's adobo tonight?"
Her grin came back instantly. "Your favorite!"
We rushed to the dining room together.
The warmth of the room wrapped around me like a blanket. My mother's beauty lit up the table, her smile tender and patient. My father's strength seemed unshakable as he sat at the head of the table, pride in his eyes as he looked at us. My three younger siblings bounced in their seats, too hungry and excited to wait.
I loved this. I loved them.
We prayed before eating, then laughter filled the air. We spoke of school, of silly little jokes, of small triumphs and stories. My chest ached with happiness, because deep down I feared moments like these would never last.
Then came the sound that shattered everything.
The doorbell rang.
Conversation died instantly. My father rose slowly, his expression calm but alert. "I'll get it," he said, forcing a small smile as if to reassure us.
My mother followed him, her hand brushing his arm in silent support.
The door creaked open. A flash of steel cut through the air.
A knife.
Blood sprayed across the doorway as the blade sliced my father's chest.
"Run!" my mother screamed, her voice a thunderclap of terror.
I froze. My legs locked, my heart hammering. My father staggered but fought back, gripping the attacker with raw strength. My mother turned, her face pale but fierce.
"Take your siblings and go!" she shouted. Her hands shoved me toward the children. "As far as you can! We'll follow!"
I grabbed them, my own panic buried beneath their wide, terrified eyes. "Come on! Move!"
But Luna—brave, foolish Luna—stood firm. Her fists clenched, her power sparking faintly in her hands. "I have powers! I'll destroy them!"
"No!" My voice cracked, desperation flooding my chest. "Please, listen to Mom! We have to go!"
She faltered, then followed as I herded them toward the back door.
The night air hit us like ice. We ran through the dark, away from the screams, away from the home that was no longer ours. Only when the house was a distant shadow did we stop, gasping for breath.
My siblings clung to me, their faces pale, their bodies trembling. I dropped to my knees, pulling them close.
"It's okay," I whispered, though my voice shook. "Mom and Dad will come. They'll be fine. I promise."
They looked at me, searching for truth, and for a moment, they smiled. They believed me.
But time stretched on, and no one came.
Minutes became an hour. The silence became unbearable. A cold dread gnawed at my stomach.
"I'll go back," I said, rising to my feet.
Luna grabbed my hand, her voice trembling. "Don't go."
I forced a smile, brushing her hair back. "I'll be right back. I promise."
And then I ran.
The house loomed before me, no longer warm and bright but dark, broken, lifeless. Windows shattered, glass crunching beneath my steps. The table where we had just prayed together lay overturned, food spilled and wasted.
And there—at the doorway where I had last seen them—lay my parents.
Lifeless.
Blood spread across the floor, pooling around them like a cruel shadow.
"No…" My legs gave out. I crawled forward, hands shaking, reaching for my mother's wounds as if I could heal them, undo the truth. "Please… don't leave me. Please…"
My cries tore through the empty house, but no answer came.
The police arrived too late. They pulled me away, their questions muffled by the roar in my ears. I couldn't hear them. I couldn't think. My mind screamed only one thing—my siblings.
"Where are they?" I shouted, thrashing in their grip. "My brothers and sisters—where are they?"
Through sobs and broken breaths, I told them everything. Where I had left them, which path we took, every detail I could remember. They promised they would search. They promised they would find them.
But dawn came, and their faces told me what their words could not.
The streets had been scoured, the neighborhood searched. There was no trace of them. My siblings had vanished.
The world around me collapsed. My tears fell until there were none left, until I sat hollow and empty in the station, my body shaking with grief too heavy for words.
They told me I would be taken to an adoption center. That I would be cared for. That new parents would give me a home. That therapy would heal the scars of what I had witnessed.
But no one could replace what I had lost. No one could fill the silence left behind by the family torn from me.
That night became a scar carved into my soul—one that would never fade.