Part 1 — The Midnight Swim
The Halo Seaport was a different world under the moon. The chaotic bustle of the day was replaced by a deep, silent darkness, broken only by the rhythmic lapping of the water against the pilings and the creaking of the moored fishing boats. Mikael, dressed in dark swim shorts and his trusty graphic tee, moved like a shadow along the docks.
He carried his minimal gear: a watertight bag containing his mushroom pizza slice, a bottle of water, and the broken handle of the wrench—his Mandate's unwanted signature. He reached the edge of the farthest pier, the launch point used by the smaller, faster boats.
He looked out across the harbor. The offshore research buoy was invisible, just a tiny point of regulated light blinking on the horizon—a steady, silent beat of data collection. It was the only signal of the organized, systematic world in the vast, dark ocean.
He inhaled the salt air deeply. The constant, background chatter of his Mandate—the low-level kinetic absorption, the buzzing hum of every nearby piece of machinery—was usually annoying. Tonight, it felt like an anxious ally. He needed to channel it into propulsion.
He slipped silently into the water. The initial shock of the coolness was bracing, but he quickly found his rhythm. He was a natural swimmer, the product of a lifetime spent in the sea. He powered through the sheltered harbor waters, the distance to the open ocean dropping away behind him.
Part 2 — The Cold Edge
As Mikael swam past the harbor mouth and into the open water, a profound and immediate shift occurred.
The water temperature dropped. Drastically.
It wasn't the natural temperature drop of deeper water; it was an unnatural, sharp, and invasive cold that hit him like an invisible wall. It felt wrong, utterly alien to the tropical Pacific. The warm, inviting dark ocean suddenly became an element of hostile, organized resistance.
Mikael's Mandate—his Kinetic Affinity—reacted instinctively. His body was a generator of chaotic, high energy. The water around him was now radiating cold, organized anti-energy. The two opposing forces clashed, creating a localized field of kinetic turbulence.
He could feel the muscle energy he generated being actively leached by the surrounding water. His powerful strokes, which should have propelled him forward, felt sluggish and weak. He struggled to maintain his forward momentum against what felt like an unseen, thick current pushing against him.
He glanced at his arms, expecting to see goosebumps, but his skin was perfectly smooth. The cold wasn't just external; it was pulling the heat from his core, chilling him faster than it should.
"It's not just temperature," he mumbled, spitting out a mouthful of water. "It's… viscous."
Part 3 — The Ghostly Current
Mikael powered through the invisible resistance, relying purely on adrenaline and his desperate need to prove his innocence. But the feeling of being opposed was growing. He was swimming against a current that didn't move the surface water; it only moved the density and temperature beneath.
As he fought, he began to feel the strange, ancient sense of purpose that had flickered in his room. The cold water wasn't just physical; it felt like a psychic boundary, an obstacle to his Mandate.
His Mandate, fighting back, began to emit chaotic energy in a steady, low hum. The psychic-kinetic field around him intensified, causing a localized, unnatural ripple pattern on the water's surface, like a stone had been dropped nearby every few seconds.
Suddenly, a massive, dark shape sliced through the water ahead of him. Mikael gasped, freezing instantly. It was a large tuna, nearly two meters long, moving with unnatural speed and jerky, panicked movements.
It wasn't chasing prey; it was fleeing something.
The tuna shot past Mikael, its massive tail fin slapping the water hard enough to send spray into his face. The fish's eye was wide with frantic terror, utterly devoid of the calculated instinct of a predator. As it vanished, Mikael felt a cold, deep dread. The fish hadn't been fleeing a shark. It had been fleeing the water itself.
Part 4 — The Buoy's Hum
Mikael shook off the fear, turning his attention to the light. The research buoy was now close enough to be an actual structure, not just a distant flicker.
It was a large, sturdy yellow platform anchored to the seafloor, covered in specialized sensors, antennae, and solar panels. It was an island of pristine, regulated technology in the wild ocean.
He could hear it now—a faint, mechanical hum that carried across the water. It was the sound of data collection, of systems running perfectly.
He realized he didn't need to sabotage the buoy. He just needed to access its local storage. The platform likely had a small onboard monitor or data port accessible for maintenance crews.
He swam the final few meters, reaching out to grasp the thick, algae-covered metal chain anchoring the buoy. The moment his hands touched the metal, the cold intensified. The chain was radiating the same unnatural, organized cold as the water, acting as a massive conductor for the environmental anomaly.
His kinetic Mandate responded with a sharp, involuntary burst of counter-energy. A localized, faint ping echoed in the water. The anchor chain vibrated for a millisecond, and then, for a startling fraction of a second, the light on the buoy flickered, went out, and came back on.
Mikael hung onto the chain, breathing heavily, knowing he had just caused another, small, highly localized anomaly. The kind of anomaly that would instantly flag on an NSA server thousands of kilometers away.
He had to get onto the platform. Now.
Part 5 — The Slippery Climb
Mikael pulled himself up the anchor chain, his muscles protesting against the cold current that still seemed to cling to him. The metal ladder leading to the platform was slick with sea spray and algae, making the ascent treacherous.
He knew instinctively that a direct, frustrated touch from him would likely melt the high-tech sensors right off the buoy. His Mandate wasn't fire, like Ruichi's, but pure, uncontrolled Kinetic Transfer. Frustration generated kinetic output. Right now, he needed quiet, controlled effort.
He reached the top railing and hauled himself onto the narrow platform. The surface was grimy, but the equipment—the solar panels, the satellite dish, and the data housing unit—was spotless, humming with regulated energy.
Mikael immediately felt the static charge of the location. The buoy was a magnet for energy, both environmental and man-made. The hum wasn't just machinery; it was the concentrated white noise of the area, the cacophony of disorganized kinetic and psychic energy that his body naturally absorbed and amplified.
He crouched low, his gaze fixed on the main data housing unit—a secure metal box with a small, weatherproofed keypad and a diagnostics screen.
Part 6 — The Desperate Access
Mikael rummaged in his pack, pulling out a multi-tool. He knew nothing about sophisticated buoy security, but his desperation—his need to find the environmental anomaly—gave him a reckless courage.
He tried the most obvious passwords first: "GUEST," "ADMIN," "DATA123." All failed. The screen flashed a red ACCESS DENIED warning.
Mikael's anxiety escalated, pushing his Mandate dangerously close to an involuntary burst. He felt the familiar, hot rush of kinetic energy rising from his core, spreading to his hands.
He gripped the handle of the broken wrench—the only piece of metallic shrapnel he had—and brought it up to the keypad. He focused all his frantic energy into the small, jagged piece of metal. He wasn't trying to absorb energy; he was trying to channel it.
He pushed the wrench end into the air just above the keypad, letting the concentrated kinetic field bleed out.
Part 7 — The Overpowered Mandate (First Sign)
The result was not a focused spark, but a miniature, disorganized kinetic explosion—a low-frequency, physical shockwave aimed at the electronic locks.
The metal keypad didn't melt or spark. It simply rippled. The surface of the weatherproofed plastic and metal housing seemed to momentarily shift and distort, as if submerged in water. The internal circuits, overloaded by the sudden surge of raw kinetic force, failed instantly.
The diagnostics screen, which had been locked on ACCESS DENIED, suddenly flashed violently, then went dark. The entire data housing unit popped open with a sound like a cork leaving a bottle, the internal latches completely vaporized by the localized energy burst.
Mikael stared. He hadn't bypassed the security; he had simply overwhelmed the physical mechanisms with raw, untamed energy.
This was the first true sign of his raw power. The Mandate wasn't just strong; it was drastically overpowered for his current level of control, capable of neutralizing physical security measures without even making contact. The kinetic field alone was enough to vaporize locks.
Part 8 — The Environmental Reading
The data housing unit was now open, revealing a tightly packed maze of circuit boards, internal drives, and a maintenance access port. Mikael ignored the complex electronics and focused on the small, secondary internal diagnostics screen, which remained miraculously intact.
The screen displayed a constant stream of sensor readings: air temperature, barometric pressure, salinity, and water temperature.
He zeroed in on the Water Temperature Log.
The data confirmed his father's observation and his own terrifying swim: for the past 48 hours, the deep water temperature had been systemically dropping, not in a natural curve, but in sharp, precise intervals—a regulated, organized thermal failure.
The latest reading, blinking in a stark red warning, showed a deep-water temperature drop of 6.2°C near the ocean floor, far colder than anything normal for the tropics.
Mikael felt a flood of relief that was instantly replaced by profound fear. The source of the cold was systematic, deliberate, and terrifyingly powerful. This was the real "current," and he had just blown up a government buoy to find the proof.
Part 9 — The Unscheduled Reboot
The sudden, catastrophic failure of the buoy's data housing lock (Part 7) didn't just open a box; it instantly triggered the buoy's emergency protocol. The small internal diagnostics screen that displayed the frightening temperature data suddenly flashed from red to an obnoxious, blinking blue:
!!! SECURITY BREACH !!! INITIATING EMERGENCY FACTORY REBOOT.
Mikael lunged forward, his mind racing. The buoy wasn't designed to be breached by a frantic teenager channeling kinetic energy; it was designed to withstand hurricanes. The entire platform began to vibrate with a low, internal shudder—the prelude to the full system restart.
In a pure, desperate act of instinct, Mikael shoved the entire upper half of his body into the now-open data housing unit, frantically reaching for the main drive interface. His Mandate, reacting to the extreme need, was cycling high.
Part 10 — The Mushroom Pizza Defense
Mikael managed to snag the small, solid-state drive (SSD) containing the cold temperature logs, just as the unit began a high-pitched, insistent alarm—a sound audible across a mile of calm water.
He yanked the drive free, but in his hasty retreat from the cramped, energized space, the strap of his watertight pack caught on a bundle of fiber optics.
The pack—containing his prized slice of cold mushroom pizza, sealed in plastic—flipped open.
The pizza, driven by the kinetic instability, launched out of the pack. It soared through the air in a perfect, slow-motion arc, sailing over the humming satellite dish, before landing with a wet thwack directly on top of the main, high-gain antenna used to transmit the buoy's data to the distant satellite.
The grease and damp topping immediately fouled the highly sensitive receiver.
The buoy's alarm instantly stopped. The flashing blue screen went dead. The entire platform fell into sudden, profound silence, the only sound the gentle lapping of the waves.
Part 11 — Incoming: The Coast Guard Commute
Mikael barely had time to marvel at the sheer, ridiculous effectiveness of his chaos when the quiet was violently shattered.
A deep, loud WHOOP-WHOOP echoed from the direction of the harbor mouth.
He crawled to the edge of the platform and peered into the darkness. A Coast Guard cutter, moving at full speed, was carving a wide, bright white wake through the dark water. Its searchlight was frantically sweeping the area, drawn directly to the silent, inert buoy.
Mikael realized he had mere minutes. His desperate jump into the water would be utterly useless against a vessel capable of 60 knots. He was trapped on a highly visible yellow platform that was now, thanks to his kinetic bursts and culinary sabotage, completely offline.
His mind went into frantic overload. Must hide. Must disappear. Must not be seen with the SSD.
He scrambled across the platform, the adrenaline overriding the kinetic fatigue. The only cover available was a small, three-foot-high housing unit for a spare sonar array, tucked beside the ladder.
Part 12 — The Hide-and-Seek Debacle
Mikael squeezed himself behind the small sonar housing. It offered minimal concealment. The Coast Guard cutter's engine noise was now deafening, and its massive searchlight beam was sweeping directly toward the buoy.
The searchlight hit the buoy. The beam, blindingly white, momentarily illuminated the entire platform.
The officer on the cutter immediately spotted the most prominent anomaly: the massive, greasy slice of mushroom pizzaresting like a trophy on the main satellite antenna.
Mikael heard the officer's voice crackle over a loudspeaker, laced with confusion and extreme annoyance: "ATTENTION! UNIDENTIFIED OBJECT ON THE MAIN TRANSMITTER! IT APPEARS TO BE... A FOREIGN ORGANIC SUBSTANCE! WE HAVE A BREACH, REPEAT, WE HAVE A BREACH!"
Mikael shoved the SSD deep into his swim shorts and clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle a hysterical giggle. He was a fugitive now, his crime: digital sabotage via fungal projectile. The sheer absurdity of the situation almost overwhelmed him. He was a kinetic weapon, and his signature was mushroom pizza grease.
Part 13 — The Coast Guard Boarding Party
The Coast Guard cutter slammed against the buoy's side with a jarring CLANG, sending a fresh, sickening wave of turbulence through the platform. Mikael gripped the cold metal of the sonar housing, trying to flatten himself into invisibility.
Three figures in standard-issue Coast Guard uniforms—two burly officers and a nervous-looking communications tech—clambered onto the platform. Their flashlights immediately fixed on the primary scene of the crime.
"There it is, Lieutenant! The foreign object!" shouted the first officer, pointing a thick, gloved finger at the antenna.
The Lieutenant squinted up at the satellite dish. "Is that... a pepperoni?"
"Negative, Lieutenant! Judging by the aroma and the viscosity, I'd say it's fungal. Maybe an olive slice, but definitely fungal matter, sir! It has completely fouled the primary transmission frequency!" the tech reported, sounding like he was detailing a major chemical spill, not a pizza crime.
Part 14 — The Hula Distraction
Mikael knew he couldn't stay hidden. They were three feet away, focused on the pizza slice. He needed a diversion, and his Mandate was the only tool he had—a tool that usually caused chaos, not precise action.
He focused his mind, not on breaking something, but on moving something small. He channeled a tiny amount of his concentrated Kinetic Affinity through his fingertips, aiming for the nearest item of interest: a spare, empty buoy battery charger sitting innocently beside the officers.
He tried to make it simply fall over.
Instead, the charger, fueled by his frantic, uncontrolled energy, shot vertically into the air like a poorly launched missile. It spun wildly, its metal surface reflecting the Coast Guard flashlights, and landed with a loud thump directly on top of the Lieutenant's head.
The Lieutenant staggered, letting out a cry of surprise that sounded suspiciously like a squawk. His cap flew off.
Mikael realized, with a rush of internal horror-giggles, that his chaotic output had mimicked a frantic, high-stepping hula dance for the inanimate object.
Part 15 — The Overpowered Mandate (Second Sign)
"A projectile! We're under attack!" shouted the tech, panicking and dropping his clipboard.
The two officers, trained to deal with smugglers and rogue vessels, immediately dropped to the deck and aimed their flashlights into the dark sea.
This was Mikael's chance. He launched himself out from behind the sonar housing, grabbed the abandoned clipboard, and dove toward the data unit, intent on retrieving the drive.
But his sudden, aggressive movement—coupled with the lingering kinetic energy from the hula-charger incident—triggered his Mandate again.
He slammed his hand onto the metal deck to steady himself. The kinetic energy that discharged was enormous. Instead of grounding safely, the entire buoy platform—a massive, industrial structure built to withstand oceanic storms—bucked violently under his hand, leaping upward a few inches and then falling back down with a terrifying BOOM.
The three Coast Guard officers were instantly propelled into the air, yelling in startled unison. They landed in a messy, disorganized heap right next to the fishing boat that had slammed into the buoy in Part 13. The second officer, entirely disoriented, scrambled back up, grabbed the nearest loose object (a stray rope), and instinctively began trying to tie the Lieutenant to the deck.
Mikael stared at his hand. He hadn't just made the deck vibrate; he had made the entire buoy jump. His power wasn't just physical; it was geological in its capacity for localized, immediate disruption.
Part 16 — The Exit Strategy (And Re-Entry)
Mikael, realizing he could not possibly explain this as anything other than an act of aggressive supernatural sabotage, grabbed the still-inert slice of mushroom pizza from the antenna (securing the highly classified SSD in his shorts).
He launched himself over the side of the buoy without hesitation.
As he hit the water, he felt a powerful, invisible pressure—the cold, opposing current—attempting to hold him in place. He channeled his panic and kinetic adrenaline into a frantic burst, pushing himself down, away from the buoy.
Above him, he heard a new, panicked shout from the Coast Guard tech: "SIR! THE UNIDENTIFIED ORGANIC SUBSTANCE IS GONE! THE SABOTEUR HAS RETRIEVED THE FUNGAL WEAPON!"
The Lieutenant, still partially tied up, roared, "HE'S IN THE WATER! HE'S ESCAPING! SHOOT... SHOOT THE WATER! NO, WAIT, DON'T SHOOT THE WATER! JUST... FIND THE KID WITH THE PIZZA!"
Mikael submerged, swimming rapidly into the cold, dark depths. He left behind a thoroughly traumatized Coast Guard unit, a momentarily airborne buoy, and the faint, digital signature of his escape, which now registered as a localized, extreme seismic event on the nearest monitoring station.
Part 17 — The Kinetic Jet Propulsion and the Fungal Fallout
Mikael swam, or rather, flew, through the water. His panic, fueled by the image of a Coast Guard Lieutenant attempting to tie himself to a deck, had pushed his Kinetic Affinity to an unprecedented level of output. He was no longer just swimming; he was channeling localized, continuous kinetic bursts from his feet, turning his escape into a kind of underwater jet propulsion. The water around him boiled slightly from the sheer energy transfer.
Above him, the chaos continued. He heard muffled shouts and the sudden, frantic sound of the Coast Guard cutter's motor attempting a messy, three-point turn to pursue him.
He didn't slow down until his lungs were screaming and the buoy's light was a faint, frantic pinprick behind him. He finally surfaced, gasping for air, the cold current still fighting him, trying to drain his core heat. He was now far outside the harbor, entirely alone in the dark Pacific.
He pulled the still-moist slice of mushroom pizza from his bag, clutching it like a lucky charm. It was proof—proof of the sheer, beautiful absurdity of his Mandate's chaos. He had the SSD safely tucked away, but he was exhausted.
He floated for a moment, letting the water support his weight, trying to re-regulate his internal kinetic energy. The effort of making a metal buoy platform jump and then propelling himself across three kilometers of cold, resistant water had left him feeling wrung out.
As he rested, he finally allowed himself to examine the precious fungal weapon. The crust was soggy, the cheese was dissolving, but the mushroom topping—the "Divine Topping"—was still stubbornly clinging to the surface. It was a perfect, bizarre symbol of his uncontrolled nature.
He realized the environmental anomaly—the cold current—was still strong here, and it was forcing the chaos (himself) to expend too much energy just to survive.
He turned toward the distant, dark silhouette of the Halo coastline. He started swimming again, maintaining a slow, steady pace, attempting to keep his Mandate at a low, energy-conserving hum.
He passed a large, submerged piece of scientific instrumentation—part of a deep-sea research line. As he swam past, his lingering kinetic field accidentally interfered with the sensors. The device instantly spun three times in the water, then began emitting a series of high-pitched, chirping squawks that were completely unrelated to its function. Mikael slapped his forehead.
He just wanted to be a normal kid, complaining about homework and eating pizza. Instead, he was an international fugitive powered by psychic chaos and currently leaving a trail of malfunctioning, squawking scientific equipment in his wake.
Part 18 — The Maui Connection and the Future Protagonist
Mikael changed direction slightly, angling south along the coastline, aiming for a small, rocky cove he knew was inaccessible by road. As he swam, he looked toward the horizon where the dark, imposing mass of Maui should be visible in the distance.
Maui was only 100 miles away, yet it felt like a different world—more tourists, more money, and far more focused on precision and presentation than the gritty, hard-working docks of Halo. Mikael heard rumors of advanced, experimental tech being tested in the deep trenches off Maui's coast, stuff that made his simple buoy mission look like child's play.
Suddenly, a strange transmission cut through the silence. It wasn't digital static like his white noise, and it wasn't the squawking of the broken equipment. It was a clean, high-frequency auditory signal, pulsing rapidly and coming from the direction of Maui.
Mikael instinctively absorbed the energy signature with his Mandate. It wasn't kinetic; it was pure sound—a perfectly calibrated, almost painfully bright frequency that grated on his nerves.
He knew that signature. He had heard whispers of it in the deep corners of the dark web forums he frequented—rumors of a genius, young acoustic engineer obsessed with cleaning up "noise pollution" in the Pacific.
The source, according to the legend, was a child on Maui who used custom-built sonic emitters to "correct" the environment.
Future Protagonist Introduction:
He was hearing the work of Kaimana 'Kama' Luahi.
Kama was an eleven-year-old living in a repurposed, solar-powered lighthouse on the remote coast of Maui. Kama was driven by a powerful, yet controlled, Mandate: Acoustic Manipulation. Her goal was to tune the entire natural world to a state of perfect, harmonious silence, believing that all conflict and sickness originated from noise pollution.
Kama's typical outfit consisted of an elaborate, noise-canceling headset with delicate, crystal-embedded emitters, paired with a brightly colored, flowing jumpsuit optimized for high-altitude movement. She behaved with an intense, obsessive focus, often communicating only through synthesized, perfectly tuned tones rather than actual speech, correcting anyone who spoke in a less-than-perfect cadence.
The current signal Mikael was picking up was Kama's experimental Noise Cancellation Protocol—a precisely tuned sonic wave designed to neutralize environmental chaos.
The problem, Mikael immediately realized, was that Kama's "perfect sound" felt like an aggressive, physical headache to his chaotic kinetic field. It was the antithesis of his being.
Mikael's Mandate recoiled from the perfect, painful frequency. He forced his body to emit a counter-burst of kinetic energy to shield himself from the sonic purity. The effort pushed him to the absolute limit of his reserves.
He realized the scale of the war was immense. He wasn't just fighting a cold current; he was now accidentally in conflict with a powerful, hyper-efficient child acoustic engineer who viewed him as nothing more than a major source of noise pollution that needed to be surgically corrected.
He swam faster toward the shore, the SSD digging uncomfortably into his leg, the last piece of mushroom pizza clutched in his hand. He needed dry land, a shower, and a strategy that did not involve fighting an 11-year-old from Maui who could weaponize sound.
Part 19 — The Wet Landing and the Last Topping
Mikael finally stumbled out of the cold, resistant current and onto the small, rocky crescent of his target cove. He dragged himself onto the rough sand, shivering violently, the oppressive warmth of the tropical night feeling insufficient against the internal chill the environmental anomaly had inflicted. He lay there, exhausted, water streaming from his hair and soaking his dark shorts.
He felt ridiculously fortunate for one small, meticulous habit: his tight, brightly patterned swim-shirt and his outer dark shorts were both made of high-tech, waterproof material. His gear, though soaked on the surface, had protected his core items. He quickly verified: the SSD, safely nestled in his shorts pocket, was dry and intact. The last slice of mushroom pizza, however, was now a cold, soggy, but still identifiable pile of dough and fungal matter. He carefully discarded the plastic bag and ate the entire slice in three desperate, celebratory bites.
He climbed the short, steep embankment, his legs stiff from the kinetic overdrive. He was a beacon of saltwater and sand, leaving a glistening trail across the pavement as he walked the few blocks back to his quiet neighborhood. He knew he had minutes before the Coast Guard abandoned the pizza investigation and started a proper land search.
As he reached his street, he quickly checked his reflection in a dark window. He looked like he'd been dragged behind a speeding boat—hair plastered to his forehead, eyes wide with the adrenaline of kinetic sabotage. He looked guilty. He looked like a jinx.
He carefully approached his house, unlocking the back door as quietly as possible. He slipped inside, dripping onto the clean linoleum floor of the mudroom. He peeled off his soaking outer shirt, ready to sneak up the stairs and process the cold data in secret.
But the house was not dark and silent.
A dim, yellow light was on in the living room, and a figure was standing rigidly in the center of the floor, arms crossed.
It was Kū. And he was not massaging his temples this time. He was radiating a silent, intense fury that made the air feel thick and heavy—a physical manifestation of disappointment that hit Mikael harder than the cold current.
Part 20 — The Scolding and the Shy Guest
"Where," Kū began, his voice dangerously low, "have you been, Mikael?"
Mikael instinctively started his defense, a frantic waterfall of words: "Dad, I can explain! It's not what you think! I went out to check the buoy because I saw the temperature logs and I realized my Mandate is just picking up the real anomaly, which is a systemic drop in ocean temperature, and I have the SSD right here to prove that I am not the jinx, it's an organized attack, and—"
Kū cut him off with a single, sharp clap of his hands. "SILENCE. The Coast Guard called. They said an unidentified juvenile was seen fleeing a government research buoy after an act of deliberate sabotage involving a foreign organic substance. They are currently dragging the harbor. You are grounded. You are a genius, Mikael, but you are also a self-destructive, uncontrollable child who has just attracted the attention of every federal agency in the Pacific! Your obsession with proving you aren't a jinx is going to get this family investigated!"
Mikael slumped, the energy draining out of him completely. The Coast Guard hadn't just reported "pizza guy"; they had reported "unidentified juvenile." They were circling.
"I just wanted to help," Mikael mumbled, his voice small.
Kū sighed, running a weary hand through his hair. "I know you did. But your chaos has consequences. And now, my consequence is that I have to shelter an acquaintance's child for a few days—someone who needs peace, not kinetic explosions."
Kū stepped aside, gesturing toward the couch, where a small, almost swallowed form was huddled beneath a blanket.
Future Protagonist Introduction (Lanai):
"This is Leio 'Leo' Vani," Kū said, his voice softening slightly. "He's five years old. His family sent him over from Lāna'i (The story's version of Lanai). He needs quiet, Mikael. He's a very shy, timid boy who doesn't like loud noises or confrontation. He has a condition, you see. He prefers to communicate mostly through small, precise movements or by drawing diagrams, not by talking."
Leio, or Leo, was indeed tiny, barely visible beneath the blanket. He wore an extremely soft, meticulously clean hoodie and sweatpants in neutral tones—the uniform of absolute comfort and non-aggression. His behavior was unnerving: he didn't look up, but his fingers, peeking out from the blanket, were performing complex, tiny twitches and taps on the cushion—a silent, rapid communication known only to him. He was the epitome of controlled, internal stillness.
Kū pointed to the dripping trail on the floor. "You will clean up. You will go to your room. You will not use the internet. And you will be utterly silent. You will not disrupt Leio's peace. Do you understand, Mikael? You will be the anti-chaos."
Mikael looked from the silent, twitching child on the couch to the stolen SSD in his shorts, then to the clean, quiet ceiling. He knew he couldn't stop investigating, but he also knew his Mandate made him incapable of being silent.
"Yes, Dad," Mikael whispered, his voice finally, momentarily, subdued.
The stage was set for the most awkward and kinetic-charged domestic stay in the history of the multiverse.