From the street, the Vale house looked exactly like it was supposed to.
Two stories. Faded gray siding. A porch that creaked only when you stepped on the third plank from the left. Neighbors waved when they passed. The mailman delivered letters without a second thought. If anyone bothered to count, they would see a family of seven—busy, loud, imperfect in ways that felt comfortably human.
That was the point.
Eli Vale learned early that normal was a shape you practiced holding.
Inside the kitchen, the morning chaos unfolded like it always did. His mother stood at the stove, humming softly as she flipped pancakes with unhurried precision. His father sat at the table, reading the news on his tablet, eyes sharp despite the calm set of his face. Across from him, the twins argued in low, conspiratorial whispers, identical grins flashing every time they thought they'd gotten away with something.
"You're doing it again," Mara said without looking up from her coffee.
The oldest daughter never missed anything.
Eli glanced at the twins. "Doing what?"
"Thinking you're invisible," his second-oldest sister, Lila, replied, finally lifting her eyes. There was something knowing in her smile, something that always made Eli feel like she could see a few steps ahead of everyone else.
"I wasn't thinking that," he muttered.
Mara snorted. "That's worse."
Eli leaned back in his chair, letting the noise wash over him. To anyone else, it would've sounded like a normal family morning—plates clinking, voices overlapping, his dad reminding someone to take out the trash. But Eli felt the undercurrent, the quiet tension humming beneath it all.
The house was awake.
Not in the way houses usually were.
When the clock hit 7:30, his father stood. The room shifted—subtle, almost unnoticeable. The twins went quiet. Mara straightened. Lila set her mug down with deliberate care.
"Same rules as always," his father said calmly. "No slip-ups. No unnecessary risks."
"And if something feels wrong," his mother added, finally turning from the stove, "you come home. Immediately."
Their eyes met Eli's for half a second longer than the others.
He swallowed and nodded.
That was the thing about being the middle child. You learned to notice when the world leaned toward you.
The realm didn't announce itself with thunder or light.
It never had.
Eli found it later that day, standing in the narrow space between two abandoned buildings on his walk home. The air felt… thinner there, like a breath held too long. He hesitated, heart pounding—not from fear, but recognition.
He stepped forward.
The world folded.
Colors stretched and bent, reshaping into something sharper, older. The sky darkened into a deep, shifting violet, streaked with distant constellations that didn't belong to any world Eli knew. Stone roads carved themselves into the ground beneath his feet, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps.
The Other Realm breathed around him.
People moved through it—some alone, others in small groups. Their presence radiated differently. Eli had learned the signs.
Peasants were quiet, their power barely more than a flicker. Most kept their heads down. Workers and soldiers were everywhere—guards, messengers, hunters—each shaped by the nature of their abilities. Strength, speed, control, sight.
Then there were the others.
A man passed by, cloaked in dark metal, several followers trailing behind him like shadows drawn to flame. A Lord. Not one of the rare great leaders, but powerful enough that no one challenged his path.
Eli stayed out of the way.
He knew his place.
Or at least, he thought he did.
That was when the air stilled.
Every instinct he had screamed.
People froze mid-step. Even the Lord's followers stiffened, eyes wide. The sky dimmed further, as if the realm itself bowed.
A figure stood at the far end of the street.
They looked… ordinary. No armor. No crown. No visible weapon. Yet the weight of them pressed against Eli's chest, stealing his breath.
A Holy One.
There were five, whispered of like myths given shape.
Aurelion the Dawn-Bearer
Virexa of the Endless Veil
Thalos, Graveward King
Seraphel of the Shattered Halo
Nyxion, the Quiet Star
This one was alone.
Nyxion.
Their eyes—dark, endless—found Eli instantly.
Not past him. Not through him.
Him.
"Eli Vale," Nyxion said, voice barely louder than a thought.
His knees nearly gave out. "You know my name."
Nyxion tilted their head. "Names travel. Souls shine."
They stepped closer, and the realm seemed to recoil, space folding to shorten the distance. Eli couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
"You stand between thresholds," Nyxion continued. "Unclaimed. Unnamed."
"I'm not—" Eli stopped. Lying felt pointless.
Nyxion extended a hand.
"I have a task for you."
The street vanished.
Darkness swallowed them both.
And somewhere far away, the Vale house creaked—just once—as if something ancient had turned its attention home.