Show Me Respect!!

Kairos pushed himself off the ground, his knees aching and blood staining his pants. His chest heaved as he struggled to suppress the fury simmering inside him. He walked toward the house with slow, deliberate steps, ignoring the throbbing pain in his legs.

The house was small, barely able to accommodate their family. The living room, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb, was a testament to their poverty. A tattered rug covered the creaky wooden floor, its colors faded and its edges frayed. Against the wall stood a handful of mismatched chairs, most of which were either broken or on the verge of collapse.

One chair, however, stood out. It was relatively new, its fabric still intact, and it had become something of a prized possession in their home.

Kairos sank into that chair, his body sinking into its soft cushion. He leaned back, closing his eyes, trying to quiet the storm within him.

Moments later, the door creaked open, and Reo strode in. His eyes immediately landed on Kairos. His expression twisted into a scowl as he noticed his younger brother seated on the "good" chair.

"What do you think you're doing?" Reo demanded, his voice sharp and filled with disdain.

Kairos didn't respond. His eyes remained closed, his face calm but his mind racing with suppressed emotions.

Reo's frown deepened, his hands curling into fists. "Kairos, get up. Now."

Still, Kairos didn't move, didn't acknowledge him.

Reo's frown deepened. "I said, get up! That's my chair. You don't get to sit there like you own it!" His voice was louder now, echoing through the small room.

Still, Kairos didn't move, didn't flinch.

Reo's temper flared. He marched across the room, standing directly in front of Kairos. "Don't test me," he warned, his hand glowing faintly with energy as he raised it. "When I tell you to move, you move. I'm your elder brother, and you will show me respect!" he growled, his tone fierce and laced with threat.

Kairos stared up at him, unflinching. "Respect?" he said softly, his voice dripping with quiet defiance. "You wish."

Reo's face twisted in rage. His hand shot forward, but just as he was about to strike, the sound of footsteps interrupted him.

Their mother, Lyra, walked in, wiping her hands on her apron. Her sharp gaze flickered between the two boys, sensing the tension.

"Reo," she called out, her voice stern. "What's going on here?"

Reo immediately straightened, dropping his hand. He turned to Lyra with a sheepish smile. "Nothing, Mother," he said smoothly. "I was just... sharing how my training went today."

Lyra's expression softened as she walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Training? Tell me, how did it go?"

Reo's chest puffed out as he seized the opportunity to bask in her attention. "It was exhausting, but amazing. I've started mastering wind control," he said, flexing his fingers, as though demonstrating his abilities. "It's challenging but I'm getting better every day."

Lyra's face lit up with pride. "Oh, Reo, that's wonderful! You're so talented, my son. I'm so proud of you." She cupped his cheek affectionately.

Reo threw a smug glance at Kairos, who sat silently in the chair, his expression unreadable.

Lyra turned to Kairos, her tone softer now. "Kairos, your brother just got back from training. He must be tired. Please, be considerate and let him use the chair. You can sit somewhere else, okay?"

Kairos met her gaze for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, without a word, he stood and walked toward the door.

"Kairos," Lyra called after him, her voice tinged with concern. "Where are you going?"

Kairos didn't respond. He opened the door and stepped outside, letting it close behind him.

Reo chuckled as he flopped into the chair, stretching his legs out. "That's right," he muttered under his breath, "know your place."

Lyra sighed, her brow furrowing as she glanced at the door. "I don't know what's gotten into Kairos lately," she said, shaking her head.

Reo leaned back, smirking. "Don't worry, Mother. He'll come around. He just needs to learn a few things."

Kairos walked away from the house, his feet dragging along the uneven ground of the street. The houses he passed were dilapidated, their walls cracked, and their roofs patched with mismatched materials that barely kept the rain out. Stray dogs wandered lazily between the homes, sniffing at discarded scraps of food.

Ahead, a group of children played in the dirt, their shrieks of laughter echoing through the street. A boy with a patched shirt and wild hair held a makeshift ball made from tightly bound cloth. "Catch this, Mika!" he yelled, tossing the ball to a smaller girl who giggled as she fumbled to catch it.

"I got it! I got it!" the girl cried out triumphantly as she finally caught the ball, only to stumble backward into a pile of dusty cans.

"You're so clumsy, Mika!" another boy teased, sticking out his tongue.

"At least I caught it!" Mika retorted, throwing the ball back.

Kairos stopped walking and stood at a distance, watching them with disinterest. Their energy was infectious, their joy untainted by the harshness of their surroundings. Another boy shouted as he climbed onto an overturned crate, declaring himself the king of the hill.

"Bow before me, peasants!" the boy roared, puffing out his chest.

"Get down from there, Leno! That's not fair!" a girl shouted back, throwing a handful of dirt at him.

Kairos's gaze lingered on them for a moment longer. He watched as they teased, laughed, and chased each other, their world seemingly untouched by the burdens of life. Yet, for him, their joy felt hollow, distant, and out of reach.

In his past life, children in the royal palace didn't play like this. They were taught discipline and responsibility from an early age, their playtime structured and supervised. But even then, there had been no genuine laughter, only the hollow smiles of those trying to win favor. Here, these children seemed truly happy, even amidst the poverty that surrounded them.

Kairos clenched his fists as he turned away from the scene, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions he couldn't name. Their laughter, though innocent, felt like a reminder of how far removed he was from everything—both in this life and the last.