Storms and Starlight

The Maximoff twins became fixtures in the Harper household—Wanda sketching at the kitchen table while Pietro raided the fridge at speeds that left the milk carton perpetually mid-spill. Kirana, now six, treated them like eccentric older siblings, demanding Pietro race her stuffed animals and begging Wanda to "draw fireworks that explode for real."

"Absolutely not," Arlan said, snatching Kirana's crayon from the air as she aimed it at the toaster. "Last time you 'helped,' the blender learned to cha-cha."

"But Wanda makes sparkles!"

Wanda's lips quirked, her chaos magic flickering in her palm like a captured firefly. "Not sparkles. Controlled energy."

"Boring," Kirana huffed, stomping off to reprogram the TV remote into a "unicorn whistle."

Arlan collapsed into a chair, eyeing Wanda's sketchbook. Her latest drawing depicted their auto shop lot—rusted cars, gravel, and a shadowy figure with a Hydra sigil on its sleeve. "They're getting closer," she said quietly.

"They're getting desperate," he corrected. "Hydra hates losing."

Pietro materialized, mouth full of cold pizza. "So crush them harder."

Hydra's Gambit

The attack came at midnight. Arlan's tracker app blared an alarm—Wanda and Pietro's bracelets pulsing red. He vaulted out his window, Ren surging as he sprinted toward the twins' foster home.

A black van idled outside, rear doors open. Inside, a Hydra agent clamped a sedative mask over Pietro's face while another pinned Wanda with a shock collar.

Arlan's aura exploded. "Get. Away."

The agents turned, smirking. "Run home, kid. This doesn't concern you."

"Wrong." He snapped his fingers.

The van's engine died, fried by a EMP chip he'd hidden under the hood weeks prior. Wanda seized the distraction, chaos magic melting her collar. Pietro blurred, disarming the agents with a flurry of jabs.

Arlan tackled the last agent, Ko-charged fist stopping an inch from his nose. "Tell your boss: we're not recruits. We're a problem."

Aftermath

The police wrote it off as a botched kidnapping. The Harpers didn't.

"You're grounded," Daniel declared, pacing the living room.

"For saving people?" Arlan protested.

"For not calling the cops! And—what's this about electromagnetic pulses?"

Wulan silenced them with a tray of klepon, the green rice cakes glistening with palm sugar. "Eat. Then we talk."

Over sweets, Arlan confessed fragments—Hydra's interest, the twins' powers, his "hobby tech." Not Nen, not reincarnation. Not yet.

Daniel rubbed his temples. "So you're a vigilante. At twelve."

"Entrepreneur," Arlan corrected. "With a side of vigilante."

Wulan hugged him, her batik scarf smelling of ginger and safety. "Next time, take your father. Or a taser."

Breakthrough

The auto shop lot buzzed with tension. Wanda hurled chaos orbs at Arlan, each deflected by his En-shield. Pietro zipped around them, testing gaps in their defenses.

"Left!" Pietro barked.

Arlan pivoted, shield morphing into a whip of aura. It snared Wanda's ankle, yanking her off-balance.

"Cheat!" she laughed, scarlet energy spiraling into a counterstrike.

Their clash sent shockwaves rippling, gravel悬浮ing mid-air. Kirana, watching from a treehouse (built against all parental decrees), cheered. "Fight pretty! Do the explodey thing!"

The surge destabilized, imploding with a whump. Arlan staggered, ears ringing. "Okay, maybe less 'explodey.'"

Wanda gripped his arm, steadying him. "But closer. We're closer."

The Offer

Tony Stark's email arrived at dawn:

From: t.stark@starkindustries.com

Subject: Internship?

Kid, your "hobby tech" fried a Hydra van's systems. Let's chat. Bring the twins.

Arlan's heart raced. 'Stark knows. Stark approves.'

He found Wanda and Pietro at their foster home, bags packed. "Hydra's moving us again," Pietro said bitterly.

"Or," Arlan grinned, "you move in with us. Dad's converting the basement."

Wanda's eyes widened. "Why?"

"Because family's the best shield."

New Dawn

The basement became a lab-bedroom hybrid: circuit boards stacked beside Pietro's sneaker collection, Wanda's sketches papering rocket equation-covered walls. Kirana dubbed it "The Batcave (But With More Glitter)."

At sunset, Arlan gifted Wanda a new conductive glove—gold filaments woven into batik patterns. "For control," he said.

She ignited a flame in her palm, steady and bright. "For light."

Pietro, testing supersonic Zetsu, zipped past. "For speed!"

Daniel yelled from upstairs: "For the love of God, stop breaking the sound barrier!"

Laughter echoed, warm and defiant.

Far away, Hydra's council convened. A screen displayed Arlan's face, red text blazing: THREAT LEVEL: CRITICAL.