16. The calm before the storm

The Virelia Institute glowed beneath the early noon sun. Students clustered in shaded corners or gathered beneath the arching glass hallways, their voices rising in carefree waves, the university felt like a real school, a place of laughter, of youth.

Mira strolled through the cobbled path beside the crest sculpture garden, her stride as confident as ever, her irises gleaming their haunting ice-white as they caught sunlight. The black sclera behind them contrasted,

always watching, always processing. She carried herself like a glacier, graceful, detached, and unyielding.

Her friend was mumbling something which she couldn't make sense off at the moment

Hey," Josephine said beside her, stuffing a protein bar into her mouth mid-step, "are you even listening?"

Mira's eyes were locked across the quad.

Bitter at the skin, sweet at the core, nature's way of punishing curiosity and rewarding patience. Mira Veltman never had the patience. She'd bite too fast, chew too deep, choke a little on the bitterness, but keep going anyway.

Josephine followed her gaze and groaned. "You've been staring in that direction everytime we passed by here. Is this a thing now?"

Turns out the Virelia Grind was a certain someone's favourite spot on comapus, and she'd been hoping to catch a glimpse of that someone.

"It's not a thing," Mira snapped, straightening. "I was just thinking."

"About him?"

"No. About apples."

"That's worse."

Mira smirked, but said nothing. She turned her eyes away and kept walking. That's when it started again, the drift, the haze. Her thoughts slipping into something colder.

The kitchen smelled like turmeric and steam.

Mira, six years old, stood on a plastic stool, watching her mother slice plantains with surgical grace. Captain Renya Veltman, commander of the Valients, a high-ranking Toppler agency. She was dressed half-formal, apron over uniform, badge clinking gently as she stirred curry in one pot and seasoned fish in another.

"Let me do it!" Mira said, reaching for the pan.

Renya laughed. "You want to burn the house down?"

"You never let me help."

"You're helping by not helping."

A chuckle echoed from the living room. Mira's father, soft-spoken, carpenter hands, was braiding her doll's hair

"Don't pout," he called. "You're gonna wrinkle your face before I finish this braid."

"Then I'll just shave her head!" she yelled back.

Renya tossed a dish towel at her and winked. "My little storm."

She was happy then. Whole.

But happiness never asked for permission before leaving.

They never saw it coming.

A high-level rift, unstable, opened just outside the city. Mira had gone missing from school hours before. Her parents panicked. Reports came in, Mira had been kidnapped. Her mother went alone.

It was a trap.

Inside the abandoned port facility, Mira was restrained, unconscious, eyes glowing as she was experimented on, serum injected, monitored by cloaked scientists. Their voices echoed in her ears.

"Prime-level potential."

"She's reacting too fast."

"Omega-Class candidate."

Then it happened. The serum activated her Crest, violently.

The entire facility froze.

Walls cracked. Machines shattered. Frost consumed metal.

Mira's screams were lost in the silence of her blizzard.

The storm that followed was apocalyptic. She tore through captors, through walls, through steel and smoke. The moment her mother arrived, it was already too late.

Renya didn't hesitate.

She rushed into the ice, used her own Crest to push the energy back, to pull Mira in. Her power clashed with Mira's, flame against frost, and then, in a single blast of light, Mira was safe.

Safe and sound, cuddled in between the pulse less arms of her mother.

Renya was gone.

When the Toppler units arrived, the building was half-demolished,Mira stood dazed, covered in snow, her sclera pitch-black and her ring-like irises glowing like cursed lanterns.

Agents raised their weapons.

"She's dangerous."

"She's Omega-class."

"She needs to be taken into custody."

Her father collapsed on the steps, too hollow to speak.

Then, another voice.

A young man, Calm, Steady, Vice-Captain of Luce Nera, Youngest to ever wear the badge.

He stepped forward and knelt beside Mira, ignoring the frost curling along his boots.

"You're okay," he said gently.

"No, I'm not," she whispered. "I'm a monster..."

The man took out a handkerchief. Wiped her cheeks.

"You know..." he said, smiling faintly, "it's kinda cute when you try to act tough."

Mira blinked. He was serious.

"Promise me something," he added. "Take care of Papa. And do what he says."

"Even if he forgets I'm there?"

"Especially then."

He stood and turned to the other Topplers.

Absolutely — that's a smart note. Giving that moment a little more weight will both deepen Hermon's presence (even if unnamed) and make the Topplers' decision feel more earned. Here's a brief, sharp exchange you can insert into the scene:

---

One of the senior agents stepped forward, flanked by two others. His uniform was battered, his expression stony beneath the polished Arcana insignia on his shoulder.

"You can't be serious," he said. "She just leveled a facility. You saw what she did sir, "

The young vice-captain didn't flinch. "And you saw what they did to her."

"She's unstable."

"She's a child."

"A child with Omega potential. You think that makes her less dangerous?"

"I think that makes it our responsibility to protect her before turning her into something worse."

The senior agent narrowed his eyes. "So you want her off the list. Fine. But who signs the clearance? Who bears the fallout if she loses control again?"

"I will."

That made them pause.

"You.... ?" another agent asked. "You sure about this sir ."

"I'm not asking for your approval," the vice-captain said calmly. "I'm stating my decision. I'll take full responsibility, for whatever she becomes."

The agents exchanged glances. Muted tension hung in the air. Then one of them stepped back with a low grunt.

"let's just hope she doesn't flatten another block."

The vice-captain exhaled slowly and turned back to Mira

"I'll take responsibility."

They backed down.

That wasn't the first time she was saved.

They called her the Ice Queen. Not behind her back, to her face. She didn't care.

She bruised a boy who insulted her braid. Froze a sink for making a "weird noise."

Then she found him.

Dark skin. Darker hair. Sitting alone. Eating... an apple.

She sauntered over, grin wolfish. He looked up, unimpressed.

"You one of those silent types?" she spat.

He shrugged. "Trying to eat."

"You scared of me?"

He stood, picked up his tray and slid it two seats over.

Siggggghggh!!,

"Want an apple?"

She slapped it from his hand. Punched him. Twice.

He didn't flinch.

Later, same day, he walked up to her. Bloodied lip. Outstretched hand. Apple in palm.

"You seemed hungry," he said.

Then he added, eyes calm:

"You know... it's kinda cute when you try to act tough."

Mira's grip tightened on her bag strap. Her pace slowed as she neared the crest sculpture garden.

Huey was still on the bench.

Still eating his apple.

She looked away, cheeks heating — not from affection, but confusion. Memory. Echo.

That phrase...

That look...

That calm.

He reminded her of someone. Someone from a different time. Someone who saved her — not from danger, but from herself.

She took a breath.

Apples. Bitterness. Sweetness.

She kept walking.