What Stirred Within

Elior hadn't left his room in two days. The ache in his chest wasn't sharp, but constant. Like something sitting there, waiting. Every movement made him tired. His legs didn't feel weak exactly - just unwilling. The light from the window, the chatter downstairs, the smell of breakfast - all of it reached him like it had to travel a long way.

Max had stopped by his door that morning, knocking softly.

"You alive in there?" he said with a half-joking tone, but it didn't carry far.

Elior mumbled something. He didn't even remember what. His throat was dry. Max waited a few seconds, then walked off, the sound of his footsteps joining the others going down the stairs.

He wasn't trying to be dramatic. He really thought he'd feel better by now. The first couple of days, it was manageable. Dizzy spells, a little trouble breathing, short bursts of pain near his ribs. But now, it felt like all of that had settled into a single point under his chest, and nothing helped. Not lying down. Not sitting up. Not sleeping.

Ms. Halley had checked on him twice the day before. She brought soup and tea. Her face was calm, but her eyes weren't. When she pressed her hand to his forehead, he saw the worry there, even if she didn't say anything. That night, she told him she was taking him to the clinic.

"It's probably nothing," she said, brushing some hair away from his face. "But we're going anyway. Just in case."

He didn't argue.

The next morning came grey and cold, with rain starting to patter against the windows. He heard the other kids getting ready for school. The usual noise - the twins yelling down the hall, Ava telling them to hurry up, Max laughing at something Peter said.

Elior turned away from the sound. The pillow was cool against his cheek, and the pressure in his chest hadn't changed. It just sat there, steady and unmoving, like it was waiting for something too.

Tomorrow, he'd go to the doctor. Maybe they'd figure it out.

The clinic was small and plain, tucked between a florist and a bank on one of Cresthill's older streets. The kind of place you wouldn't notice unless you needed it. The waiting room had stiff chairs, a fish tank that hadn't been cleaned in a while, and the faint smell of antiseptic and coffee.

Elior sat beside Ms. Halley, slouched a little in his coat. His head leaned against the cool wall as she filled out a form on the clipboard. He didn't look around much. The noise in the room - pages turning, a kid coughing across the aisle, the receptionist's keyboard clicking - faded in and out like a broken signal.

The doctor was a man in his forties, maybe older. Thin, with silver creeping into his beard and a voice that stayed calm no matter what he said. He introduced himself, asked a few questions, then placed the cold disc of the stethoscope against Elior's chest and listened in silence.

"Take a deep breath."

Elior did.

Again.

The doctor tapped a few things into the computer, nodded slightly, and leaned back in his chair.

"Well," he said, "nothing serious from what I can see. He's a little underweight, but otherwise healthy. What you're describing - fluttering, tightness, maybe some dull pressure - it could be a few things. But most likely? Stress. Or a mild case of costochondritis."

Ms. Halley frowned. "I've never heard of that."

"It's an inflammation of the cartilage between the ribs. Not dangerous. Just uncomfortable. Very common in boys this age, especially during growth spurts. The brain's catching up to a changing body. Can cause phantom sensations."

Elior didn't say anything. He wasn't sure what he'd hoped to hear, but it wasn't this.

The doctor handed Ms. Halley a small slip of paper. "Some light anti-inflammatories. He should avoid sports or anything too physical for a few days. Let him rest. If it doesn't improve, bring him back and we'll run more tests."

On the way out, Elior walked beside Ms. Halley, his shoes scuffing the pavement. She held the prescription in one hand and a plastic bag of cough drops in the other.

"I told you it wasn't serious," she said softly.

Elior gave a small nod.

The rain hadn't stopped since morning. It ran down the windows in long, steady streaks. Inside, the orphanage was quiet in the way old buildings always seemed to be.

Elior sat in the common room with the others, tucked into the corner of the couch with his knees drawn up.

Max and the twins were sitting cross-legged on the rug, halfway through a messy game of cards that had already devolved into arguing. Jace swore Peter had hidden a card in his sleeve. Peter swore he hadn't. Max was laughing at both of them.

Ava sat at the far end of the room with a puzzle on the coffee table, piecing together the edges with quiet focus. She looked up now and then, either to glance at Elior or to make sure the twins hadn't started throwing things again.

"Hey," Max said suddenly, looking over at Elior. "You've been doing that all day."

Elior blinked. "Doing what?"

"Staring at the wall like it owes you money."

He shook his head faintly. "Just thinking."

Max leaned back on his hands. "That's your problem. You think too much."

Peter threw a card at Jace and missed. Ava sighed and picked it up.

"You've been like this for weeks," Max went on. "Barely talking. Not eating. You didn't even yell at the twins when they short-sheeted your bed."

Elior gave a tired smile. "Didn't feel like it."

"Yeah. That's the point. You're not acting like you."

Elior shifted his legs and looked away. "Maybe I don't feel like me lately."

There was a beat of silence. The rain tapped louder on the windows, as if it was listening.

Max stood and walked over, planting himself on the arm of the couch. He crossed his arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means…" Elior hesitated. "It means I don't know. I don't know what's wrong, okay? The doctor said it's nothing."

"He didn't say nothing," Max said. "He said you needed rest."

Elior gave him a sideways glance. "You were listening at the door?"

Max shrugged. "Ms. Halley tells me stuff."

"Because she knows you'll tell everyone else."

"She tells me because I care." Max's voice was firmer now. "We all do."

"I didn't ask you to."

"You don't have to. You live here. We all do. That makes you family, idiot."

Elior looked away again. "It's not that simple."

Max frowned. "What's not simple about it?"

"I don't know what I'm doing here," Elior muttered. "Not here in the room. I mean here. In this place. This life."

Max stared at him. "None of us do. That's the whole point."

There was a pause. The room had gotten quieter - Ava stopped sorting puzzle pieces. Even the twins had gone still.

Elior stood up, the blanket falling to the floor. "I'm going to bed."

"It's early," Max said.

"I don't care."

Max stood too. "You can't just walk off every time someone tries to help you."

Elior turned to face him. "What help? You think sitting here pretending everything's fine is helping?"

Max's jaw tightened. "No. But pushing everyone away isn't either."

"I'm not pushing anyone away," Elior said, too loud. "I just want -" He stopped himself.

"What?" Max stepped forward. "What do you want?"

Elior looked at him, and for a second, he looked like he might answer.

Then the lights went out. Not a flicker. Not a hum or a pop. Just sudden, complete darkness.

A beat passed - five, maybe six seconds - where no one said anything. The rain tapped lightly against the windows. The whole orphanage held its breath.

Then something began to glow.

Not from the walls. Not from outside.

From Elior.

A red light pulsed outward from his chest, faint at first - like a heartbeat made of fire. It grew brighter with every throb, filling the room in seconds. The shadows recoiled. Faces turned toward him, their eyes wide and confused. No one moved.

And then the world tore open.

The explosion was not sound but force. A flash of blood-red light surged from Elior in every direction, swallowing the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Fire bloomed from nothing. Pressure snapped outward like a shockwave, vaporizing everything in its reach. The windows shattered before the building itself splintered apart. Support beams cracked like twigs. The furniture, the rug, the games, the memories - they were erased in an instant, turned to ash.

There were no screams. There was no time.

It all happened in a breath.

When it was over, nothing remained of the Cresthill common room. Or the orphanage. Or its warm corners filled with chatter and footsteps and life. Just a crater, still smoking, gouged into the ground where a home used to be.

At the center of it stood Elior.

He opened his eyes.

Everything felt… light.

The weight in his chest was gone, like a door had been flung open inside him and the air could finally move. The pain he'd carried for weeks, the pressure, the tightness - it had vanished. For the first time in his life, he felt complete. Whole. Unchained.

The world around him shimmered at the edges. Every breath felt full of power, like the sky itself had dropped into his lungs. His senses were sharp - too sharp. He could hear the wind in the trees far down the street. He could feel the static still curling through the broken ground beneath his feet.

Then he looked down.

There was blood on his hands.

On the stones. The glass. The walls that no longer stood.

And then he saw them.

The bodies.

Scattered around the blast site, charred and twisted. Too still. Some of them he recognized by shape - Jace's sneaker. Ava's pale sweater. Max, half-buried under a beam, his hand limp, reaching toward nothing.

Elior's breath caught.

He didn't speak. Couldn't move.

The warmth inside him turned to ice.

He dropped to his knees, one hand pressing against the broken earth as if trying to hold himself there, like he might fall into the sky.

And then the sound came - not words, not a cry. A scream. Raw and animal, ripped from a place deeper than thought or fear or understanding. His whole body shook with it. His throat burned. He screamed until there was nothing left.