Eligible

Ren sat by the pool, legs crossed, eyes half-lidded. The night air moved gently across his skin, cool and clean, brushing past like a whisper. Above him, the moon hung low—silver and still—and below, the city hummed softly, distant and irrelevant.

He inhaled slowly.

Vira moved with the breath.

It had been two weeks since he first began drawing it in—two weeks of quiet discipline, of learning to listen to the strange current flowing beneath the surface of the world. In that time, he had trained himself to absorb it constantly, refusing to let even a moment go to waste. At first, it took focus. Now, it happened without thought. Like breath. Like instinct.

His vessel was growing—and so was he.

He could tell. The difference was subtle—like wearing slightly looser clothes after weeks of hidden growth—but it was there. Even now, just sitting, Vira flowed inward without him needing to summon it.

He'd also learned to regulate how much his body pulled from his vessel—and how Vira flowed out.

No more constant leaking.

Rooms no longer turned cold the moment he stepped inside.

It was progress—but he still hadn't met the first condition.

He hadn't attuned yet. No perks. No proper awakening. Just the slow, silent expansion of something he barely understood.

How long before I finally attune?

How much bigger does my vessel have to be?

The questions circled in his mind, heavier each day.

He was doing everything right—and still, nothing.

Frustration was starting to gnaw at him. Of course, he knew he was just starting out. He needed time, patience—he understood all of that. But still... it stung.

Aika had told him that the element responds to each Viran differently—uniquely—and that it would answer him in its own time. All he could do now was keep expanding his vessel… and wait.

He exhaled again, slower this time.

He looked to the water. It was quiet. The apartment behind was quiet, too.

A week ago, Aika had vanished on a business trip—no details, no destination. Just a half-hearted, "I'll be back." Which could've meant a day… or a month.

And Sami… well. He was starting to drift too.

His usual smug charm flickered in and out like a faulty lightbulb. Work consumed him. He only came home late in the afternoon, and when he did, he seemed… distant.

Physically fine—but somewhere else entirely.

Ren had noticed a few patterns. Anytime Sami returned from work, he wouldn't speak. He didn't eat. He'd head straight to his room, lock the door, and disappear until the next day. It was strange—but then again, every Viran Ren had met so far had their own version of strange, so he let it be.

During the day, he spent most of his time with Anya. She was still withdrawn, still silent. Her voice had been a rare thing even before everything fell apart. Now it was completely gone.

But she liked his presence. That was something.

She painted when she wasn't sleeping. Always painting. Strange, colorful things—swirls and figures and distorted reflections. Some reminded him of glass. Others looked like grief, frozen mid-movement.

He didn't ask what they meant. He just stayed close, reminding her that she wasn't alone.

When she rested, he filled the empty hours with stillness. Meditation. Vira training. Poolside nights—like he was doing now.

His thoughts drifted to the week he'd spent with Aika before she left for work.

Even though he hadn't made any progress on attunement, he'd learned a fair bit during that time. She'd taught him the basics—about Virans, their strange world, and a few of the secrets he hadn't known before, hidden just beneath the surface.

Before the District 6 incident—back when he still believed he was human—Ren had thought Virans were rare. Just a handful of gifted individuals. Occasionally, he'd catch one on TV: helping in disasters, assisting firefighters during crises, lifting rubble with ease, or steering a crashing car to safety. Once, on his way home from school, he saw a Viran fly to catch a woman falling from the top of a building. People said she had been trying to end her life, and the Viran had stopped it. The videos were all over the internet—for a few days. Then they were gone. Scrubbed clean.

He'd always assumed they just preferred to stay quiet—avoiding fame, keeping their powers private. Still, it struck him as odd. With abilities like that, wouldn't they want the spotlight? To be celebrities? Icons?

Now, though—after hearing a few things from Aika—a lot was starting to make sense.

For one, Virans weren't rare at all. They made up a significant portion of the world's population.

That truth had rattled him. Aika had explained it casually, as if it were obvious—but it reframed everything he thought he knew.

According to her, Virans didn't live by human laws. They existed under an entirely separate system, one governed by a body called the Viran Authority.

It existed in every country—not just Virelia. Each district had its own branch. They maintained order, enforced rules, and oversaw the delicate balance between Virans and humans.

Things were beginning to click for Ren.

How Virans had remained hidden in plain sight. How they could wield such immense power and yet not upend the world around them.

It was all tightly regulated.

Apparently, the Authority had divisions for everything: Oversight, Enforcement, Sanction, Investigation—and just as importantly, Cleanup.

That last one, the Cleaner Corps, worked closely with human governments to erase public exposure.

They took the blame when Virans caused disasters, rebuilt the wreckage, and made sure any footage of Viran abilities quietly disappeared from the internet.

Another important thing he'd learned was that, unlike humans who were born into citizenship, Virans had to be registered into society. Instead of being called citizens, they were known as Regulars.

Your parents could register you at birth, or you could do it yourself later—after meeting certain conditions. Becoming a Regular granted you civil rights—both from the Viran Authority and the human government. It was how Virans gained housing, employment, medical access.

Before now, Ren and his sister had been citizens of District 6.

But when the district fell, their status collapsed with it. For now, they lived in District 4 on a temporary permit—one that was supposed to expire a month after they checked out of the hospital.

But things had changed now. Marie had taken them in—as family. Thanks to her, Ren was now eligible to apply for Regular status in District 4, having met the condition of being under the care of a citizen.

Anya, too, would begin processing her paperwork—applying for full citizenship as a human dependent under Marie's care.

This meant that their living situation—and the path forward—was sorted.

The idea of becoming a Regular in District 4—Sector One, no less—was enough to put a permanent smile on his face. It wasn't just about the title or the benefits that came with it. It was what it represented.

Stability. Recognition. Belonging.

Ren let out a long, quiet breath. A small smile lingered on his lips.

He glanced at the phone resting beside him on the stone ledge.

11:47 p.m.

Time to call it a night. Anya was already asleep.

He pushed himself up, stretching lightly.

Just then—a shadow swept across the pool deck behind him.

A voice followed, low and warm.

"Hey, dear. You're still up?"

He turned. Marie stood there, silhouetted by the soft amber lighting from the hallway behind her. Her jacket was draped over one arm, and in the other hand she carried a takeaway bag that still steamed faintly.

"It's late," she added, stepping onto the patio.

Ren shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

Marie's brows knit slightly—not dramatic, but enough to register as concern. Her gaze searched his face for something. Maybe tiredness. Maybe a lie.

"Anything bothering you?" she asked—her voice gentler this time, more perceptive than pressing.

"Not really," Ren replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

Marie stayed quiet, concern softening her expression.

He added quickly, "I'm fine. I promise."

But then the scent hit him.

His stomach growled before he could stop it.

Marie noticed and smiled. "Picked this up on the way back," she said, lifting the bag.

"Back-to-back high-level reviews all day. I had to personally oversee a joint operation between Sectors 3 and 4—utter chaos. You'd think with all that funding and power, someone would have the spine to lead. No real dinner break. And I refuse to go to bed starving."

She chuckled lightly and pulled the box open just enough to reveal the contents inside.

Sizzling peppered beef over jasmine rice, with a side of glazed vegetables and salan fruit slices. The aroma was rich, spiced, and slightly sweet—the kind of thing that made Ren's mouth water on instinct.

He blinked. "Is that…?"

Marie nodded. "Yeah. Your favorite, right? They were closing up, but I made them pack it fresh."

Ren's stomach gave a quiet twist of hunger. He'd already eaten hours ago but… it's sizzling peppered beef.

"You can join me if you want," she offered casually, though there was a softness in her eyes—like she'd already hoped he would.

He hesitated for half a second, then licked his lips.

"Can I?"

"There's enough for both of us." She smiled, then gestured toward the kitchen. "Go ahead, I'll set the table."

"No, let me."

He walked ahead of her, crossing the cool floor of the open-plan living space. The scent of food trailed behind him like an invisible thread. He opened the cabinet, pulled down two ceramic plates, then turned toward the counter.

And suddenly—he swayed.

The room shifted slightly. Or maybe it tilted. He wasn't sure.

"Huh?"

Marie, already at the table, turned to glance back.

Ren's fingers tightened on the plates, trying to steady them—but a strange weightlessness overtook him, like he wasn't standing on anything solid.

The plates slipped from his hands and shattered across the marble floor.

Marie was at his side in a heartbeat.

"Ren?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came.

Something strange tugged at him—not pain, but a kind of unraveling. Like a thread was being pulled from the center of his chest.

He thought he heard someone calling him.

"...en... Ren..."

'Marie,' he tried to say.

His knees buckled. He fell.

The world dimmed to black.