— — START — —
In this world, most are born with something special.
A power.
A mutation.
A gift.
They are called Quirks—abilities that manifest in countless forms. Some can change the shape of cities. Others alter only the smallest details of everyday life.
Strength, speed, flames, sound, light. No two are ever exactly the same.
But regardless of what form they take, quirks are not just abilities.
They shape how people live. How they are seen. And how they endure.
Most quirks appear around the age of four. That is the norm.
Doctors look for signs. Parents wait patiently. Children grow, unaware of what they may one day become.
However, not all quirks follow the rules.
Some awaken early. Some awaken late. And some do not awaken until something forces them to.
Because a quirk is not always born from growth alone.
Sometimes, it responds.
To fear, shock, and emotions too large for someone to understand.
There are cases, rare ones, where a quirk remains silent until the exact moment it is needed most.
Until the moment a world changes.
Until the moment something is lost.
And for one, still too young to understand words like "hero" or "tragedy," that moment was drawing closer.
The sky above remained calm.
For now.
- - - - -
A light-blue-haired teen leaned over the crib, elbows resting against the smooth wooden railing, his weight rocking it just slightly. Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, thin and pale, casting soft patterns across the walls and the small bundle wrapped in blankets below.
"Hey there," he whispered, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "You seein' that?"
He tilted his head toward the window. Outside, clouds drifted lazily across the sky—slow, unhurried, like they had nowhere else to be.
"Clouds are out today," he said, grinning. "Guess that's a good sign, huh?"
The baby stared up at him, eyes wide and unfocused at first. Then, as if something finally clicked, his tiny face scrunched up, and a soft breathy sound escaped him.
A giggle.
It was small. Fragile. Barely louder than the quiet hum of the house.
The boy froze mid-smile.
"…Did you hear that, mom?" he whispered, eyes going wide.
From behind him, a tired but fond voice from a woman answered. "I think he likes you."
The boy straightened immediately, pride flashing across his face as if he'd just been handed proof of something important.
"Well, yeah," he said, trying—and failing—to sound casual. "Obviously. I'm his big brother!"
He leaned back over the crib, closer this time. The baby kicked his legs beneath the blanket, little fists waving through the air, fingers grasping at nothing—and somehow everything.
The boy smiled again, softer now.
"That's right," he said gently. "Your big brother."
He pointed to himself, slow and deliberate, as if teaching something crucial.
"O-bo-ro," he said, breaking the name into careful syllables. "Got it? Oboro."
The baby let out another coo, a happy, bubbling sound that made the boy laugh under his breath.
"Yeah," he murmured. "That's me."
- - - - -
The baby grew fast.
Not just in size, but in spirit.
By the time he could sit up on his own, Oboro had already made it a habit to scoop him up at every opportunity. He carried him around the house, perched on his shoulders like a tiny king surveying his domain, tucked against his side as he moved from room to room, or balanced carefully atop a floating patch of cloud that hovered just above the floor.
"Careful," their mother would call from the kitchen, half warning, half resigned.
"I am being careful!" Oboro shot back, laughing as the child in his care squealed with unrestrained delight.
The baby—no, the toddler now—loved the clouds.
Whenever Oboro summoned them, his eyes lit up instantly, light pupils reflecting soft white shapes as wisps curled around his fingers. He reached for them without hesitation, tiny hands plunging straight through, only to pull back and try again, fascinated by the way they slipped through his grasp.
Sometimes, the clouds bobbed higher.
Just enough.
The toddler would gasp, small and sharp, his breath catching for a heartbeat, before his face split into laughter so loud it filled the room.
It became a game.
And Oboro always won.
Eventually, though, the energetic toddler learned how to wriggle free.
One moment, he was giggling on a cloud near the floor, the next, he was toddling away as fast as his unsteady legs would allow, bare feet slapping softly against the tile.
"Hey—!" Oboro called. "No fair! You're cheatin'!"
The little boy didn't stop. If anything, he laughed harder, arms pumping as he made his escape down the hallway.
From behind them, their mother's voice rose, warm but firm. Her hair, made of mist, flared slightly, as if responding to her worries.
"Sorashi!"
The toddler paused just long enough to glance back, eyes bright and mischievous.
"Sorashi, don't run—!"
Too late.
He took off again, a delighted giggle trailing behind him as he disappeared around the corner.
Oboro stared after him for half a second before grinning.
"…Man," he said, already giving chase, "you're gonna be trouble."
And Sorashi laughed, like the world was nothing but open space and endless sky.
- - - - -
And on the days when Oboro came home exhausted from training...
Days when his uniform was wrinkled at the sleeves, when his hair was messier than usual, and his steps dragged just a little as he kicked off his shoes at the door. The smile on his face was still there, but softer, worn thin at the edges.
It never lasted.
The moment Sorashi spotted him, everything changed.
Tiny footsteps pattered across the floor, uneven but determined, arms lifting high as if reaching for the sky itself.
"Up?" Sorashi chirped, voice bright and hopeful.
Oboro didn't even hesitate.
"Always," he said.
He scooped him up with ease, lifting him high above his head, spinning once—twice—until laughter filled the room. Sorashi shrieked with delight, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep and unrestrained, as if joy came naturally to him.
Oboro laughed too. The tiredness melted away, replaced by something lighter.
Something real.
"Careful," their mother called again, though her voice carried no real concern.
"I got him!" Oboro replied, already slowing, lowering Sorashi until their foreheads touched.
He stayed like that for a moment.
"Listen, Sorashi," Oboro said softly, voice lowering like he was sharing a secret meant only for the two of them. "One day, I'm gonna be a hero. A real one."
Sorashi blinked up at him.
"And I'll protect everyone," Oboro continued, smiling. "Especially you."
Sorashi didn't fully understand the words.
But he understood the warmth.
He rested his head against Oboro's chest, small fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform, holding tight like it was the safest place in the world. Oboro's arms tightened around him in response, protective without even thinking about it.
Outside the window, clouds drifted lazily across the evening sky.
Soft. White. Endless.
For just a moment, they seemed to slow, thickening, gathering slightly, as if drawn closer to the glass.
Oboro didn't notice.
He was too busy smiling.
And so, the sky deepened into warm shades of orange and violet, the day easing into night without resistance.
Above them, the clouds continued on moving.
Unbothered and unaware.
Just like them.
— — END — —
A/N: I hope this chapter's not too fast-paced...
I'm back! Life burnt the hell out of me, not gonna lie. But, for the first time in a while, an idea sparked inside of me, and I just had to write it out, or else I wouldn't have been able to sit still.
Anywho, Merry Christmas, everyone!