Clover woke gasping, sheets twisted around him, sweat clinging to his hair. The corridors from his dream stretched in his mind the snapping chains, the whispering portraits, the girl with the star-shaped scar. His chest heaved, heart pounding as if trying to escape. Something wasn't right. Something bad was coming.
He slowly sat up, hands trembling. That's when he noticed it a silver shard, tucked in the pocket of his pajama pants. His eyes widened. How did it get there? His fingers hovered over it, hesitant, as the shard pulsed faintly. A soft, eerie glow emanated from it, like it was alive, like it knew what he didn't. Fear crept up his spine. The pulse felt like a heartbeat… but whose? Or what?
Clover swallowed hard, cold sweat trickling down his neck. He had never seen anything like it before. The morning sunlight slashed through the curtains, harsh and deliberate, painting the room in unnatural angles. Even the hum of the house, usually comforting, now felt hollow, distant, as though the walls themselves were watching.
He picked up the shard cautiously, feeling warmth seep into his palm. A signal? A warning? Or something worse? His mind raced with possibilities. Could it be connected to the dream? To the chains, to the girl, to… the danger looming over him?
Clover's throat tightened. He wanted to throw it away, to run, to hide, but an inexplicable fascination rooted him to the spot. He loved mysteries but he hated stress. And yet, despite the fear curling around him, part of him wanted to keep it, to understand it, to confront whatever this meant.
Clara's soft singing floated from the kitchen. Camilla's quiet clatter of dishes echoed like a reminder that life still moved on. But for Clover, time felt suspended. The shard's pulse thrummed like a second heartbeat in his chest. He clenched it lightly, whispering, "Something's coming."
Clover swung his legs over the side of the bed, boots of unease pressing into his stomach. The shard was still warm against his palm, pulsing steadily, almost impatiently, as if urging him to act. He tried to shake off the fear, forcing his shoulders to relax, but the terror lingered. Every shadow in the room seemed to twist and stretch unnaturally, every sound from the kitchen echoing with hidden meaning.
"Stay calm… stay calm…" he muttered under his breath. But the shard pulsed again, like a heartbeat, like a warning he could not ignore. He hesitated, staring at it as if it might answer him, might speak, might tell him exactly what it wanted. Instead, it remained silent, glowing faintly, alive, waiting.
Clover's mind wandered back to the dream. Chains snapping, voices whispering, the girl with the star-shaped scar… and now this shard, appearing out of nowhere, connecting the dream to reality in a way that made no sense. He swallowed hard and tucked it back in his pocket.
The fear did not fade. It nestled into his chest like a living thing, gnawing, whispering that this was just the beginning. Whatever was coming was closer than he imagined, and he might not be ready. But he had to face it. Somehow.
Clover took a deep breath, forcing his body to move despite the fear knotting his stomach. Today, he told himself, he would act normal. He would eat breakfast. He would laugh. He would live… at least until he understood the shard and the danger it heralded.
He rose from the bed, eyes flicking once more to the silver glint in his pocket. The pulse remained, steady, quiet, insistent a warning, a guide, a tether to something he couldn't yet comprehend.
Even in the safety of his home, Clover knew one thing for certain: he was not alone. And whatever awaited him beyond today was already moving, already watching, already waiting for him to make the first move. Far from the Yeager house, a sleek black car slid over glistening streets. Inside, Akira Nakahara sat straight-backed, eyes scanning every reflection, every shadow. She wasn't here as a visitor. She was here as a sentinel.
Victor LaSalle's calm, controlled voice cut through the tension. "He's awake."
Akira's lips pressed into a thin line. "Good. Keep him alive. Don't let him see it coming not yet."
A shadow passed over her expression, gone before it could be read. She wasn't just guarding him. She was watching for threats he couldn't even sense.
LaSalle's eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. "He's special, Akira. But special comes with danger. One wrong step… and everything collapses."
Her hands tightened on her lap. "I understand. But… if it gets messy…"
"Messy is expected," LaSalle interrupted, voice low, sharp. "Just remember why we're here. He doesn't get a choice."
The city slipped past in a blur of light and shadow. Clover, unaware, clutched the shard in his pocket, the faint pulse echoing the hidden network that had already marked him. Orion had eyes everywhere and he was their target.
This wasn't a game. It never had been.
---
Clover padded to the kitchen, trying to force himself into the comfort of morning routine. The shard pressed against his leg, reminding him that normalcy was fragile. Clara's cheerful singing and Camilla's quiet movements grounded him, but only just.
He slumped into a chair, dropping his shoulders in an exaggerated display of fatigue. "Ugh… life is exhausting," he muttered, but the shard's pulse beneath his fingers kept his nerves taut.
Clara looked up from her cereal, eyes narrowing. "You look like you've been running from a ghost… again."
"I have!" Clover whispered dramatically, eyes flicking toward the window. "But don't tell anyone. Secret identity stuff."
Clara reached across the table, fingers brushing his hand. "You're bad at pretending."
"I'm an expert," Clover said, lifting one eyebrow. "This is method listlessness." He flopped his head on the table, narrowly missing the cereal bowl.
Clara giggled. "Method listlessness, huh? You're really committed to… doing nothing."
"Exactly," Clover muttered, sneaking a glance at the shard. It pulsed faintly as if acknowledging his words, like it approved his small theatrics even as it reminded him of the coming storm.
Clover continued his playful act, tossing cereal in the air and dodging imaginary attacks. Yet every glance down at the shard, every faint pulse beneath his palm, reminded him of the fear he could not shake. The danger was near. He could feel it. And the silver shard mysterious, alive, insistent was the first sign that his ordinary life was over.
---
The soft knock at the kitchen door broke the fragile rhythm of laughter and chaos. Clover stiffened, hand instinctively brushing the shard in his pocket.
"Coming in," he called, voice carefully casual.
Akira Nakahara stepped inside, carrying neatly wrapped parcels. Her presence was calm, precise, and commanding. Clover felt a mixture of relief and suspicion.
"Gifts," she announced, setting them down. "For your little haunted-house excursion. Consider them… tools to survive… or annoy ghosts."
Clover tilted his head, examining the packages. "Annoy ghosts, huh? That's my kind of heroism."
Clara giggled. "Not even there yet, and he's already naming superpowers."
Akira's gaze softened faintly as she looked at the siblings. "Superpower or not… be careful."
Clover picked up one of the packages, wiggling his eyebrows at Clara. "See? I already know how to handle danger. Mostly."
Clara tapped his shoulder lightly. "Mostly safe is a terrible motto, you know."
Akira smirked faintly. "Mostly safe… sounds like a plan." Her eyes flickered toward the shard tucked in Clover's pocket. She did not comment, but her calculation was clear she knew he was being watched, and that something unseen had already begun to mark him.
In the warmth of the kitchen, amidst laughter, teasing, and sibling banter, the shard pulsed faintly a constant reminder that danger lurked, that normalcy was an illusion, and that Clover's life had already changed in ways he did not yet understand.
---
Clover hoisted the gifts onto his shoulder, forcing a cheerful hum. "Alright! Time to go. Haunted house adventure awaits! I'll be back soon promise!"
Clara's fingers tapped the couch nervously. "Already?"
Clover waved casually. "Yep! New place, new pancakes, new uh heroic adventures!" He tried to make his excitement sound genuine.
Camilla, holding her phone, interjected gently. "Clover… No. You won't be going out today."
Clover's grin faltered for a brief moment, but he quickly masked it. "Ah… just testing your parental reflexes, Mom. Everything's under control. Totally safe!"
Camilla shook her head. "Tomorrow, yes. You're leaving for the hostel at Vanguardum Academy, but not today. Stay home. Pack. Rest."
Clara's small voice trembled. "Hostel… tomorrow."
Clover crouched slightly to meet her level, voice light. "Don't worry, Clara… it's going to be fun! I'll be okay." He gave a forced wink, masking the churning nervousness in his stomach.
Clara turned away quietly, Akira placing a comforting hand on her shoulder before stepping back.
Clover straightened, forcing a grin at Camilla. "See? Mostly happy. Totally fine. Pancakes and ghosts await tomorrow!"
Camilla's gaze lingered, noting the grin did not reach his eyes. "Mostly happy… mostly," she echoed softly.
Clover nodded, shoulders squared, carrying the gifts like shields. The shard in his pocket pulsed faintly a quiet reminder that shadows were already waiting, and that pretending to be happy would only take him so far.
---
Clover's steps toward the door were heavy with tension masked by forced cheerfulness. He sang off-key as he moved, trying to drown the nervous quiver of anticipation. "La-da-da! Nothing can touch me today, nothing at all!"
Clara's small hands fumbled at her cane, shoulders trembling. Silent tears slid down her cheeks. "Clover… you… you don't care," she whispered.
Clover's grin did not falter. "Of course I care," he said lightly, almost teasing, but the flicker in his eyes betrayed nothing. "Just… I'm a big, scary hero. Heroes don't cry, remember?" He winked at her, heart tightening.
Clara sniffled, muttering, "Big scary heroes… never care…"
Akira, standing quietly, observed. Clover set the gifts down and faced her, expression dropping the playful mask. "Akira… seriously. I'm going to Ryker's house. I need to go."
Akira raised an eyebrow. "But… Mom said you weren't going out today."
Clover stepped closer, tone firm, unwavering. "Listen. I need this. I can't wait. I'll be careful, but I have to go."
Akira studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. Don't worry. I'll cover for you. Nobody will know. Just… come back safe."
Clover exhaled, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The mask softened briefly. He hugged her tightly grateful, serious, vulnerable.
Akira patted his shoulder. "Go on. But remember, heartless heroes are only pretending sometimes."
Clover pulled back, resuming a half-smile. "Yeah… mostly pretending." His gaze drifted toward Clara, still lingering in the hall, wiping her tears. He tucked the shard in his pocket, a quiet pulse beneath the bravado, and stepped outside partly heartless, partly hiding how much he actually cared.
The silver shard pulsed faintly, a subtle heartbeat in the quiet morning, a signal that Clover's life had shifted irrevocably. Shadows were already moving, waiting for him to take the first step into a new, dangerous world.