Kairos Voss was ten years old when he killed his family.
The memory never faded. It didn't blur at the edges like old photographs. It stayed sharp, high-definition, merciless.
A modest two-story house on the outskirts of Old Avalon, before the city swallowed the suburbs whole. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the kitchen window, painting everything gold. His mother was at the stove, humming as she stirred spaghetti sauce. His father sat at the table, frowning over bills. Eight-year-old Liora—his little sister—was coloring at his feet, tongue poking out in concentration.
Normal. Safe. Ordinary.
Then the pressure started behind Kai's eyes.
He'd felt strange all day—headaches, a buzzing in his ears. He'd hidden it because he didn't want to worry anyone. He was the big brother. He was supposed to be strong.
"Kai, can you set the table?" his mother asked without turning.
He opened his mouth to answer.
The world cracked.
A sound like glass shattering in reverse. A ring of pale blue light exploded outward from his chest, rippling through the kitchen like a shockwave.
Time fractured.
His mother's humming cut off mid-note. Her body jerked. In the space of a single heartbeat, her dark hair flashed silver, then white. Wrinkles carved themselves across her face. Her eyes widened—not in fear, but in confusion—as decades compressed into seconds. She reached for him, fingers curling into claws as skin withered over bone.
She crumbled before she hit the floor. Dust. Just dust.
His father lunged from the chair, shouting Kai's name. The same blue ring caught him mid-stride. He aged fifty years in the time it took to take one step. His knees buckled. His outstretched hand turned to ash before it could touch Kai's shoulder.
Liora looked up from her coloring book.
"Kai-nii?" she said, voice small.
The ring reached her last.
She didn't even have time to scream.
Kai stood alone in the kitchen, surrounded by three small piles of gray dust that used to be his family. The sauce on the stove bubbled over, hissing against the burner. The clock on the wall kept ticking, indifferent.
He screamed until his throat bled.
Then he screamed some more.
Neighbors found him hours later, curled on the floor, covered in the ashes of the people he loved.
The Hero Association arrived quickly. Too quickly.
They sealed the block. Took statements. Ran tests.
"Unprecedented temporal displacement event," one scientist murmured, eyes gleaming behind protective goggles. "Subject exhibits localized chronal manipulation. Potential S-rank if stabilized."
They told the public it was a villain attack. A rogue Aura user who vanished without a trace. The Voss family—tragic victims of escalating villain activity.
Kai knew better.
He knew whose hands were stained.
They enrolled him in a special program for "high-potential orphans." Gave him counselors who spoke in soft voices and asked how he felt about "the incident." Taught him control exercises. Showed him videos of heroes saving lives.
They told him he could be a hero too.
That his power could protect people.
That he could make sure no one ever lost their family again.
Kai learned to smile when expected.
He learned to nod at the right times.
He learned to slow falling objects in training rooms.
He learned to rewind small cuts on lab rats until their wounds vanished.
And every night, when the lights went out, he stared at the ceiling and listened to the silence where his mother's humming used to be.
He learned to hate.
Not villains.
Not the Hero Association.
He learned to hate the thing inside him that had turned love into dust.
He learned to hate every Aura in the world, including his own.
Because if powers like his existed, then no one was ever truly safe.
Not even from the people who loved them most.
Eight years later.
Apex Hero Academy, Dormitory Wing – Room 417.
Kai sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, staring at the floor between his bare feet.
The room was immaculate. Standard issue: desk, chair, narrow bed, small window overlooking the training fields. No posters. No personal photos. Nothing that could betray who he really was.
His hero costume hung in the closet, freshly cleaned and pressed. White and silver, pristine. The mask rested on the desk like a sleeping animal.
He reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out a different mask.
Matte black. Featureless except for a single red "N" stenciled over the left eye. Crude, handmade. The fabric still smelled faintly of spray paint.
Void's mask.
He turned it over in his hands.
Last night, after the helicopter dropped him back at the academy, he'd gone out again. Not as Eclipse. As this.
A small-time villain named Razor Jack had been terrorizing the warehouse district with blade-projection Aura. Nothing world-ending. Just enough to make the evening news.
Kai had found him in an abandoned lot, counting stolen cash.
He hadn't fought fair.
One localized time bubble. Ten seconds rewound, over and over, until Razor Jack's reflexes couldn't keep up. Until his own blades turned against him in slowed motion.
Then the prototype suppressor—a wrist-mounted device stolen from a black-market lab.
A single pulse.
Razor Jack's Aura vanished.
For thirty glorious seconds, he was just a man. Terrified. Powerless.
Kai had watched the fear bloom in his eyes.
Real fear.
The kind that came from knowing you were suddenly, truly mortal.
Then the suppressor's charge died, and the blades flickered back to life.
Kai left him alive.
He wasn't ready for murder yet.
But he was getting closer.
A knock at the door snapped him out of the memory.
"Hey, Voss! You awake?"
The voice was bright, earnest. Impossible to ignore.
Kai slipped the black mask back into the drawer and closed it silently.
"Yeah," he called. Voice perfectly neutral. "Come in."
The door opened. Finn Harlow poked his head in, messy brown hair falling into wide green eyes. He was already in uniform—academy tracksuit, sleeves pushed up, grinning like he'd won the lottery just by waking up.
"Morning! You missed breakfast. I saved you a muffin." He tossed a slightly squashed blueberry muffin onto Kai's desk. "Figured the great Eclipse needs his carbs after saving the city again yesterday."
Kai caught the muffin without looking. "Thanks."
Finn stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He flopped into the desk chair, spinning it to face Kai.
"Dude, the footage is everywhere. That rewind on the lava boulder? Insane. People are calling it your best save yet."
Kai peeled the wrapper slowly. "It was basic application."
"Basic for you, maybe." Finn leaned forward, eyes shining. "I've been practicing my wind bursts all morning. Still can't get the compression right. Wanna spar later? I could use some pointers from the Chronomancer."
There it was again—that pure, unfiltered admiration.
Finn had no Aura until last month. Just a late bloomer with a dream too big for his body. He'd failed the entrance exam three times before a dying pro hero passed Gale Force to him in a desperate battlefield transfer.
Now he could summon gusts strong enough to knock over training dummies.
And he looked at Kai like he hung the moon.
Kai took a bite of the muffin. It tasted like nothing.
"Sure," he said. "After classes."
Finn pumped a fist. "Yes! You're the best, man."
He bounced up, already halfway out the door. "See you in homeroom!"
The door clicked shut.
Silence returned.
Kai stared at the closed drawer.
One day, he would build something that could strip Auras permanently.
One day, Finn would look at him with those same wide eyes and realize the hero he worshipped was the villain trying to take his power away.
One day, the world would hate him.
He finished the muffin.
Then he stood, opened the closet, and took out the white-and-silver costume.
Time to put on the mask everyone loved.
The mask that was starting to feel heavier than the black one hidden in the drawer.