Plates of steaming food stood on the kitchen table, the scent of stew and fresh bread hanging in the air. The old teapot hissed softly while Grandma moved unhurriedly between stove and table, as if the news outside were nothing but a distant dream.
Ben sat at the table, pushing the bread in circles across his plate. Everyone's talking about Soulbounds… and I'm sitting here with pea soup.
He took another bite, letting the news echo in his head. The reporter's words still rang in his ears – "new powers," "military intervention," "Aquilara on high alert."
He glanced toward the door, heard a siren far outside, then silence again. If even the military is reacting, it won't be long before they come for the little people too… maybe even me.
He grinned. Why not, actually?
Grandma noticed none of it. Her hearing was as weak as her balance, but her smile remained unshakable. With a calm motion, she poured more tea, her hands trembling slightly, yet the gesture was as familiar as the clinking of cups.
"Thanks, Granny," Ben said.
She nodded, the gentle grin unchanged.
Ben reached for his new pendant, rubbed his hands together, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
"When the next shockwave comes, I'll be ready! Creating gold? Pah, that's boring! With this thing, I'll definitely get the power to turn everything into gold! HA HA HA!"
A flutter.
Socrates, the old parrot, landed on the edge of the table. The crooked monocle that Grandma always put on him hung askew over one eye. He looked at Ben – and spoke, clearly and dryly:
"Or you'll just remain an idiot with plastic jewelry."
Ben froze. Did I just imagine that…?
He looked at Grandma. "D–did you hear that, Granny?! He insulted me!"
Grandma calmly continued pouring tea.
Socrates tilted his head, his voice unwavering:
"The pendant… not gold. Cheap alloy."
Ben jumped up, yanking at the chain. "Just you wait, Socrates! One day you'll call me ruler of all gold!"
"More like King Midas!" Socrates croaked, exaggeratedly theatrical.
Ben stood still, the half-laugh stuck in his throat. If even my bird is laughing at me, then I really do need powers.
Grandma hummed softly as the tea steamed – completely unfazed by the small apocalypse in her kitchen.
≋⟡≋
After dinner, Darek had retreated to his room. Outside, sirens growled, red lights flickered across the houses. He paused briefly at the door. What a day.
He looked at the pillow on his bed. A simple, innocent thing – white, soft, harmless. War… new schools… and you?
"Soulbound, huh?" he murmured.
"What does my soul have to do with all of this… and why my pillow of all things? As if I'll ever get into a firefight with a pillow."
He shook his head and grinned.
"So you're bound to my soul. What's that supposed to do? Give me better dreams?"
He let himself fall onto the bed, placed his hand on the fabric – and suddenly it tingled. A gentle pull rushed through him, the exhaustion fading as if someone had lifted an invisible weight from his body.
Wait…
The heaviness, the fatigue, the entire weight of the day – it all suddenly slipped away. His muscles felt light, his mind clear, as if he'd just woken from a long, restful sleep. What… is this?
A fine red dust glimmered on his skin, hovered briefly, then was absorbed by the pillow, as if it were hungry for his exhaustion. Darek stared at it. "What the hell…?"
He turned it in his hands, searching for some sign, a symbol, anything. Nothing. Just fabric.
Or maybe everything but fabric.
He hugged it closer. There – a warm pulse, barely perceptible. The pillow dissolved, sliding into him like light. A shimmer stretched between them, a paper-thin, living bond.
"Okay… that's new," he muttered. Immediately he felt something within him grow stronger – a quiet clarity, an invisible mantle protecting his soul.
Wow… w–what kind of feeling is this?
Instinctively, he knew: as long as the Soulbound rested within his soul, this enhancement was passive. But the moment he summoned it again, he could use its active abilities – removing fatigue, gathering his energy into the red dust.
So this is my Soulbound… absorbing exhaustion. Not exactly a sword, but maybe more useful.
With a thought, he let it appear again and tossed it onto the bed.
Darek grabbed the pillow and pressed it against himself.
"You'd better still be just as soft," he murmured, before his eyes closed.
Outside, the wind rushed over the rooftops of Solara, carrying away the sound of distant sirens.
And while the city fell into a well-earned sleep, elsewhere it remained awake.
≋⟡≋
The heavy door of the conference hall fell shut.
The Chairman, who had just received new documents, sat silently at the table, his fingertips tapping rhythmically against the wood. Before him lay crumpled sheets – numbers, names, places. Little of it was visible in the half-light; the room, like he himself, was veiled in shadow. Only the dull glow of his cigarette cut through the darkness like a narrow red line – the sole light in the room.
He leafed through the reports slowly, every movement controlled.
"Then it's time," he murmured. A deep breath, then smoke.
"I actually wanted to delay it a little longer… but he leaves me no choice."
He placed the cigarette in the ashtray, leaned back slightly, and reached for the radio.
"Any news on how the other countries are handling the anima resonance?"
A soft crackle, then the voice of an officer – tinny, respectful, but tense:
"The consequences are clearly felt everywhere, sir. Lenovar has completely closed its borders – no exports, no entries. In Scorpivar they speak of divine punishment; their temples are overcrowded, the population unsettled. And in the southern colonies, conditions are now almost anarchic. Otherwise, due to the worldwide turmoil, it's difficult to obtain more precise information – but apparently we were not the only ones with an emergency plan."
The Chairman remained silent. Only the soft ticking of the wall clock filled the stillness, accompanied by the pale glow of the cigarette.
"So they're all dancing in the same storm," he said calmly at last.
"Then we'll show them who sets the rhythm."
He took one last drag, the smoke curling over the table like fine lines on a map. Then he put the cigarette out.
"Send the Aquilara air fleet. Immediately."
≋⟡≋
High above the military base, the night came alive. Engines howled, spotlights cut through the haze. A formation of steel colossi lifted off – the air fleet of Aquilara. Red and green position lights blinked in disciplined order, radio chatter crackled, engines roared.
"You've heard the order!" The operations commander's voice echoed through the intercom, sharp and charged with tension.
"Looks like we're heading out in the dead of night to face none other than Leander – the King of the Savanna."
A brief silence followed; nervous swallowing could be heard. Everyone knew the name.
Leander – the man who didn't lead battles, but devoured them. His fighting style was as wild as it was infamous, and few could describe it, because most only ever saw him once.
"All right," the radio crackled again. "Soldiers – maintain launch formation. The sky is ours."
Among the pilots sat David. His gaze fixed straight ahead, calm, focused. The light of the instruments reflected in his chestnut-brown eyes, but unlike his brother's, there was no fatigue in them – only control. He was broad-shouldered; every movement precise, every posture trained. His dark blond hair was cut short, the roots slightly bleached by sun and wind. A narrow, neat beard framed his angular face and emphasized the hardness of his features – not carelessness, but discipline in its purest form.
Where Darek often dreamed, David observed.
Where Darek doubted, David decided.
Where Darek saw the storm, David was already standing in it.
He led – because it was his nature.
So it's really starting.
His fingers rested calmly on the controls, every movement mechanically familiar.
Diana, Darek… stay out of trouble.
Outside, a lightning bolt tore the sky apart. The clouds surged like a black sea, the wings of the jets diving into its boiling light. David breathed shallowly as the radio crackled.
If they need me, I'll be there. Like always.
≋⟡≋
Several flight hours away, the savanna trembled. A thunderous roar shattered the darkness as a massive lion charged across the grasslands. On its back sat a man – enormous, scarred, bare-chested, his skin marked by countless battles. Two massive sabers in his hands, his gaze lifted toward the sky.
Above him, the aircraft glittered like sparkling stars. A barbaric grin spread across his face.
"Looks like the old bird finally found the guts to make a move… HAHAHAHA!"
Then his expression turned ice-cold.
"But he should have come himself."
A threatening rumble vibrated in his chest.
"This lack of respect will be punished today."
With those words, a wave of searing heat swept across the steppe, making the grass steam and the air shimmer. The lion reared up, a sound between roar and thunder filling the night – and then they leapt, straight toward the sky, directly at the machines.
≋⟡≋
Darek jolted awake. Sweat clung to his skin, his breathing shallow. Burning images flickered behind his eyes. Rows of fighter jets falling from the sky – one after another, torn down by gigantic lion-like beasts, while fire and iron ripped the heavens apart.
"Brother…!"
Was that… a dream?
He bit his lip, stared into the darkness.
"You're not running ahead again, are you?"
A tense, faint smile crossed his face as Darek shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"Would be typical for you."
The wind answered with a soft rustle, and for a moment Darek thought he heard a heartbeat within it – one that was not his own.