Kal's fingers brushed the surface of his translucent experience bar, watching as it ticked ever so slowly toward the next level.
[Level: 3 (270/300)]
Level 3 had come easily—too easily, perhaps. But Level 4 was within his grasp now. He could feel it in the tightness in his chest, the growing hum of power within him, and the way the world had started to respond to him—sometimes with awe, other times with fear.
This was the fourth night since the grueling endurance trial. He had been to Port Angeles every evening since then, taking the bus, observing the town, and finding ways to help when he could, returning to Forks every morning. The city was small, quiet, but it had its own rhythm, its own chaos. That's where he came in.
He was beginning to feel more like a part of this world, or at least like an agent of its will. His instincts, honed through years of survival, were starting to take hold more strongly. He had learned how to move, how to blend in—and, more importantly, how to use his powers carefully.
As he glanced at the notification still lingering in his mind, the XP bar reflected his steady progress. Every time he did something good, he felt the growth, the weight of potential inside him. Yet there was always a cold distance between his growing power and the feeling of what it would mean to truly unlock his potential.
He hadn't realized how much time had passed while lost in the trance of the system, only breaking from it when his gaze slid over to the worn-out clock on the wall. It was 7:30 PM. The time had come.
He stood up from his small, cramped bed, the sheets tangled around his legs. His muscles ached, a constant reminder of the trials he had been putting himself through. His body, though strong, was still adapting to its newfound capabilities. Kal flexed his hands, fingers tingling, and he could feel the faint remnants of the second Strength Trial. Moving, lifting, placing increasingly heavy objects without damaging the objects or causing a single crack in the ground—it had been a challenge, one that had taxed him in ways he hadn't expected. But the achievement of it and the 100XP reward eased his heart.
He couldn't help but smile, a small, satisfied grin. He had learned control—finally. After the egg trial, where he'd struggled to restrain his strength, he'd built on that success.
Tonight would be the same as all the others, going back out into the world. Port Angeles was calling to him, and he was more ready than ever.
The first night after the trial he had intervened once again, the memory still played like a vivid reel in his mind. A street corner, a man on the ground, surrounded by five others. They were drunk, belligerent, and in that moment, Kal hadn't even thought twice about it. His senses had flooded his mind—suddenly everything had been sharper, louder, more intense. The way the drunk men laughed, the way the guy on the ground groaned in pain—it had all snapped into focus.
Kal had stepped in without thinking, his body moving on its own, and before he even realized it, the first punch had landed. The control he had gained over his strength was crucial here, allowing him to incapacitate the men without blowing them to bits. With a controlled fist, he disabled one of the men instantly, the punch barely registering as anything more than a warning to the rest. The others hadn't stood a chance after that, their movements sluggish and weak compared to his own. He was quick, precise, and, most importantly, non-lethal.
The guy he'd saved had looked up at him in shock, grateful, but confused, unsure of who had just stepped into his life. Kal hadn't bothered with introductions. The less attention he drew, the better. He left as quietly as he had arrived, a silent hero in the shadows. 60 XP awarded for his trouble.
The next night, he'd found himself walking the streets again, his heightened senses telling him something was wrong before he even saw it. A woman, cornered by two men. They were aggressive, leering, and all Kal saw was red. He didn't hesitate this time either. He had learned quickly that these moments were the difference between life and death for some people.
He had taken one of the attackers down in an instant, the sound of a well-placed punch ringing through the air. The second had fled, his face twisted in fear. Kal's heart had raced, but the relief on the woman's face had been worth the rush of adrenaline. 20 XP for that, and it felt good to save her, to know he was making a difference, even in small ways.
A third night, another encounter. This time, it had been a convenience store robbery. One man with a gun, desperate, hands trembling as they demanded cash. Kal had been ready this time, watching from across the street. They didn't see him coming.
He snuck as close as possible and struck at the vital moment. He'd used his speed, closing the distance in the blink of an eye, and with a swift punch, the man was disarmed. He tried to turn, but Kal had been too fast. A punch ti th temple left him disarmed and unable to fight back. It wasn't as clean as the first two interventions, but it worked. He looked for cameras, and seeing none ducked out of the store before the police could arrive, 50 XP added to his total. More than he expected because there had been two civilians in the store, and he had disarmed the man, avoiding any casualties
Kal had felt the need to push himself further after those moments, so the second Strength Trial had been the next logical step. His powers were growing, and he could feel the weight of each test, each skill he unlocked. The trial had been deceptively simple: move heavy objects without breaking or damaging them.
He'd started with small rocks, increasing the weight as the trial progressed. He was surprised at how much it taxed him, how every lift and shift tested his endurance. But it was also a lesson in control. With each successful placement of a stone, a piece of him had grown—both physically and mentally. When the trial had ended, he'd earned 100 XP, but it was the peace of knowing that he wasn't just brute strength—that he had learned how to maneuver, how to adjust his powers to fit the moment—that felt truly rewarding.
As the days wore on, Kal noticed something strange. His body wasn't as untiring as he once believed. He still needed sleep—just not as much. There was no denying that, no matter how much he pushed himself, his body needed to recharge every few days.
He had managed to get some rest, even if it was fitful. He could feel the deep, pulling weariness in his bones after the Trial of Endurance, but he'd been too wired to fall asleep for long. His body was adjusting, but it wasn't perfect. It wasn't invincible, not yet.
Even still, he knew he couldn't keep pushing without limits. That was something he'd have to learn as he went.
The sidewalks of Port Angeles glistened faintly under the weak orange light of the streetlamps. A damp fog clung to the pavement, rolling low and slow like a living thing, softening the edges of buildings and dimming the light from neon signs.
Tonight, the city seemed quiet.
His eyes flicked from face to face as people passed. He heard the faint music from a rooftop bar two streets over, a whispered argument between a couple across the street, the heartbeat of a stray dog limping in an alley nearby. His senses had become companions, not burdens—tools he was learning to rely on.
He didn't wear the suit. It still sat as a band on his wrist. Just jeans, a hoodie, and running shoes. He had figured that anonymity was easier without drawing attention, especially when he wasn't planning on being seen.
That was the idea, anyway.
He passed a diner—one of those 24-hour joints with flickering signs and tired waitresses—and paused to glance at his reflection in the dark window. His eyes were sunken, tired but focused. His body, stronger than ever. His mind, sharper, faster each night. He was becoming something new.
The thought both excited and terrified him.
Then came the sound.
A rising, metallic shriek that sliced through the quiet like a blade. Tires. Screaming. Rubber grinding against asphalt, desperately fighting physics.
Kal's body reacted before his mind fully caught up—his posture stiffened, and his head turned sharply. The sound was coming from the east—just two blocks over. He focused his senses.
He heard it first.
The high-pitched whine, deepening into a roar of failing machinery. The rumble of a heavy vehicle at full speed. The low, panicked gasps and choked shouts of people nearby.
He smelt in next.
Burning oil. Acrid smoke. The bitter stench of scorched rubber and fluid that shouldn't be leaking.
Then saw it.
A silver SUV, barreling down the hill like a rocket, its headlights wobbling erratically as it skidded between lanes. The hood was dented, one of the front tires wobbled at a bad angle, and a trail of dark liquid bled from the undercarriage. It wasn't driving—it was out of control.
Kal's enhanced sight locked onto the inside of the vehicle.
Four passengers.
A man—mid-thirties, white-knuckling the steering wheel, his face a twisted mask of helplessness.
A woman in the passenger seat—mouth wide open in a silent scream, one arm flung across the dashboard as if to brace for the impact that hadn't come yet.
In the back, two children. A boy and a girl, both no older than ten, buckled in but crying, their bodies jolting violently with each erratic jolt of the car.
A family.
The SUV was only accelerating. Its course was no longer random—it was terminal. It had become a projectile, and right in its path—
Kal's eyes snapped forward.
Two people crossing the street.
A young woman in a green coat, head down as she texted, earbuds in, oblivious.
Beside her, an elderly man with a slight limp, halfway into the street with a bag of groceries clutched in one hand.
They had no idea.
No time.
No chance.
Kal's heart slammed once, like a drumbeat of decision.
His body moved before the thought was complete.
In less than a second, Kal was off the sidewalk.
His legs launched him forward with blinding speed—springing him through the air in massive leaps. Wind lashed his face as he ran, his hoodie flapping like a cape in a storm.
Everything around him slowed.
He heard the buzz of electricity in the overhead streetlamps, the rising panic of the couple as they saw the SUV—too late to help, too soon to run. The woman on the sidewalk looked up, finally realizing something was wrong.
The old man turned his head and froze, caught in the headlights.
Time was measured in heartbeats.
Kal reached the midpoint of the street just as the car reached him.
It was massive—at least two tons of steel and momentum bearing down on him like a tidal wave.
He planted both feet, squared his stance, and braced.
Impact.
The vehicle slammed into his hands, and for one surreal moment, Kal felt everything.
The crushing weight.The grinding friction. The impossible pressure trying to grind him into paste.
But he held.
His boots tore long, smoldering lines through the concrete as he slid back under the force. His arms locked. His muscles tensed. He grit his teeth and dug in.
The vehicle's front crumpled against his palms, the hood folding like paper. Kal leaned into it, not trying to stop it cold—that would kill them—but to slow it, redirect it, control the crash.
He shifted his weight, pivoted slightly, and slammed his right hand into the SUV's side.
The force bent metal like foil as he pushed.
The car turned, tires squealing in protest as the momentum was redirected.
He released the pressure at the last second and stepped aside, letting the car spin across the intersection, out of the way of the civilians.
It clipped a fire hydrant, smashed into a concrete barrier, and finally ground to a smoking halt.
Steam hissed from the engine. The vehicle rocked once, then went still.
Kal stood in the middle of the street, panting, steam curling around him like fog.
His hands were still raised, his fingers trembling. Metal dust coated his palms, mingling with the sweat that clung to his skin. His hoodie was scorched at the sleeves, the faint smell of burning fibers hanging in the air.
Silence fell, broken only by the hiss of the ruined engine and the distant hum of city life.
Then—
"Oh my God..."
A whisper. A woman's voice.
Kal turned his head slowly.
The people he'd saved were still there.
The old man stood frozen on the crosswalk, mouth slightly open, a crushed bag of groceries at his feet. Eggs leaked onto the street beside a dented can. The young woman clutched her phone in both hands, her eyes locked on Kal like he'd just descended from the heavens.
A few feet away, the family inside the SUV was struggling out of the vehicle. The father shoved the door open, stumbled into the street, and immediately went to check on his wife. The kids were crying, but unhurt.
The man's eyes found Kal.
And widened.
So did the woman's.
One by one, the people around him began to realize what they'd just seen.
Not just someone strong.
Not just fast.
Impossible.
And his face was bare.
No mask. No blur of motion to hide behind. Just Kal Kent—eyes wide, chest heaving, exposed beneath the streetlight.
"He stopped the car."
"With his hands."
"He... caught it."
A phone rose. A flash from behind him. Someone had taken a picture.
Panic knotted in Kal's stomach.
No.
He took a step back. He turned his face instinctively, but he knew—too late. It'd already been taken. But his hood was up, it couldn't have made out his face.
He couldn't explain this. Couldn't lie his way out. Not to six people.
He'd broken the veil.
The system's alert came almost too quietly in his mind.
[Civilian Saved +10 XP]
[Civilian Saved +10 XP]
[Civilian Saved +10 XP]
[Civilian Saved +10 XP]
[Civilian Saved +10 XP]
[Civilian Saved +10 XP]
[LEVEL UP: Level 3 → Level 4 (10/400XP)]
Kal didn't care.
The numbers meant nothing right now. What mattered was the rising wave of fear and awe spreading through the crowd—like fire licking at a line of gasoline.
He needed to get out.
Now.
A surge of panic pulsed through him—hot and electric, crashing over the exhaustion and confusion like a thunderclap. He turned to run.
But his body didn't move the way it should.
He didn't fall forward.
He rose.
Kal blinked.
His boots lifted inches off the ground.
The air rippled around him like heat off a blacktop, invisible force wrapping around his body with feather-light pressure. He flailed for a second, instinctively trying to regain his balance—but there was nothing beneath him.
He was weightless.
Floating.
Flying.
Shock hit him so hard he couldn't breathe.
He looked down, wide-eyed, as his feet hovered nearly a foot above the pavement. Wind swirled gently around his ankles, tousling his hair, rustling the edges of his jacket. There was no effort, no push—it was like his body had simply let go of gravity.
The crowd gasped.
A child pointed.
Someone screamed.
Someone else dropped their phone.
Kal's heart pounded against his ribs.
It wasn't possible. Not yet. He hadn't unlocked flight.
This was emergent.
Instinctive.
Born not from control, but need.
The fear of being exposed. The knowledge that there was no way out—not on foot. Not like a normal human.
So his body had done what it was always meant to do.
It rose.
And now, everyone was watching a man defy physics.
A man with no ropes. No wings. No jetpack.
Just... him.
[POWER UNLOCKED: Flight]
You cast off the chains of gravity, no longer earthbound. The sky is your dominion now—vast, infinite, and yours to command.
[+15XP]
Kal hovered for a second longer, stunned.
Then he looked at the crowd—the awe, the fear, the knowledge sparking in their eyes.
He couldn't let this spiral. Couldn't risk them chasing him. Spreading this.
He took a breath. Turned his head toward the sky.
And launched.
The ground cracked beneath him as he shot upward, a sonic boom blooming in his wake. Windows rattled. The air split apart. He vanished into the dark above, leaving behind only wind and silence and disbelief.
Below, six people stared into the sky, frozen in wonder. The man who had saved them was gone.
But they'd never forget what they saw.
And neither would Kal.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kal didn't so much fly as tumble. Upwards.
One moment, he was standing on asphalt surrounded by stunned civilians. The next, the world had fallen away beneath him.
He launched into the sky like a missile fired on instinct. His body ripped through the air, moving with terrifying speed—but without grace, without direction, without control. There was no finesse. No mastery. Just raw, blinding momentum and a rush of elemental force, like he'd been yanked into the sky by an invisible god.
He spun. He careened. He pitched and tilted like a boat on a stormy ocean.
The night became a cyclone of wind and motion, and Kal was caught in its heart. His arms flailed, legs kicked, trying to stabilize—but it only made it worse. He flipped backward. Then sideways. His body corkscrewed, then jolted end over end in a chaotic spiral. The earth, sky, stars—all turned into a single blur of movement.
Wind screamed past his ears.
His hoodie nearly ripped off his shoulders, the sleeves flapping like frantic flags. Cold air blasted against his skin, his eyes watering so heavily he could barely keep them open. His mouth opened in a shout, but the sound vanished instantly into the rushing gale.
He tried to breathe, but the wind hit so hard it felt like it punched the air right out of his lungs. The cold wasn't painful—his endurance protected him from that—but it was shocking. Real. The velocity was so intense that his eyes watered, his hair whipped back into a snarl of wind-twisted strands, and his jacket collar flapped violently against his throat.
His heart thundered in his chest.
Terror and exhilaration warred inside him. For every moment of panic—every spiraling lurch that made his stomach flip—there was a burst of joy.
This is real.
He wasn't dreaming.
He was in the sky. He was flying.
Sure, he looked like a malfunctioning drone with no programming, spiraling across the heavens like someone had tossed him from a catapult—but none of that could take away from the truth.
He had left the ground.
And the Earth, from up here, was beautiful.
He forced himself to focus.
Eyes narrowed against the wind, Kal stopped trying to fight the movement with panicked gestures. He remembered—very vividly— the lessons of his endurance trial. Don't resist the power, direct it. Instead of jerking against the air, he moved with it, tilting just slightly to guide his spin. A subtle shift in his torso. A pull of his knees inward. His arms spread to create drag, like wings.
The change wasn't instant, but it was effective.
The chaotic tumbling slowed.
From a violent spin, to a wobble. From a wobble, to a drift. And finally—
Stillness.
He hovered.
For the first time, Kal Kent floated motionless in the sky.
Upside down.
Of course, he thought, releasing a breathless laugh. The wind had quieted now that he wasn't tearing through it like a thrown spear. His clothes still rippled in the breeze, but it was gentle. Almost tranquil. The world below no longer spun. Instead, it sat beneath him—quiet and massive and alive.
Carefully, he twisted around, righting himself so that his feet pointed down. His body responded more naturally now, as if the air itself had become a medium he could feel, like water around a swimmer.
And then he truly saw.
The stars stretched out above him like frozen fire—thousands of tiny suns, gleaming cold and sharp in the black. The moon hung high to the east, casting a pale silver sheen across the clouds and trees far below.
And the world beneath…
Kal's breath caught.
The forests of the Olympic Peninsula unfurled like a sea of shadows, their treetops swaying slightly in the wind, like ripples in a dark green ocean. The dense canopy stretched for miles, a great living carpet over hills and valleys. Mist clung to the treetops in places, a primordial beast glowing faintly in the moonlight like silver gauze draped over the earth.
To the north, the lights of Port Angeles sparkled on the edge of the coast, nestled against the black swell of the Pacific. The ocean itself was a vast obsidian mirror, glittering with moonlight and stretching forever toward the curve of the horizon.
And there—off to the west—the jagged peaks of the Olympic Mountains rose like titans. Domineering. Challenging.
They dominated the skyline, massive and unmoving. Their snowcapped summits reflected the moonlight like shards of glass, piercing into the night. Clouds curled around their sides, caught on sharp ridges and high crags.
Forks lay beyond that. Beyond the range.
Kal stared at the mountains.
He would have to fly over them.
He would have to rise higher still—or find a way around the slopes to approach from a gentler direction. Either way, it meant braving even more altitude, more cold, more wind.
He grinned.
Not in fear.
But in wonder.
This wasn't just a power. It wasn't a trick of strength or endurance. This was something different. Something transcendent.
To see the Earth like this—to exist above it—was to witness it not as a person among many, but as something more. He felt a closeness to the world, and yet a distance too, as though he stood apart from it now in a way that few ever had.
He floated in stillness for another moment, letting the awe and joy settle in his chest like a second heartbeat.
Then he turned his eyes toward the mountains.
He took one last glance at Port Angeles, the glowing cluster of light far behind him.
Forks was south-southeast. He knew that much. He'd studied the maps enough in the last few days to place the general layout of the region in his head. But with the Olympics blocking his view, he'd have to rise over them to get his bearings. The idea should have been daunting.
But instead?
He felt the beginning of a smile tug at his lips.
Kal braced himself—legs together, arms gently pointed forward, like a diver preparing to break the surface. He could already feel the air shifting around him, gravity's grip distant, almost forgotten.
He was about to make the most uncomfortable, probably humiliating, and possibly disorienting first real flight of his life.
And he was excited. Very excited.
With a breath and a push, Kal launched forward again.
The wind caught him instantly, and the sky swallowed him whole.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The instant Kal surged forward, the wind hit him like a freight train.
He lurched in the air—arms jerking out, legs splaying as the sudden pressure shoved against his chest and limbs. He fought to stay level, to hold the position he'd set before takeoff, but it was like trying to ride a storm with no saddle. The wind wasn't just resistance—it was force, battering and pressing from all angles.
He tilted left. Tried to correct himself. Tilted hard right.
Spun once. Caught himself. Stopped the spin.
"Okay," Kal muttered, squinting into the cold. "I deserved that one."
He wasn't rolling anymore—that was progress. But each shift of his limbs sent him veering in unpredictable arcs, like a rookie pilot in a sabotaged jet. His body felt like it was flying two different directions at once. His shoulders wanted to climb, his hips wanted to descend, and his arms were arguing with both.
The air thinned as he gained altitude, the Olympic Mountains rising before him like a wall. The peaks loomed closer with every passing second—jagged teeth of stone and snow, wrapped in a halo of icy mist.
He angled his body toward the peaks, pointing like an arrow, and let gravity and willpower pull him forward. At first it worked—he glided ahead in a more-or-less straight line, dipping slightly as the wind caught his chest.
Then the tremors started again.
His arms drifted too wide, throwing off his balance. He overcompensated, sending himself into a lurching half-roll. He dipped sideways, almost vertical, then jerked back upright with a heaving twist of his hips and shoulders. For a moment, his knee snapped forward and smacked him in the chin.
"*Ow—*fuck!" he spat through gritted teeth.
The sudden jolt snapped his focus and he spiraled again—this time downward.
The forest below rushed up at him like a green tidal wave.
He managed to arrest the fall a dozen feet above the canopy, crashing through the topmost branches of a pine tree and sending needles flying like shrapnel. A sharp branch caught the hem of his pants and tore upward with a brutal ripppp, splitting the fabric from calf to thigh. He yelped but forced himself not to stop—not now.
Leaves and pine cones showered the forest floor in his wake. Somewhere a bird shrieked in surprise.
Kal surged upward again, willing his body back into open sky. The air thickened with the scent of pine and earth before thinning out once more, crisp and wild as he rose. But the damage was done—his jeans were now flapping open along one leg, exposing skin to the wind. It stung, like tiny needles raking against him.
And then it got worse.
As he climbed, gaining altitude again, the wind intensified. Higher, faster—until it wasn't just pushing against him, it was tearing at him. His coat had already been strained, the fabric protesting loudly in his earlier tumble, but now, with renewed speed and the jagged edge of turbulence cutting across the mountain ridges, it couldn't take the punishment anymore.
The final blow came just as he cleared the first real peak—rising above a line of glacial rock like a diver breaching water.
The wind hit him sideways. A sudden crosscurrent slammed into his body with the force of a freight train. His jacket ballooned behind him and then ripped—loud, explosive, and absolute. The entire garment tore at the seams, the shoulders giving out entirely as the sleeves flapped behind him for a second like wings—before peeling off and vanishing into the air behind him.
Kal shouted something—maybe a curse, maybe a laugh—and grabbed instinctively at his chest, but it was useless. The coat was gone. His upper body was bare now, save for a tattered undershirt clinging to him like wet paper. The cold hit him like ice—but even that didn't slow him down.
Because he was still flying.
Sort of.
If you could call jerking wildly over one mountain ridge after another, bouncing off updrafts and downcurrents, occasionally bouncing off treetops like a skipped stone flying.
He was getting the hang of it. Not mastering—no, not even close—but learning, just barely, how to ride the chaos instead of being swallowed by it. Flight was nothing like walking or running. There were no stable surfaces, no familiar rules. Up here, the only constant was movement—and the mountain didn't care if he smashed face-first into it.
Kal wobbled in midair, his limbs spread wide to slow himself, trying to catch the rhythm of the wind. His chest rose and fell, still panting from the fight against gravity. His right arm trembled slightly, strained from the last course correction. His torn pants flapped furiously against his leg, the frayed ends stinging like nettles, and the cold was no longer ignorable now that his jacket was gone.
Ahead loomed another ridge. Snow capped its jagged top, and beneath it, dark pines rose in uneven waves, the trees thickening in places into near impenetrable thickets.
Kal gritted his teeth and dove low, hoping to skim between the treetops rather than vault over the next towering rise. For a few seconds, it worked—he dropped into a pocket of air, his arms stretched in front of him, the wind howling between his fingers.
Then a sudden downdraft caught him.
His trajectory dipped sharply, and the trees reached up like claws.
He twisted, trying to bank sideways, but his control was still clumsy and untrained. A branch hit his shoulder, disintegrating, but spinning him off-axis. Another clipped his thigh. Bark shredded across his shin. A final branch caught him across the chest, exploding into a shower of splinters against his iron body and sending him sprawling into the canopy.
Kal screamed as he tumbled straight through a pine tree—splinters, pine needles, and snow exploding around him. He smashed through the first layer of branches, then another, then another. He burst out the bottom in a flurry of torn twigs and shredded leaves, barely regaining altitude before he could hit the forest floor.
For a moment, he thought he might crash outright. His body dipped within twenty feet of the earth, skimming the tops of ferns and mossy rocks. But at the last second he clenched his jaw, pulled his arms tight to his sides, and pushed—with willpower more than skill.
He shot back into the air like a missile. The next few seconds were nothing but air and speed, adrenaline pounding in his veins as his flight steadied—just enough to get above the next rise.
He screamed again, but this time it wasn't fear.
It was joy.
Terrified, yes—but alive. Awake in a way he had never felt before. There was no road beneath him, no path to follow. Just him, the sky, the mountains, and this raw, untamed power tearing through his veins.
Kal let out a wild laugh, high and breathless, eyes watering from the cold wind, mouth split in a grin of disbelief.
He was flying.
And then came the light.
The sun finally broke the edge of the world behind him, its first rays spearing over the eastern hills like golden blades. The dark blues of night began to melt into indigo, then lavender, then fire.
And in that moment, as the light hit him, Kal rose above the final ridge—his battered form outlined in pale gold, the wind screaming past his ears.
He could see everything.
The mist-wreathed peaks behind him. The ocean glimmering far to the west like a vast, molten sheet. The forests stretching endlessly in every direction. The rivers threading silver through the trees. And there, far beyond the next valley—visible now—Forks.
Home. His enhanced vision zeroed in on the quaint house he had taken up residence in.
His heart thudded, slow and thunderous.
"I'm not dreaming."
That thought struck him with more force than any branch or gust of wind had.
"I'm really up here. I'm flying"
The light clung to his skin. He felt it—soaking into his muscles, his bones. Warmth like a second heartbeat.
And though his flight was still wild and lurching, though he dipped and bounced and cursed every few seconds, he no longer feared it. Not entirely.
He'd still hit two more trees before the end of the flight—one head-on—but he'd tear through them like paper. And by the time he crossed into the wooded outskirts of Forks, trailing pine needles and half a pant leg, he'd be grinning through the pain.
Because this? This was just the beginning.
Forks lay nestled in the forest's gentle cradle, wrapped in early morning fog. A sleepy town not yet stirred by the day. The horizon glowed with the colors of dawn, casting the trees in copper and rose-gold hues. Kal's sharp eyes scanned the dense woodlands on the town's outskirts, searching, heart still racing from the untamed flight. Then—there.
Just beyond the rise and nestled between mossy pines, he saw it. A small, natural clearing in the trees. A soft patch of earth ringed by ferns and low shrubs. A private hollow, untouched and quiet.
His house—his home—wasn't far. He could sense its proximity, hidden among the trees and shadowed trails, a short walk from where he now aimed. The clearing was close enough to land unseen, close enough to walk the rest of the way. It felt like the right place to end this flight.
He angled toward it.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His landing wasn't exactly great… Okay, fine, it wasn't a landing at all, it was more like a runaway train had crashed—in other words, he had kissed the ground like he was Jaime Lannister and the Earth was Cersei.
The problem was that he had realised too late that he didn't know how to land.
He tried to slow, lifting his torso, arms windmilling for stability as he descended. But the momentum was too much. He had no real control—only the barest instinct. The ground rushed up to meet him far faster than he expected.
CRASH.
Kal slammed into the muddy earth with the force of a meteor. His body skidded across the clearing, carving a trench nearly fifteen feet long, grass and dirt exploding around him. He bounced once, flopped twice, and finally came to a halt near the edge of the tree line, flat on his back, blinking up at the sky.
There was a moment of silence. Only the rustle of leaves. A bird startled into flight.
Then Kal laughed.
Not a small chuckle—a full-bodied laugh, raw and giddy, rolling out of his chest. The kind of laugh that came after falling off a roller coaster and living to tell the tale. Exhilaration, relief, and a sharp-edged hilarity at how utterly awful that landing had been.
His arms were outstretched in the shape of a snow angel, his legs splayed wide, and his body soaked through with mud and pine needles. He could feel the impact still vibrating through him.
"Okay," he breathed, shaking his head as the laughter subsided into breathless wheezing. "That was not... graceful."
Slowly, he pushed himself to a sitting position. Then to his feet. He wobbled—a bit disoriented—but whole. The trench behind him stretched like a scar through the grass, torn soil and leaves scattered in all directions.
He glanced down.
His clothes—if they could still be called that—were ruined. His pants were caked in mud, one leg torn open along the outer seam from knee to hip. His shirt was shredded across the chest and shoulder, barely clinging to him, streaked with mud. He was wet, jacketless, dripping with muck and flecks of moss.
Kal sighed and rolled his shoulder. Then his gaze fell to the metal band on his wrist.
Still dormant. Sleek and silent. Waiting.
He stared at it for a beat.
Then smiled wryly.
"So that's what the suit's for."