That day started just like any other.
My neighborhood wasn't known for its peace and quiet. The streets were loud, alive, but never truly safe. Between the laughter of kids playing soccer and the shouting of street vendors arguing over their spots, there was always this underlying tension. Everyone felt it, but no one dared to name it. It was the kind of place where asking too many questions—or standing out too much—could be a mistake.
Walking home from school, my thoughts circled the same ideas that had been haunting me lately: I wanted to help. I wanted to save. I wanted to do something good.
Years ago, I discovered my gift. My superpower, as I used to call it back then. Teleportation. It was incredible, sure, but at first, I only used it for silly things: avoiding trouble, getting somewhere faster, impressing a couple of friends.
As I got older, I realized it could be more than just a fun trick. I started to believe I could use it to make a difference, to change things—at least a little. But it wasn't that simple. Being a hero wasn't just about having powers. It took courage, strategy, and sometimes, staying invisible. Most importantly, it required a mask—a simple piece of cloth I wore to hide my face and protect my identity.
In my neighborhood, if anyone ever found out who I really was, I knew everything could come crashing down.
That day, I was lost in my thoughts when I heard voices. Not the usual chatter, but shouting—loud and hostile.
As I got closer, I saw them: two big guys, cornering a younger boy against a wall. They were laughing, threatening him, treating it like some kind of sick game. The boy didn't move. He just clutched his books to his chest, his head down, frozen in fear.
Around them, a dozen people watched. No one stepped in. Some looked away, others pretended they didn't see.
It made my blood boil.
How could they stand there and do nothing? A part of me wanted to charge in, to tell those jerks to back off. But another part of me hesitated. I didn't have my mask. If I stepped in and someone recognized me, I knew it could come back to haunt me.
I made a split-second decision: I'd teleport home, grab my mask, and come back. It would only take a fraction of a second.
But just as I was about to act, something happened.
A woman appeared.
I didn't see her coming.
She walked calmly, her steps deliberate. She wore a perfectly tailored black suit, her hair immaculately styled. She moved with purpose, heading straight for the two attackers, not hesitating for a moment, as if she knew exactly what she was doing.
There was something mesmerizing about her. An aura. A presence. She stopped just a few feet away from the two men and fixed them with a stare—a piercing, almost icy gaze that made them instinctively take a step back.
The two guys exchanged glances, clearly confused, caught between laughing it off or running for their lives. They tried to keep up their tough act, but something about her demeanor rattled them.
Then she spoke.
"You have one minute to leave," she said, her voice calm but commanding.
The attackers let out nervous laughs, trying to regain their composure. "Or what? You gonna call the cops?" one of them sneered, his bravado faltering.
She didn't respond right away. Instead, she kept her gaze locked on them, her eyes sharpening, her presence growing heavier. Then, with the faintest movement, she raised her hand ever so slightly.
I don't know what happened in that moment, but everything changed. The air seemed to thicken, and the two men's laughter died in their throats. Their faces went pale, and as if crushed by an invisible force, they dropped to their knees.
"We're sorry! We didn't mean any trouble!" one of them stammered, his voice shaking.
"We won't do it again, we swear!" the other added, almost begging.
Her expression remained cold. She pointed down the street behind them. "Leave. Now."
They didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled to their feet and ran, nearly tripping over each other in their panic to get away.
The scene was so surreal that the crowd around us stood frozen, wide-eyed and silent. As for me, I couldn't take my eyes off her. Who was she? And what had she done to make those men react like that?
Once the attackers were gone, she turned to the young boy. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and said something I couldn't hear. The boy nodded, still trembling, but visibly relieved. He gathered his things and hurried off, vanishing into the crowd.
Then her eyes found me.
Our gazes locked, and I felt rooted to the spot. Her eyes were a deep, endless black, yet somehow they seemed to hold a hidden light, a flicker of something burning just beneath the surface.
For a moment, the sounds of the street faded away. Time itself seemed to stop.
Then, slowly, her lips moved. She didn't make a sound, but I could clearly make out the words she mouthed:
"I'm here for you."
---
I stood frozen in my room, my back pressed against the door, my breathing ragged.
"I'm here for you."
Those words echoed in my mind, again and again, an inescapable refrain. Who was she? How could she possibly know about me? And, more unsettling, what did she want from me?
I ran a trembling hand over my face.
Ever since I discovered my power, I thought I was special. Unique. For years, that belief had been my unshakable truth. But her... She had shattered that illusion in a single moment.
She had powers.
Not just a parlor trick, but something overwhelming. Terrifying. She had crushed those men with nothing more than a look—without even lifting a finger. And me?
I ran.
A wave of shame surged through me. How could I ever claim to want to help others, to be a hero, when I couldn't even stand my ground against two thugs in an alley? I was a fool. A coward.
My thoughts were spiraling when a sudden sound jolted me.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell.
My heart leapt into my throat. No. No, it couldn't be her.
I stayed perfectly still, holding my breath. Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe it was... I don't know, a neighbor? A delivery? But deep down, a quiet voice in the back of my mind already knew the truth.
It was her.
Somehow, she had followed me.
A cold sweat trickled down my neck. If she tried anything, I could teleport away. Far away. I was good at running, after all. My power was perfect for that.
But before I could formulate any kind of plan, her voice echoed in my head.
Not through the door. Not in the air. In my mind.
"Calm yourself, Liam. I mean you no harm."
I flinched, clamping my hands over my ears instinctively, as if that could block her out. But it was useless. Her voice was there—clear, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.
"I've come to find you," she added.
My heart raced even faster.
How did she know my name? And what did she mean by "find you"?
I stayed silent, hoping she would give up and leave if I didn't respond. But instead, her voice came again, softer this time:
"It's not very polite to keep a lady waiting at your door, don't you think?"
Her tone was almost playful, as if this situation was perfectly normal for her. But for me, it was anything but. I was terrified.
"If you let me in, I promise I'll explain everything," she said finally.
I bit my lip, torn. Every instinct screamed at me to stay where I was, to keep that door closed. She had a power. And not just any power—something connected to the mind, the psyche. If she wanted to manipulate me, I'd be helpless to resist.
But another part of me burned with curiosity. Why me? Why now? And what if she was telling the truth?
Besides, if things went south, I could always teleport away.
Taking a deep breath, I stood up slowly and moved toward the door. My legs trembled slightly, and my hand hesitated on the doorknob.
When I finally opened the door, there she was, exactly as I'd seen her earlier. She stood tall, calm, and looked at me with those intense black eyes. Up close, she was even more striking. Not a single strand of her dark hair was out of place. Her perfectly tailored black suit exuded a cold, almost intimidating elegance.
But it was her gaze that struck me the most. It wasn't the icy glare she had used on the attackers earlier. This time, it was soft, almost warm, but still deeply penetrating.
"Thank you," she said simply, with a faint smile.
I swallowed hard, unable to hold her gaze for long. "Who are you? What do you want from me?" I managed to stammer.
She tilted her head slightly, a gesture that seemed meant to reassure me. "My name is Mira. I'm here to help you, Liam. To teach you who you really are."
Who I am? What was that supposed to mean?
I took a step back, but she didn't follow. She stayed where she was, perfectly calm, and continued speaking.
"What you've experienced so far has only been the beginning. The world is much bigger, much more dangerous than you realize. And you, Liam—you're a mage."
To be continued!
Next Chapter: The cliché Warden is promoted