CHAPTER 161: HELLOW BROTHER

Keith stood abruptly, his chair scraping back against the wooden floor, echoing in the stillness of the dining room. His heart thudded in his chest, not just from the shock of hearing the name Elius, but from a deep, uneasy churn in his gut.

That name. That aura. The silent pressure in the battlefield just hours ago—the man who had toyed with them like gods watching ants—that man had been in this house?

"I need to get some air," Keith muttered, trying to sound casual, but both his mother and Shania noticed the sudden tension in his voice.

"Keith?" Keisha stood halfway, her hand still holding a spoon.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently. "Stay here with Shania. I’ll be back soon."

Before either could ask more, Keith walked toward the front door, slipped into his boots, and disappeared into the dusk outside.

Shania stood, alarmed. "Keith it’s dangerous to go alon—!"

But the door closed behind him, and with a subtle burst of light and heat, Keith shot into the sky.

---

The wind roared past his ears as Keith flew at breakneck speed above the city. His eyes glowed faintly as they scanned the streets, rooftops, alleyways, scanning each shadow and flicker of movement. His mind was sharp with fury, but also confusion.

Why would Elius talk to Mom? Why now?

Was he toying with us the whole time? Did he know who she was? Did he plan it?

Below, the city glowed with lights and movement—cars drifting down the streets, pedestrians laughing, couples strolling hand in hand. It was all so normal. But Keith’s senses, honed from years of hero work and cultivated reflexes, caught on something not normal.

A blur.

A flicker.

A ripple in the spiritual fabric of the air.

He stopped mid-air, hovering, then shot down into an alley between two buildings.

Nothing.

Then, he turned—and there it was again.

The afterimage of a person. Or rather... a place where someone had been a second ago, lingering slightly due to the presence of residual qi. It was faint. Most people wouldn’t even notice it. But Keith had seen it once before—during their earlier battle. This was Elius’s trace.

"He’s nearby," Keith growled under his breath.

He bolted to the next rooftop, where the afterimage clung like a fading echo.

Then again. Another trace. Another whisper of a presence.

Keith followed.

Through streets.

Through alleys.

Past the bridge overlooking the silent river, then the tram line, then a long-abandoned park where the swing creaked softly in the wind.

And each time, he was a second late.

Each time, the trail grew colder just as he arrived.

Each time, it was as if Elius was just toying with him, dancing from place to place, daring him to keep up.

And Keith did keep up—barely.

He burst through a narrow passage between two buildings, leaving a streak of golden light. He dashed down a fire escape, then flew up again as the trace curved onto a rooftop garden.

Again—nothing.

He scanned the skyline, frustration mounting. His breathing grew heavier. His jaw clenched. He’s doing this on purpose, Keith thought. He knows I’m following him. He’s leading me... but where?

The trail suddenly diverted downtown.

Keith followed again, this time slicing through the upper windows of a closed museum, streaking across the civic center, landing briefly atop a neon-lit billboard advertising a superhero documentary series.

From there, he dropped down into a side street.

And finally—he saw something new.

Not just an afterimage.

But movement.

In a flash, he darted through a line of hanging laundry, pushed off the ledge of an old brick building, and looked down—

There.

A bookstore.

Small, cozy, dimly lit. The kind with glass windows painted with gold leaf letters that spelled: "The Quiet Page."

Inside, between the shelves, sat a man in civilian attire.

He wore a grey sweater, dark slacks, and soft brown shoes that made no noise against the wooden floors. A dark coat was folded beside him. His hair was unkempt in a casual sort of way, and his eyes calmly scanned the page of a thick, aged book. The only other movement was the slow, measured breath rising and falling in his chest.

He was reading Twilight Leaves.

Keith hovered silently just above the sidewalk, staring through the window.

It’s him.

There was no doubt.

The same aura. The same gravity. The same deliberate presence.

Yet now... he was just a civilian.

No sword.

No floating blades.

No armor or pressure.

Just a man with a book.

Keith stared, unable to decide what to do. His heart thundered again. His fists clenched.

And then—

Elius looked up.

Not suddenly. Not startled.

As if he had been aware of Keith’s presence for the last half hour.

As if this moment had been written in the margins of fate long ago.

Their eyes met.

One pair simmering with tension, history, fury, confusion.

The other calm.

Composed.

Soft.

Then, Elius set the book down gently, and a small, knowing smile tugged at his lips.

He tilted his head.

And spoke, through the glass, softly but clearly—

"Hello, brother."

Elius gently closed the book in his hands. His fingers traced the cracked spine as though it were something sacred.

He stood up slowly, pushing the chair back with a soft scrape, and stepped toward the front door of the bookstore. Keith was already standing on the pavement outside, his arms rigid at his sides, his breathing steady but strained.

The bell above the door jingled softly as Elius opened it and stepped outside, the cool wind brushing against his hair.

"Why?" Keith said through clenched teeth, the words brittle and biting. "Why did you go to her?"

Elius didn’t answer right away. He looked up at the dusky sky, the faint streaks of orange giving way to a darkening blue. He then looked back down and met his younger brother’s eyes with a calm that unsettled Keith even more.

"I didn’t plan to," Elius said, his voice low, casual. "But fate... has its preferences."

"Don’t twist this into one of your riddles," Keith snapped. "You leave Mom out of this. She has nothing to do with you. She’s not—she’s not part of your damn games."

Elius gave a soft chuckle, not mocking, but thoughtful. "And yet... she’s the only way to talk to you alone."

Keith’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. Not yet.

"I didn’t want to involve her," Elius continued. "I really didn’t. I tried—gods, I tried—to speak to you alone. But every time, you had your three shadows with you. Always behind you. Always in the way. You’d never listen—not with them watching. You’re too proud. Too wary. Too wrapped in your shining legacy to hear me clearly."

He took a slow step forward. Keith didn’t flinch but stood ready, his aura beginning to flare subtly like heat rising from pavement.

"So," Elius said, "I tried to find you through the silence. I wanted to find where you weren’t a hero. Where you were just... Keith. And to my surprise, I found her. I didn’t know it was her, not at first."

Keith stared at him, nostrils flaring. "You expect me to believe that?"

Elius shrugged. "Believe what you want. But the truth is... she was standing in that bookstore, her fingers running down the spine of a novel about wind-borne birds and a girl with broken wings. It was... poetic."

He paused. His voice dropped lower now, distant, almost reverent.

"She was humming, you know? Not a melody I recognized, but something soft. Something warm. I couldn’t help but be drawn to it. I asked her about the book she held. Featherheart. A tragic tale, you probably don’t remember it."

Keith didn’t reply. His fists trembled slightly at his sides.

"She said it was one of her son’s favorites when he was little. That when he was five, he cried when the protagonist died. She smiled when she said it, so softly, so full of a kind of love that made my chest hurt."

Elius looked away for a moment, as if shaken by the memory.

"I asked her what kind of books her son liked as he grew older. She told me he liked stories about heroes who tried and failed, but kept standing. She told me he read Atlas Soul, and The Infinite Climb, and The Sparks in the Gutter. She said she always found those books scattered on his desk, with little scribbles in the margins."

He glanced back at Keith now.

"And I realized... she was talking about you."

Keith said nothing, his body now glowing faintly. The growing spiritual tension between them made the nearby streetlight flicker.

Elius smiled softly, sadly. "Don’t worry, I am not jealous."

The words landed harder than any blow.

Elius continued, voice lower now, but heavier with emotion.

"I didn’t tell her who I was. Of course not. That would’ve ruined everything. I just asked about books. We talked about A Hero’s Last Laugh. She said it was beautifully written. I told her I liked how the hero failed in the end. She said failure didn’t matter—that what mattered was how hard he tried."

He looked up again, eyes glowing faintly in the dim city light.

"She made tea. She read a few lines aloud. Her voice trembled when she read the part where the hero says goodbye to his mother. And I..." He swallowed, pausing for a long second. "I wanted to stay."

Keith’s eyes widened for just a second. His lips parted, but no words came.

"She told me I looked tired. I said I’d been running a long time. She said I should rest. I told her I didn’t know how. She laughed. And then... she said something I’ll never forget."

Elius stepped closer.

"She said, ’You remind me of someone I know.’"

Keith’s aura flared suddenly. "Enough."

But Elius didn’t stop.

"She said, ’He’s the number one Superhero’."

Keith gritted his teeth. "I said enough!"

Elius exhaled, letting his words settle into the silence.

And then he looked Keith in the eye and said, "You can hate me all you want. But you can’t blame me for finding her."

Keith’s fists trembled now, not from rage—but something more complicated.

More tangled.

More human.

"I swear," Elius said finally, voice flat but firm, "I didn’t go there to hurt her. I went because she saw me, not as a threat... but as a boy who still loves books."

Keith’s voice finally came, raw and harsh.

"Don’t you dare hurt her."

Elius nodded. "I won’t."

Keith took a step forward. "I swear, if you so much as frighten her—if she ever sheds a tear because of you—I’ll find you."

"I know," Elius said simply.

Their eyes locked. Two brothers. On opposite sides of a fractured history. A moment passed.

Then the wind picked up.

And the silence between them crackled like lightning waiting to strike.